Read From a Safe Distance Online
Authors: Julia Bishop
From a Safe Distance
After his sister Abbie's suicide, Newman rediscovers her unpublished manuscript, forgotten in his loft. Considering publication he decides to write an introduction to the novel, whose main character is Vee, a teacher. Vee was previously in love with Max, a psychiatrist, but the relationship was short-lived. Childhood nightmares about her long-dead Aunt Mary's mental illness lead Vee to create a “door” in her mind to shut her out. But Aunt Mary's door is not enough to withstand a diagnosis of bipolar disorder, which ends Vee's teaching career. Some time later Vee gets a job at Squaremile, a centre for disabled people, but she soon realises that stigma is not just confined to job applications. Once, when she was a teacher, she was believed and trusted. Now, suffering from bipolar disorder, she is doubted and bullied. Vee meets Max again, but this time as his patient. Max is unable to prevent Vee's suicide, and feels intolerable guilt, in part because of his earlier relationship with her. Max hopes to find answers in Vee's novel, a copy of which she gave him at their last appointment before her suicide. Max, and his wife Helen, who works at Squaremile, are shocked to read of how Vee and some of the residents there have been treated. They investigate the allegations of bullying and neglect and prepare a report, presenting it at a meeting in the boardroom at Squaremile, attended by the chief executive officer of the centre. The atmosphere is tense, particularly as both Max and Helen have health problems, and because of attempts by Sandra, the chief bully at Squaremile, to sabotage their efforts to unmask her. However, as the story reaches its climax, it is Abbie who will have the last word.
Born in Henley-on-Thames,
Julia Bishop
studied languages at Exeter University and qualified as a teacher at Leicester University. Recently she gained an MA in Philosophy with the Open University. This is her first novel.
In memory of Philip and Paddy.
Dear friends; I think of you every day.
Mais les souvenirs cheminent en nous alors que nous croyons les avoir fermement rélégués dans l'oubli.
J
ACQUELINE
DE
R
OMILLY
Copyright © Julia Bishop, 2016.
Published in The Alpha Press e-Library, 2016.
THE ALPHA PRESS
PO Box 139
Eastbourne BN24 9BP, UK
and simultaneously in the United States of America and Canada
All rights reserved. Except for the quotation of short passages for the purposes of criticism and review, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Applied for.
ISBN 978-1-898595-70-0 (pbk)
ISBN 978-1-898595-71-7 (e-pub)
ISBN 978-1-898595-72-4 (e-mobi)
ISBN 978-1-898595-73-1 (e-pdf)
This e-book text has been prepared for electronic viewing. Some features, including tables and figures, might not display as in the print version, due to electronic conversion limitations and/or copyright strictures.
Cast List of the Chief Characters
Translation of French Used in the text
While the people, events and most of the places in the novel are fictitious (with at least two obvious exceptions, e.g. Edinburgh and Oxford), I have some real people to thank: Mum, Dad, Nick and Nev (Prof. N. G. Brown) for their constructive criticism, Fiona, Paddy for putting up with different versions and my bad moods, Donna, sorely missed, for her support in difficult times a few years ago, Steve and Claire for reading one draft along the way and Louise for proof reading and valuable comments. Dr Bob Fieldsend gave some useful insights. Finally, I thank Anthony Grahame and all at The Alpha Press for being patient with a novice.
J. D. B
ISHOP
The following is not a comprehensive list; it is merely a guide.
⢠Main characters in the “real” world:
Abbie, her brother Newman
Roy Goodfield, a psychiatrist
⢠Others
Matthew, Newman's son and his mother Sophie Sonya, Abbie's Community Psychiatric Nurse (CPN)
Len, Abbie's uncle and stepfather
⢠Main characters in Abbie's book
Doors Closing:
Vee, her brother Jim
Max Greenwood, a psychiatrist and his wife Helen
Vee's mother and Uncle Ron
Sandra, a House Manager at Squaremile
⢠Others
Bella, Vee's CPN
Simon, Max's colleague
Jack Marshall, Senior Care Officer at Squaremile
Squaremile's CEO, Dick Montgomery
Study me then, you who shall lovers be
At the next world, that is, at the next spring:
For I am every dead thing,
In whom love wrought new alchemy.
For his art did express
A quintessence even from nothingness,
From dull privations, and lean emptiness
He ruined me, and I am re-begot
Of absence, darkness, death; things which are not.
From J
OHN
D
ONNE
,
A Nocturnal upon St. Lucy's Day
ART
O
NE
Amen
1
Newman Explains
How can a person have dark brown hair and not be aware of this until it starts to turn grey? Abbie was like that â more in tune with what was happening in her mind than with her appearance, or events around her. You might say my sister was a dreamer. But that didn't stop life from having an effect on her. When I read her book again over Christmas, I realised that if I tried to get it published, as I think Abbie would have liked, it would benefit from an introduction â so here it is.
Abbie wanted to tell her story. But there are parts of that story which she cannot, in reality, tell for herself. The most obvious of these is describing her own funeral, at the end of September last year.
My mother, Len and I got out of the first black car. I remember trying to focus on mundane things to avoid the reason everyone was here. Details, distractions, like how cold it was for the time of year; whether I had my gloves with me â even whether I had detected a flake of snow on the breeze. The effort I put into these preoccupations had a single purpose: to keep me ready for my speech.
Other people were arriving, looking for parking spaces, dressed for paying their respects and for warmth. I greeted a few family members who were waiting to express their sympathy. A short way off, near the chapel, I saw my mother march up to a man I didn't recognise.
âDr Goodfield?' she asked. She sounded stressed.
The man looked uncomfortable, guilty even. He was in his fifties, of average height, with receding grey hair. A slim
woman of about the same age stood next to him, holding the collar of her coat together at the neck.
âYes, I'm Dr Goodfield. Ah, you must be Abbie's mother.'
âThat's right, I am ⦠' Mum was battling tears and anger. Dr Goodfield put his hand across his mouth and bowed his head as if trying to conceal his emotion. Len held Mum's arm, murmuring something. But she went on, â
So
glad you saw fit to come today. It's a bit late for my Abbie, though.'
Turning to Len, she allowed herself to be led away. She was sobbing now, but she needed Len rather than me at the moment. Dr Goodfield. I knew the name ⦠Abbie's psychiatrist, that was it.
The hearse pulled up quietly. My sister. I glanced at the coffin. But then I had to focus again on simple things, divert my attention: the footsteps of the people moving towards the chapel, the first wet, brown leaves underfoot, and putting my gloves into the pocket of my overcoat. We took our seats at the front. My speech was in my inside pocket.
About twenty people had assembled in the chapel. The coffin was brought in, to quiet organ music. Then the priest spoke the usual comforting phrases, his voice coming out of the depths of this dark, old-fashioned building. After the single hymn, there were sombre prayers. Then it was my turn. It seemed to take me a very long time to reach the lectern, in the brittle silence which enveloped me.
âI am Newman, Abbie's brother.' I felt a tightening in my throat. âMost of you know that already.' A few moments passed before I could continue, and I was aware that my piece of paper was shaking. âA terrible illness, a long struggle, is over.' I swallowed. âAbbie was a very private person. I remember how, when we were children, she would spend hours in her room ⦠' I hesitated, then went on, âShe would spend hours reading, or writing poetry. She used to win competitions!' I felt this moment of lightness die on my lips. âShe carried on writing to the end. To finish, I would like to read a poem she wrote a couple of years ago, which is dedicated to her psychiatrist.' Despite the groan from my
mother, and a vague sense of being tactless, I felt I had to finish what I had started. I cleared my throat. âIt's called, “The Man in the Office”.
“It is easy to forget her â
The nurse by the door â as
Your shoes are all I can see,
Your chair in front of mine.
You cross your legs, waiting, as if
Time has no meaning. You speak gently, but
Can't you hear the crashing waves?
We are not in the same storm.”'
Returning to my seat, I felt a sense of relief. All that could be heard for a short while was the creaking of wooden pews and one or two coughs. I could not bring myself to look at my mother, as my own grief was enough. Nor did I pay attention to the priest's closing words; all I could do was stare at the coffin as the curtains closed, aware as the finality pierced my being.
Outside, I wanted to catch Dr Goodfield, who was just getting into his car. He looked surprised when I called out to him.
âThank you for coming, doctor. I hope â '
ââ Roy: call me Roy, please. And this is my wife, Madeleine.' She was already in the passenger seat, but leant forward to say hello. She had an attractive smile.
âWill we see you at the pub?' I asked.
âNo, I'm afraid we've got to get back.' He looked anxious.
âAh, I see.' I hesitated. âRoy, can I come and see you, to ⦠talk about things?' Seeing his pallor, I added, âPlease don't think I blame you. I mean, I'm not angry.'
He seemed to respond to this reassurance. âWell, yes. If you want to talk. I mean, yes, of course.' He fumbled for his wallet. âHere's my card. Oh, actually â I've got something of Abbie's you should have, so it would be a good idea to meet. Give me a call when you're ready.'