The Butcher's Daughter

by Jane E James

  I glare at the whitewashed building as if it were a living breathing enemy. Although I feel nothing, absolutely nothing—as if I am dead inside, my fingers claw at the skin on the top of my thigh, creating an angry web of fine red lines. The desire to feel something, if only more pain, has never been stronger. I hear my mother’s favourite song playing again, but this time I do not turn around in my chair to find out where the sound is coming from. This time, I suspect the voice, so different to Nina Simone’s, is my own, humming the words that I know off by heart.

  When the pickup truck hurtles down the track, slipping on wet sand, the rain stops, and the sun comes out. I find myself grinning at the absurdity of that, and keep on grinning, even when Bob Black and Daniel get out of the vehicle and walk towards me. I do not wonder at the look of confusion on their faces. Nothing surprises me anymore.

  Thornhaugh

  Sunlight bursts through a pair of stained-glass windows to light up an unfamiliar octagonal-shaped room. On the floor, there is a grape-coloured rug, fraying at the corners, and old-fashioned oak furniture, so tall it almost touches the ceiling, shines with beeswax. A crystal vase heaves with stems of stocks and delphiniums and the curtains, featuring an elegant peacock print, graze the floor. They match the bedcover I am tucked up in. Outside, I can hear the hum of a ride-on lawnmower and the smell of cut grass together with the scent of the flowers, makes me feel I never want to leave this new world I find myself in.

  I change my mind when I hear the purposeful march of footsteps approaching my door, followed by the sound of a key being turned in the lock. Who’s there? I want to shout, but fear prevents me. Why am I locked in? Where am I? I shrink down in the bed, wanting to disappear in the folds of the bedspread, and I flinch when the door is thrown open.

  Her face is almost as orange as the sun and she is just as energetic. My heart sinks when I see the flash of badge and thick white shoes. She might not be dressed in standard NHS uniform, but I know a psychiatric nurse when I see one.

  ‘Not feeling hungry, Natalie?’ she enquires, exposing brilliant white teeth and pointing to a tray by the side of my bed.

  I shake my head and allow her to take my temperature. I am as placid as a doll as she bends me first one way then the other, inspecting my arms for the telltale signs of self-harming. She also gazes into my eyes and peers down my throat, looking for other, more obvious signs of ill health.

  ‘You still look peaky.’ She tuts, as if this is a direct reflection of her nursing skills. Then, sitting down on the edge of my bed, she shakes her head at me as if trying to work me out. ‘Haunted. That’s the word I’m looking for,’ she adds, sounding pleased with her diagnosis.

  She moves faster than anybody I’ve ever met before. Like a dervish. One minute she’s there, on the end of the bed, the next she’s gone and retrieved the tray and put it in front of me, is back on the bed in no time at all. Her liveliness has the opposite effect on me. It makes me feel giddy.

  ‘You must eat,’ she prompts kindly.

  The realisation that I am back in an institution fills me with a growing sense of desperation, but I resist the urge to throw the tray of food on the floor.

  ‘You’ll need to keep your strength up, for your visitors’ sake if nothing else,’ she admonishes, removing the lid from the covered plate of food on my lap.

  I am about to ask her, what visitors? when she walks abruptly out of the room. As I listen to the echo of her heels clip-clopping away, as fast as any horse, I gaze down at the plate of overcooked sausages, lumpy mashed potatoes and peas, and fight back the urge to vomit.

  ‘There you are, Natalie.’

  I glance up to see Dr Moses, everyone’s favourite father figure, standing there with a big smile on his face. Pulling up a chair, as if we are still the best of friends, he sits down next to me and nods at the plate of unappetising food as if it is worthy of a Michelin star.

  ‘Looks good. Aren’t you going to eat it?’

  ‘I guess,’ I say, unable to maintain eye contact with him, in case I should give away my real feelings.

  Picking up a plastic knife and fork, I chase the peas around on my plate, giving up too easily when I prove incapable of stabbing any one of them. Instead, I slice a burnt end off one of the sausages and pop it in my mouth.

  ‘Good girl.’ He sounds more impressed than he should be.

  I want to tell him, It’s nothing to get excited about, but think better of it. There are so many things I need to ask him, like Where am I? This is not the Thornhaugh I know. Here, in this room, which is different to any I have come across in this building, I am treated with kindness and respect; as if I were an adult. Have they given my old room to someone else? If so, I am not sure how I feel, given that it has been mine for so long. Is Dr Moses involved with all that went on in Little Downey? That is another question I would like to throw at him. But I dare not. At least, not yet. One thing I do know, is that I do not like the way he is looking at me. I also recognise that this is something new as I don’t recall ever feeling this way before. The trouble is, I don’t know who I can trust anymore. If a girl can’t trust her own mother, then who?

  ‘How does it feel, knowing you are going home tomorrow?’

  I do not have to act surprised by this news, because I truly am. ‘I am?’ I can think of nothing else to say.

  ‘Now, Natalie,’ he warns, with a slight shake of his head. ‘We’ve talked about this.’

  I put down the knife and fork and grab hold of the bedspread again, wringing it in my hands. I bite back the first words that spring to mind, Have we? But I keep shtum. My whole life has been about staying quiet and keeping things to myself.

  ‘I don’t know if I am ready. What if I start—?’

  He is looking at me expectantly, willing me to go on, move on. All my life, he has wanted me to move on, whereas I have wanted to stay in the same place; never wanting to leave my childhood behind, because that is where my mother is.

  ‘What if I start doing it again?’ I ask at last.

  ‘You won’t. You’ve completely recovered from your relapse.’ Here, he coughs, and his eyes hit the floor. ‘I’m giving you a clean bill of health. You’ve even got your appetite back.’ He points to the plate of cold congealing food that I couldn’t be less interested in.

  Yet, when I open my mouth to reply, I am surprised to find it full of sausage and potato, which I am forced to chew several times over before I can get a word out.

  ‘I still remember things. Bad things,’ I admit between mouthfuls.

  I watch his grey eyes flicker with concern and I wonder again if I can trust him. He has always been good to me; better than I deserved. Always there when I needed him. Except, of course, when he wasn’t…

  I would die for you, Natalie.

  You’d better start listening to Frank’s Law around here.

  You’re a mental case. You don’t know what you want.

  ‘Subconscious suggestion, that’s all it is,’ he advises with a tight smile, as if it pains him to hear me voice any doubt.

  ‘But they feel more real than anything else,’ I whisper.

  ‘These bogus memories will fade,’ he states authoritatively, clapping his knee for extra emphasis. But then his face takes on a mysterious expression and he lowers his voice to a conspiring whisper. ‘Hopefully to one day be replaced with happier ones.’

  Never taking his eyes off my face, as if keen to record my responses, he gestures to the door, and I do not have to wait long to find out what is going on, because at that precise moment, Daniel’s grinning face appears behind it. Before I can react, a small person is bearing down on me. Dr Moses laughs and gets to his feet, making way for them both.

  Too much is happening at once. First, Daniel bends down to plant a wet rubbery kiss on my cheek. The smell of him is familiar, although not exactly pleasant. Next, I am swamped in the fat folds of a toddler, who is holding out her arms and demanding to be picked up.

  ‘Mama. Mama.’

/>   Darkly’s happy squeals are initially met with laughter and smiles from Daniel and Dr Moses, but when I do not respond to her quickly enough, her bottom lip trembles, and I sense an air of mistrust coming from the two men. Acting instinctively, I scoop Darkly into my arms and give her a squeeze. ‘Hello, baby,’ I say, moved to tears. ‘Have you missed me?’

  This time, my response seems to meet everyone’s satisfaction, including my own. As Daniel and Dr Moses share well-meaning glances that somehow exclude me and the child, I find myself staring into the beautiful blue eyes of the baby I once knew. I cannot be sure how long it has been since we were last together, but we re-connect almost instantly. My God, I think in utter amazement, can this chatty energetic little toddler be Darkly?

  ‘I’ll leave you alone with your family now, Natalie. But I’ll see you tomorrow before you leave,’ Dr Moses instructs.

  I want to ask him to stay, tell him that I do not feel safe being left alone with Daniel, but before I can get any words out, Daniel reaches across the bed to possessively close his fingers around my hand. His skin is sweaty and cold at the same time, I notice with irritation, and Dr Moses can’t seem to stop nodding and smiling. I want to tell him to stop. That this is not like him at all. Instead, I watch him nod his way out of the room, turning one last time to throw us both an “un-doctor-like” wink before shutting the door.

  When Daniel turns to look at me properly for the first time, I mirror his fixed smile, wondering if it hurts his face as much as it is does mine. I don’t know how long I can keep this fake expression up, but until I know more, I do not want to expose myself.

  ‘I can’t take it in that you’re coming home.’ He sighs. ‘Everyone’s so excited. Are you looking forward to it?’ He shakes my hand as if his enthusiasm might pass to me, but I hedge my bets.

  ‘Yes and no,’ I admit cautiously.

  ‘What’s the no part for?’

  ‘Just nervous, I guess.’

  Although he looks pained, I am relieved to find that he is exhibiting patience, not anger. This gives me the courage I need to go on.

  ‘Tell me again. Daniel. How long have we been married?’

  His laughter, noisy and authentic, not only takes me by surprise but it moves me. Somebody who can laugh like that cannot possibly be a bad person. I sense that there is something inherently good about him, that I have always known this.

  ‘You love hearing about yourself, don’t you?’ Still chuckling, he presses the end of my nose as if it were a button on a fruit machine and I am not sure if I like this much close contact. It feels too soon. Sensing this, he backs off a little and sighs.

  ‘Three years and nine months. You wore a beautiful white dress, all lace. Your father gave you away. How many more times?’

  The way he tells it, as if it were something he’d repeated a dozen times, also feels real.

  ‘And Father? When did he die?’ I persevere.

  ‘Must be three years ago now.’ Daniel’s shoulders sink with the weight of his words and I sense that the memory is painful to him. ‘Just after we had Darkly. That’s when I took over the business.’

  ‘Business?’

  ‘The butcher’s shop.’ He looks at me as if he cannot believe I have forgotten such an important part of our history. ‘Your father wanted to keep it in the family.’

  ‘Yes of course,’ I interrupt quickly. ‘Darkly? It’s an unusual name, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s what we tried telling you at the time. But you wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘And we love each other very much?’ I want to believe him more than anything else. Of course, I do. But—

  ‘There’s not a happier couple in Little Downey,’ he says, with a wink.

  Chapter 58

  It is such a glorious day that even Dr Moses has removed his jacket and loosened his tie. The scent of Thornhaugh roses trickles in through an open window, reminding me of summer afternoons spent playing on the lawn. Not all memories of my time here are bad, I realise sentimentally, feeling suddenly terrified at the thought of leaving.

  Dr Moses’ office is usually stuffy and masculine but today it is sunny and airy, mainly because the claustrophobic clumps of ivy that normally darkens its walls have been trimmed back. Even the folder with my name printed on it looks shiny and new, as if it came off the typewriter this very morning. Dr Moses sees me looking at it and with a deliberately playful gesture, he stamps the front of the folder with big bold letters—CASE CLOSED. Then, as if he’d drawn a magical rabbit out of a hat, he pushes it across the desk towards me, looking extremely pleased with himself.

  ‘There. See. It’s official.’

  I cannot think of anything to say straightaway and this earns me a strange blank look. Although my fingers itch to touch the folder, so I can devour every one of their lies, I resist.

  ‘Dr Moses, how can I be married and have a child?’

  ‘Natalie. We have talked about this at great length,’ Dr Moses complains, sounding deflated.

  ‘But I have no memory of the last few years.’

  ‘Do you remember telling me that you once felt like a ghost, flitting in and out of people’s lives, barely there at any one time?’

  I nod to acknowledge that I do remember.

  ‘That’s exactly what you were for a time, a ghost, but now you’re back and for that we’re extremely grateful.’

  ‘All that time I was gone?’

  ‘It’s true your psychotic imaginings did sometimes get out of hand.’ He is gentle with me. ‘But there were periods when you were stable enough to go home and live a normal life with Daniel and your family, with his mother’s help of course.’

  ‘But at times I wasn’t? Is that what you’re saying?’

  He nods as if it pains him to admit this. ‘And we took care of you here, as we’ve always done.’

  How can I be married to someone I only have a vague recollection of? And that I despised him. Surely, I am too young to be someone’s mother. None of this makes sense. The memories I have might be blurred and unreliable but what Dr Moses is suggesting feels utterly unreal. My mind hurts from everything I am being told. I have so many questions and too few answers. But I am terrified of saying the wrong thing or challenging this man, who holds such power over me. At Thornhaugh I could be made to disappear forever.

  Fighting back tears of frustration, my eyes come to rest on the folder that probably contains all the answers I long for. I am tempted to snatch it off the desk, but it dawns on me that Dr Moses is playing a game. There is no way he is going to let me look inside it.

  ‘It has my maiden name on it,’ I point out sullenly.

  The folder is back in Dr Moses hands’ in no time at all. The frown on his face causes my own to vanish, because I suddenly realise that none of this matters. Am I not getting out of here today? In which case, I should play the game too. Like they are.

  ‘I’ve just remembered.’ I laugh self-consciously, as shy as any new bride. ‘I don’t know what my married surname is. What am I? Mrs… what?’

  He spends too long looking at the folder. Why doesn’t he answer?

  ‘You always do that.’ I snort.

  ‘What?’

  When he glances up at me, I notice that his eyes are full of confusion. Aren’t I meant to be the one suffering from memory loss?

  ‘You look at your notes when you don’t know what to say.’

  My sharp tone snaps him out of his reverie. The folder is back in a drawer before I can think about complaining and he is on his feet, keen to get me out of the door.

  ‘I don’t recall your married name for the moment, that’s all,’ he is curt. ‘But I do know your husband is out in reception, waiting to take you home.’

  A crowd of nurses has gathered in the reception hall to see me off. They are lined up by the grand oak staircase, a giant chandelier picking out strands of grey in their neatly pinned buns. As I make my way through them, shaking hands and trying not to recoil at their unfamiliar smiling faces,
I feel out of place in my summer dress, which shows off bare arms and legs. The blue is not a colour I would have chosen myself as it reminds me of Little Downey eyes. Earlier this morning, one of the younger nurses teased curls into my hair and lent me her lip-gloss. At first, I liked what I saw in the mirror, but when Daniel told me I looked sexy, I quickly wiped the sticky stuff off on the back of my hand.

  While one of the older nurses hugs me and gives in to noisy tears, I cannot think who she is, I watch Dr Moses take Daniel to one side and give him a prescription package.

  ‘She must continue with the medication, Daniel,’ Dr Moses advises sternly.

  But Daniel is too pleased with himself to take anything seriously. Pumping Dr Moses’ hand up and down, he continues to grin like a fool.

  ‘You don’t know what it means to me having her back to normal,’ Daniel says. And at that moment, both turn to stare at me.

  We are in a black pickup truck travelling along the coast road, both trying our best to appear natural and relaxed, but I can tell Daniel is on edge as much as I am. This is what those fixed grins were invented for, I can’t help thinking, as I shoot him another fake smile. He is driving faster than I would like but I do not say anything because now that we are away from Thornhaugh, I am more obliged to him than ever. Besides, I don’t want to upset him when he is trying so hard. That doesn’t stop me wishing he wouldn’t insist on holding my hand until it aches, as if he thinks this is what is needed to keep my feet on the ground, because the nearer we get to the cliff edge and the house by the sea, the faster my memories fall on the road in front of us.

  I am choking on smoke. Flames appear over the truck’s bonnet. I can hear the pitiful cries of a dog and a man screaming to be let out. Fear suffocates me. Then I am running, and falling, and running again, towards my father’s house, where a welcoming light seeps out of a downstairs room.