by AB Morgan
‘How do we do that, eh?’
Steve could appreciate the need for urgent action and volunteered to see Grant through day two of his fast-track course. Not one to be deterred, Rory phoned Barney Ribble to ask for Brenda Chamberlain’s address and telephone number.
‘Good luck, pal,’ Barney said. ‘Brenda is a cantankerous old bint at the best of times. You start interfering in her private life, exposing the flaws, and she’ll eat your gonads on toast for breakfast. Be warned.’
‘Message received and understood.’
* * *
As he made his way to Brenda’s house, Rory braced himself. From what Barney had said he was expecting Brenda to be unimpressed by his arrival on a motorbike. However, he was determined to complete his mission. Help for Anna was becoming imperative.
‘Who are you again?’
Brenda’s top lip was curled in distaste. She barely looked Rory in the eye as she was too busy glancing between the motorbike on her driveway and the man with one foot on her doorstep, in bike leathers, holding a helmet and gloves in one hand.
‘My name is Rory Norton and I’m a motorcycle instructor with Ride-Right. Your daughter-in-law has started lessons with us.’
‘Yes? I got all that the first time around. I’m not deaf you know. What do you want?’
‘Myself and my colleague are really concerned about Anna’s mental wellbeing and we’ve asked her to obtain a note from her GP to say she’s well enough to continue on the course.’
The look on Brenda’s face changed to one of indignation. Rory had approached the subject entirely wrong and he took a verbal lashing before being able to make his point.
‘In my view, that girl should not be anywhere near a motorbike,’ Brenda barked at him. ‘She’s in a poor way and you should be ashamed of yourself for taking advantage. It’s an appalling lack of moral fibre and wholly unethical for you to be considering allowing her to continue. Shame on you and your kind.’
Rory had bravely held his tongue and his ground. He remained undeterred, waiting for the most opportune moment to proceed. ‘I agree. You’re quite right, Mrs Chamberlain. It’s why I’m here.’
Brenda finally made proper eye contact. Her features softened leaving only puzzlement on show.
‘And?’
‘Anna has agreed to try to get an appointment with her GP today. Can you forewarn him? She really needs to be seen by local mental health services.’
Brenda sucked in a large lungful of air, overinflating her chest and making her ample breasts heave against the material of her tweed box jacket. The buttons threatened to become tiny ballistic missiles aimed directly at Rory.
‘That Dr Dalby is useless. I’ve been telling her for weeks now that Anna is relapsing, but the dippy woman does nothing other than ask me to ensure she makes an appointment. Oh, I see …’
Finally, Brenda understood the reason for Rory’s visit. ‘I’ll phone the surgery now,’ she said, ignoring him and tottering towards a phone resting on a narrow hallway table.
She dialled.
Rory wasn’t sure what he was expected to do, wait where he was or make his way back to work leaving events to unfurl. Standing indecisively in the doorway he had the distinct feeling of being watched. With a gentle tilt of his head to the right, a movement caught his eye. A pair of net curtains swung together but not before Rory had glimpsed the face of an old man staring at him from the house next door.
The front door to Brenda’s home was wide open indicating that she was expecting to speak to him again, so he stayed put, listening in to one side of the conversation happening in the hallway.
‘Yes, I do realise Dr Dalby is busy. I merely wish to pass on important information before she sees Anna Chamberlain today… Well, she can choose what to do with it herself, can’t she? I realise that, yes ... I’m aware of that too. Please just see to it that Dr Dalby is made aware that Anna is hearing Damien’s voice and is psychotic again, and that she does something about it this time instead of accepting Anna’s side of the story … Thank you … Much appreciated. Goodbye.’
Brenda dropped the phone handset back onto its cradle and raised her head to catch Rory in her sights again.
‘They think I’m being over-anxious and interfering because that’s what Anna tells everyone, but I’m worried sick.’
‘Does she have any follow-up from local mental health services?’ Rory couldn’t help himself. He had to keep digging.
‘She was supposed to be seen but she wouldn’t have anything to do with them once she moved here. Everything seemed alright for a few months, but she’s been so lost since my son died. I’ve tried my best, but she flatly refuses to accept that she might need help.’ Rory noticed the dark rings beneath Brenda’s sad eyes and the fine tremor in her fingers.
He wanted to help.
‘Well, if she turns up with a note from her doctor tomorrow we shall have to think of another plan, won’t we? Try not to worry; perhaps, between us, we can talk her into accepting some support. I have one or two friends in mental health services, I’ll see what I can find out.’
‘I thought you were a motorcycle instructor.’
‘I am.’
Brenda scanned him, looking him up and down. ‘Had your own problems, did you? Thought so. You’re too thin to be normal.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Well, you look down in the dumps and too skinny. Want to come in for a cuppa and some cake? It’s the least I can do.’
Rory had no idea how to react to what he had heard. Brenda was one of the most judgemental individuals he had come across in some time, and yet her intentions were positive ones.
‘I don’t bite. What are you worried about? Anna won’t be coming here. She never visits these days and only phones when she has to. Apparently,
* * *
I put her under too much pressure.’
Rory was reversing cautiously down the steps, trying not to cause offence while manufacturing an escape. ‘I’m not really dressed for afternoon tea and I should get back to work. Thanks for asking anyway.’
Brenda held the door open for him to enter the hallway. ‘Nonsense. My tea and cake are irresistible. Come in. I won’t take no for an answer.’
Efforts to escape were futile. Rory wiped his boots and, with trepidation, entered Brenda’s lavender-scented lair.
14
True to Form
She sat to one side of the waiting room fiddling with her phone, jaw clenched, mouth tightly shut because she was desperate not to reply to any of Damien’s barbed comments or outrageous suggestions. There was a voice message indicator showing on the screen of her mobile, requiring her attention. Anna listened several times before a respite in Damien’s acidic pronouncements allowed her to hear the message in full.
‘This is Rachel. I’m from Great Culverstone Early Intervention Service. You left an urgent message yesterday wanting to speak to Sara. I’m really sorry but she’s no longer with the team and our records show that your care has been transferred to the Lensham Community Mental Health Team. We suggest that you make contact with them for support or speak to your GP. Thanks for calling.’
Anna sighed and tucked her straggly hair behind her ears. She couldn’t remember what she had said to make them think her call had been urgent. She felt perfectly fine. Maybe a little cross at being asked to provide a note before she could continue her motorbike course, but that wasn’t going to stop her. A restful sleep would help and Dr Dalby could give her a couple of tablets for that.
She caught the receptionist giving her a sideways glance. She hated it when other people pitied her for Damien’s death. Why were doctors’ receptionists always patronising and saccharine?
‘It’s pretence. They hate you. I bet she’s got knickers made of iron. See how she gives you those condescending looks? She’s taking the piss, Fruitcake. Treating you like a common slut. Who does she think she is? She really despises you for even existing. Thinks she’s superior and that you can wait here fo
r hours until she’s ready. Control freak.’
Anna snarled at the woman on the reception desk. ‘What? Dr Dalby ready to see me yet? I can’t wait all fucking day you know. Don’t stand there gawping at me, go and find out.’
An elderly couple, seated in the next row of chairs, shuffled closer together for comfort as Anna glowered at them for good measure. The young receptionist stood. ‘I’ll go and see how much longer she’ll be. I’m sure it won’t be many more minutes.’ As she moved into the office area and headed for a door in the far corner, she caught the elbow of a district nurse coming the other way. Part of their whispered conversation could be heard in the waiting room. ‘She’s not right. Dr Dalby needs to do something before it’s too late.’
‘Oi! If you’re talking about me I’ll sue you for breach of confidentiality,’ Anna shouted. The elderly couple changed seats to ones at the opposite end of the room as the receptionist scooted out of the office door. Moments later a browbeaten, downtrodden Dr Dalby shambled into view and hunched over the reception desk to pick up a pile of unopened letters. She then faced the eager patients in the waiting room. ‘Anna Chamberlain, please,’ came the monotone request. Once Anna had followed the weary Dr Janice Dalby into a consultation room, several sighs of relief were heard from the waiting area. Consternation was replaced by a temporary easing of tension.
Janice Dalby took her seat in front of the computer screen, barely acknowledging the patient awaiting her consideration. Her morning had been spent dealing with minor ailments and a nasty case of bacterial vaginosis. She was beleaguered by the endless stream of negativity that walked through her door and had stopped listening to much of it, preferring to daydream about the walking holiday in the Dolomites that she and her husband were due to take in September.
Anna Chamberlain. Now why did that name ring a bell? And what could she want?
‘I’ll be with you in a minute. I just need to bring up your records. Ah, there we are. It looks like you are a very infrequent attender, in fact you’ve hardly been seen at all since you first registered with us. What can I do for you?’ The patient was taking in her surroundings and seemed to pause before replying.
‘I’ve not been sleeping very well and I’ve been asked to provide written approval to undertake motorcycle lessons.’
Dr Dalby pursed her lips and frowned. ‘Why would you be asked for such a thing? Do you drive a car?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you may ride a motorbike as far as I’m concerned, unless there’s anything here that indicates otherwise.’ She returned to the screen where she noticed an exclamation mark next to a line on the medical summary. She stared blankly, for a short while, as details emerged informing her of Anna’s history of depression and psychosis. Uncertainty delayed her response.
‘Well?’
There was an edge to Anna’s voice that Dr Dalby determined as irritation. With her eyes glued to the screen she tapped the tips of her fingers on the desk either side of the keyboard. ‘Who are these people asking for a letter?’ For a disturbing few seconds she wondered if “they” might be imaginary.
‘I’ve booked some lessons with the motorbike school in Lower Marton. Ride-Right. I’m trying to pass my test so that I can do my job more easily.’
‘Your job? It doesn’t say here what your current employment status is. Perhaps I can fill that in.’ Janice’s shoulders dropped an inch as she drew the conclusion that Anna was functioning perfectly well. She had a job.
‘I’m a researcher and freelance journalist. No, that’s fine. I don’t mind.’ Anna swung her head towards the door, but Janice failed to notice and didn’t realise that part of Anna’s verbal response had not been to her but to an empty space in the consulting room.
Notes were typed in.
‘And you say that you haven’t been sleeping well. Is that the reason for the request?’
‘Sorry? Could you say that again?’ Anna was sitting on her hands leaning forward, watching Dr Dalby’s lips as they moved.
‘Are the people at the motorbike school asking for assurances that your sleep difficulties will not interfere with your ability to drive a vehicle?’
Anna lowered her chin slowly. ‘Yes. They said I appeared distracted and they were worried about my wellbeing.’
Dr Dalby decided, on that basis, to ask more direct questions about Anna’s mental state but it was not an area of medicine that she felt confident about. She stuck to the standards. ‘How would you describe your mood?’
‘Fine. I haven’t been this happy in ages.’
* * *
The doctor bravely turned her chair to face Anna. The girl was smiling and certainly seemed bright enough, even though she was somewhat dishevelled and unkempt.
‘I have a great job, my own house, my appetite is fine; just poor sleep. It’s probably work. I’m involved in a really complex case and maybe I’m not allowing myself to wind down at the end of the day. A couple of nights’ worth of sleeping tablets should put me right again.’
Clutching onto those words, Dr Janice Dalby capitulated. ‘I’ll write you a script for seven nights maximum, of Zopiclone at the lower dose. Don’t be tempted to take two and only take them if you can’t sleep. Perhaps rest and relaxation would be a better option.’ Facing the computer screen again she missed seeing Anna’s head shaking up and down as she muttered ‘yes, yes, yes. I understand,’ over her left shoulder.
‘Good. Your notes say you have a history of depression which once became serious. How are you managing without medication?’
‘Sorry? Medication? I haven’t needed that for a while. I mean, I have a job to keep me busy and I exercise. It’s good for the … serotonin levels.’ Anna could be heard searching for the right words, hesitating and stumbling over her explanation. Dr Dalby didn’t question why. She knew she should have and she had read the message from Anna’s relation, Brenda Chamberlain, raising doubts about Anna’s mental health, but when Janice looked at the young lady there was an underlying hostility in her eyes that warned not to push too much further.
‘Is anyone else worried about you?’
‘Don’t tell me. My mother-in-law has been pestering you about me.’ Anna stood up and started pacing. ‘She worries all the bloody time. There’s no need to bother you. She’s a busybody; it’s as simple as that. Do you see me talking to myself? No. Am I depressed? No. Am I sorry she wasted your time? Yes. How often does she call you about me?’
‘I’m not sure exactly. She’s phoned a couple of times recently.’
‘You see what I mean?’
There was a lengthy pause as Anna lunged forward and stared at the doctor with only inches between them. Dr Dalby became increasingly nervous and was keen to end the consultation.
‘In that case a new challenge will be good for you. I’ll provide a letter to take to your next motorbike lesson.’
Once written and signed, Anna snatched the letter and the prescription without a word of gratitude. She departed in haste, leaving a quivering Dr Dalby staring after her.
‘Thanks for sorting that out. See you later,’ Anna called out as she breezed past reception and through the surgery waiting room as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, waving to the remaining patients. ‘Bye.’
15
Just Like Before
Having been given unscheduled time away from her CBT lesson, Anna had a visit to make. She settled herself back at the wheel of her car where a low fuel warning light made an appearance. ‘Shit.’ She discussed options with Damien. ‘Do I fill up here or at the garage near Brenda’s? … Here is better, I don’t want the Fewtrells to catch me out in the open. You’re right … no of course I’m not thinking clearly.
‘Your bloody mother has been phoning nearly twice a week according to Dr Dalby. I need to make her understand that she has to stop this nonsense. There’s nothing wrong with me. You heard. You were there. The doctor said I need rest and relaxation. Well, I can’t do that with her around can I?’ Anna had driven
onto the service station forecourt where she continued the conversation with Damien, unchecked. She registered a bemused look on the face of the spotty youth at the cash desk, and suspicion filled her eyes as she approached the till.
‘What are you staring at?’
‘Nothing …’
‘Don’t give me that. I know what you’re thinking and if you have any sense you’ll just take my money and mind your own business. Alright?’
The young man was uncertain how to respond. Anna glared directly at the top of his bowed head while he shifted uncomfortably, processing her payment card. Anna read his name badge.
‘Craig. Craig what?’
‘Craig Harris.’
‘Not Fewtrell?’
‘No.’ The young man bit his bottom lip and began to waggle his left leg as he waited for the PDQ machine to launch a paper receipt into his hand. Anna’s face pinched. She looked around herself, checking over each shoulder in turn as she stood alone at the counter, waiting for the completion of the transaction. When her card was handed back to her she spat on it and wiped it on her sleeve. The boy retreated against the shelving unit behind the counter.
‘Short of taking out an injunction, she’s on her last warning,’ Anna said bitterly, walking to the door as she continued the conversation with Damien.
‘You tell her. Keep her nose out. Don’t let her talk about you like that, behind your back.’
‘Don’t worry, I will.’ Anna slammed the car door and zoomed off in the direction of the village, failing to check for traffic as she re-joined the main carriageway of the by-pass.
* * *
As she stood on Brenda’s front doorstep, banging on the wooden door with both fisted hands, the net curtains of the house next door twitched; the elderly man waved and retreated. In no time Brenda appeared in a bay window of her bungalow, overlooking the front garden, pulling the curtain to one side to see who her angry visitor was.
