‘For your mother,’ she adds, carefully.
My heart booms.
‘Oh …’
‘Do you remember what you said?’ asks Rhona. She is fully awake now. For the second time I notice the pouches under her eyes. They make her look old.
‘I think I was dreaming …’ I say. ‘I think you were there. You were my mother …’
‘That’s right,’ says Rhona. ‘You thought I was her. But do you remember what you said?’
‘No …’
‘You said you were sorry. For killing me.’
My mouth drops open. The smile has gone from Rhona’s face. I swallow, an’ my throat feels hard.
‘It was … a dream …’
Rhona leans forward and takes my hand.
‘Kathy. I really don’t think things can go on like this. I know you remember things. Why won’t you tell me? Don’t you trust me?’
‘There’s nothing to—’
‘Is it because you’re ashamed? Do you think I’ll be shocked by the things you tell me?’
‘I … I don’t remember—’
‘I
know
you remember! We have to make some progress sooner or later!’
‘Why do we? Who says we have to?’
Rhona frowns into her lap. She clears her throat, an’ her brow wrinkles so much that I think she might burst into tears. But all she says is, ‘Things change, Kathy. None of us can help that.’
All the heat drains from my body.
‘What things?’
‘I won’t be here forever, Kathy. And I really want to help you, before—’
‘Before what? Where are you going?’
My voice comes out far away. Tight and small, as if I was speakin’ through a cardboard tube. The back of my neck is burning.
Rhona’s eyes flick across my face, then away. She sighs, heavily.
‘Nowhere, love.’
‘Promise you won’t leave me.’
‘Kathy …’
‘Promise!’
Rhona sighs. ‘All right. All right.’
‘Say it!’
‘I promise.’
I search Rhona’s face for some back-up. But her eyes fail to meet me. I hear myself wheezing, an’ it sounds like an old hoover.
‘Kathy, love. I’m not your mother … But I
am
your friend. You have to help me with this. We need to find your
real
mother.’
I yank my hand away.
‘I didn’t kill her! It was a dream! I told you, it was a dream!’
‘No one’s saying you
killed
her, Kathy. We just …
oh
… You need to give a little back.’
‘I didn’t ask you to come in here! Who said you could sleep in here, anyway?’
‘Kathy, calm down!’
‘Get out!’
I leap out of bed an’ stand on the other side. I hold the pillow out between us.
‘Kathy—’
‘Get out! Get out get out get
out
!’
Rhona tries to walk round the bed. I throw the pillow at her.
‘You’re not my friend! You’re not
anything
!’ I yell.
Rhona’s face hardens. Out she goes, an’ the door clicks shut. My hands are still shaking. I stare at the doorknob for a long time.
#
MmhorGDRegP89/10
Name: Katherine (Fennick?)
Gender: F
DOB: Unknown. (Est. age 30)
Date of session: 17/07/2006
Duration: 35min
T: Therapist, P: Patient
[Session notes: Patient too agitated to achieve somnambulist state. Light relaxation only possible after extended pre-talk.]
Excerpt 1:
T: I’d like to talk about your mother, today.
P: No. I said I wouldn’t.
T: Take a deep breath. If you relax, you’ll find this much easier.
P: We were meant to talk about Mary.
T: Well, we’re coming to that. We can talk about Mary as much as you like. But first I need to go over a few things. Do you think you can help me?
P: [Long pause.] All right.
T: So, in one of our previous sessions we talked about your holidays on the farm. When you were small. Do you remember these things?
P: A bit. I read the transcript.
T: But you also remember that farm? You can picture it, if you think hard enough?
P: Yes. A bit.
T: Good. I’d like you to imagine you are at that farm right now. You have just arrived with your parents. It’s a beautiful day and you are feeling very happy. Very glad to be there. Can you see yourself there?
P: Sort of.
T: Good. Very good. Now, I’d like you to imagine you are getting out of the car. You look at your mother and–
P: I said I wouldn’t talk about her.
T: Okay. Okay. Well, maybe we can talk about the farm instead.
P: This is stupid.
T: Whatever you tell me will be utterly confidential.
P: No. I’ve changed my mind. They’ll read it.
T: Who will read it?
P: Rhona. Joyce.
T: Don’t you trust Rhona? I thought you and her were close?
P: No.
T: All we want is to help you.
P: No you don’t. You want to get rid of me. You’ll disappear.
T: Why would we disappear?
P: You will. You always do.
T: People you’ve loved have disappeared before?
P: You’re going to leave. I can’t do it again.
T: Who has left you?
P: Mary. Magnus. Mum.
T: How do you know your mother left you?
P: She didn’t come to get me.
T: When was this?
P: After the newspapers … She didn’t come.
T: Did she leave you before this, too?
P: Yes.
T: You remember this?
P: No.
T: How do you know, if you don’t remember?
P: She’s not here, is she?
T: Is your mother dead, Katherine?
P: Stop it!
[Patient becomes agitated and gets up from chair. Takes several minutes to return her to relaxed state.]
Excerpt 5:
T: Earlier, you said that Magnus left you. I’d like to talk about that, if you–
P: No.
T: You don’t want to talk about Magnus, or you didn’t mean what you said?
P: [No answer.]
T: Why don’t you want to discuss Magnus? Is it because he hurt you?
P: [No answer.]
T: Concentrate, Katherine. Is Magnus the one who hurt you? Is he the one who put you in the loch?
P: No.
T: I know there’s someone you’re afraid of. You just have to tell me who it is.
P: [Patient cries. Speaks incoherently.]
T: Do you remember how you got to the loch, Katherine?
P: I don’t know.
T: Did Magnus take you to the loch?
P: He loved me.
Excerpt 8.
T: You were close to Mary?
P: Yes.
T: Were you best friends?
P: It was different. She didn’t talk. But she understood me.
T: You felt that you could trust her?
P: Yes.
T: Was this the first time you’ve been able to trust someone in this way?
P: [Pauses.] No.
T: How did it make you feel when Mary died?
P: Guilty.
T: What made you feel guilty?
P: I wasn’t there. She needed me and I wasn’t there.
T: You didn’t fail her. You were her friend.
P: No. I was worse than Joyce. She trusted me. I should have seen.
T: What did Joyce do?
P: She left her. Like Rhona’s going to leave me.
T: You’re afraid that everyone will leave you?
P: Yes.
T: What do you think will happen then? After they’ve left you?
P: I deserve it.
T: What do you think you deserve?
P: Punishment.
T: But why should you be punished? You’re a lovely girl.
P: I’m Miss La-di-da.
[Patient wakes abruptly. Gets up and tries to leave room. Extremely agitated. Attempts to calm patient/resume session unsuccessful.]
*Session ends*
[Note: Try ‘La-di-da’ as bridge in somnambulist state.]
#
Tuesday.
I spend most of the day in my room. Rhona hasn’t shown her face, and I can’t bring myself to go to her.
At five o’clock I hear voices, so I go to my window an’ peer through the curtains. The first thing I see is Joyce’s head. I know it’s her from that cast-iron hairdo. No one else in the world has hair like that. She’s leaning over a green car, talkin’ to the person inside. I strain to hear their conversation, but all that reaches me are the high tones in Joyce’s voice. I hate that bloody voice. The pure noise of it. Joyce steps back an’ the car swings round. Through the windscreen, it’s Dr Harrison. Her hand flutters once. Then the car creeps round an’ makes for the gates. I watch till she’s out of sight. So does Joyce. I don’t think Dr Harrison is coming back.
Last night, Dr Harrison tried to trick me. She asked all the things she said she wouldn’t. She thinks Magnus dumped me in Loch Oscaig, like nuclear waste. I found myself wonderin’ if this was true, an’ suddenly, clear as day, I saw a face. A handsome face. Sandy-haired, with stubble and super-bright blue eyes. I knew straight away it was Magnus. My chest reeled from the impact. I felt that wild devotion, as if for the first time, and it made me want to laugh and run and sing. For a second, I was almost there with him. But his face bled away, then, an’ a diff’rent one rose its place. Pinpoint eyes, hairy arms an’ a mane of black hair. A calloused fist swung down. Veins in his neck, an’ the dark thrum of violence. I felt my hysterical hatred of this man. The shame an’ desperation, an’ the fear. That man’s been in my nightmares for weeks, an’ now for the first time I saw his face. A name flashed through my head.
Hans
. An’ in an instant I knew who he was.
Wednesday.
Rain clouds loiter, like they’re waiting for an opportunity to soak me.
I haven’t eaten for thirty-six hours, an’ I’d planned on holding out longer, but I snap this morning when breakfast smells float up the stairs. I think I smell waffles, which are my favourite. Waffles and golden syrup. Oh, that’d be fab right now. Crispy brown edges. Fluffy inside. I imagine prising the lid off the syrup. Licking my sticky fingers. Loading my fork with sugary goodness. They said I’m not allowed sugar right now. But maybe I can sneak some anyway. They’d never know.
I slip out of bed and follow my nose downstairs. Rhona is in the dining room. I jump as we clock each other, an’ for a second my hunger turns to nausea. This is the moment I’d dreaded. But Rhona is talking with Joyce and only glances up for a moment.
I hover by the doorway, recalculating. Did I overreact the other day? Should I apologise? Storm out? But my belly has taken control now an’ won’t let me do anythin’ that results in me not eatin’. Lookin’ straight ahead, I approach the hot-plates. There are no waffles, and before I can take anything else the cook swoops in to stop me. She microwaves my ‘special meal’ porridge – made without seasoning – and I shuffle off angrily to eat it. If I swallow it fast I can almost trick myself it’s sweet. It’s just a question of replacing the thoughts I don’t like with ones I do.
Joyce seems to be dominating the conversation with Rhona. Sometimes Rhona holds her head in her hands, an’ sometimes she nods. It makes me sad to watch them, so I go back upstairs an’ play snakes and ladders on the floor. The clouds grow closer each time I look up, as if they’ll end up comin’ right through the window. At four o’clock I crawl into bed, pull the pillow over my head an’ close my eyes.
#
Men’s voices. Right outside. I stiffen and grip the pillow to my face. The crack beneath my door moves with shadows.
‘—much longer, madam.’
‘Well please, for the other girls’ sakes, do try to be quiet.’
Was that Mrs Laird?
‘Of course.’
Heavy feet pound the floorboards. Mrs Laird must be cross they didn’t take their shoes off in the hall. They sound like big shoes. Boots. Full of mud and mess.
‘Come on, people, you heard the lady. Let’s get this done.’
‘Yes sir.’
A soft thud, like a woolly animal falling over. Coughing. ‘Sorry,’ says a voice. Footsteps walk around, further away. Muffled sometimes, like they’re walkin’ on a rug. Then I know for sure. The men are in Mary’s room. My first instinct is to run out and hit them. I leap out of bed and stand behind the door, hands clenched. But the feeling passes quickly. Bit by bit, my fists go slack. I go to the window and wipe a looking-hole in the condensation. A big white van is parked below. Police.