Her Greatest Mistake Page 3

  ‘Thank God for small mercies. Has he been here long?’ I nod towards the Reception.

  ‘Only pacing the pavement, waiting for me to open up,’ he whispers. ‘He’s not exactly forthcoming with conversation. Think you might have your work cut out with him.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘Eve, do you mind me asking you something?’ He steps closer to me.

  I look up to see his creased brow. ‘Sounds ominous. Do I have a choice?’ Ruan shrugs. ‘Go on, then, hit me with it.’

  ‘Is everything okay? It’s just, me and Bea were saying, we think you’ve been kind of distracted, just lately.’

  ‘So you’ve been talking about me?’ I tease.

  ‘Well, yeah.’

  ‘I see. Distracted?’ Why am I questioning him? I know I have.

  ‘A little bit distant, not your usual, not…’ he holds out his hands, and I smile as he delivers a boyish grin, trying to select an inoffensive word ‘… you know, just not you.’

  ‘Not me?’ I turn away to sip coffee, avoiding eye contact. ‘Interesting. Can you elaborate?’

  ‘No. Stop doing that throwing-the-question-back-at-me thing.’

  ‘Sorry.’ I turn to smile at him. ‘I’ve not meant to be different. Just a little tired, I guess, not been sleeping brilliantly this last couple of weeks.’ This isn’t a lie.

  ‘But nothing’s worrying you, is it? To stop you from sleeping?’

  ‘No, Ruan, really, I’m fine. I’d tell you both, if I wasn’t.’ This is a lie. I can’t tell you, Ruan. I wouldn’t even know where or how to begin. I don’t want to lie to you. But I can’t tell you the truth either. Please don’t press.

  ‘Okay, cool. What’s that you’re looking at?’ He points at my book.

  ‘It belonged to my grandfather.’ I shut it and turn to place it back on the shelf. I can’t help wondering, what do you think of all this, Mervyn? Shocked, sad, scared for me? How did I get to this? How did my life go so wrong? I still don’t get it either. How could I have been such a complete fool? ‘He was a silent type of man, a huge reader, a wealth of knowledge.’

  ‘For sure, that’s pretty smart.’ Ruan grins and leaves me to it at the sound of the front door opening.

  I’m not long behind, to collect my client from Reception. Instantly recognisable from the few notes I have. Each condition parades under a distinctive cloak, hanging over people as obvious as the clothes they’re wearing. He is now perched opposite a harassed-looking mum waiting with her son; her mind being in many other places at the same time. Her son, staring at his mobile, immersed in whatever lies behind the screen. Bea must be running late again; she talks too much, can’t seem to help herself.

  I glance back to my man; his feet lightly touching the floor so he can run should he need to. He’s studying them, anything to avoid any eye contact with the woman or her son. He clearly doesn’t want to be here and who could blame him? If I’d stalled another few minutes, I may now be looking at an empty seat. Talking of empty, this is how he’s feeling: empty, heavy and helpless. Depression etched on his forehead. I get it. He lifts his head to me uneasily as I step forward with my hand held out. I smile at him; he can’t feel it. Burdened eyes stare back with a particular darkness. I get the feeling I’m his last hope.

  I introduce myself as he stands to face me. But his words bump together, jarring in his throat, joining a long traffic jam of unheard utterings; he nods, instead. I sense the weight of him behind me as we head for my room, despite his slight covering on wide shoulders. Sometimes people ooze desolation, debilitated by despondent and hopeless thought processes. People of all guises, backgrounds and ages, men, women and children. Mental health problems are always without prejudice.

  I softly close the door behind us and gesture for him to take a seat in one of our tub chairs, snuggly enveloping the body securely at both sides. His eyes dart from my desk, laden with files – I’m not the most organised – to the floor. I smile at him. I’ve work to do too; he needs to relax before we begin.

  ‘It’s lovely to meet you.’ I smile again, hoping to meet those eyes. ‘Though I’m guessing you’d rather not have to meet me at all.’ A half-smile regards me, no words. What an odd thing for me to say: it’s lovely that you’ve hit rock bottom, so are forced to come to me. But wouldn’t it be rude not to suggest it? He regards me as if I’m some form of mind-reading witch. I’m used to it.

  We talk for some time, around symptoms and the considerable changes to his everyday life. Gradually, his eyes begin to meet mine, then he asks me if he will always feel the way he does, encounter dark thoughts. I fight with my thoughts, as I remember promising myself fifteen years ago my state of mind was merely a short-term turmoil. I’d come through the other side, even laugh back on it. Perhaps I should be sitting in the opposite chair.

  ‘Were you born feeling this way, thinking these thoughts? Have you always felt and thought in this way?’ I challenge his rationale; mine is useless.

  ‘No, of course not,’ he says. ‘Only in the last year, or so.’

  ‘Exactly. These thoughts belong to depression, not you. Depression is a black cloud hovering. It’s not inside you, it’s not who you are, it just seems so. At the moment, your perception of you, of life in general and how you interpret it, is not the truth. A symptom. Like pain is a symptom of a broken leg, blood is a symptom of a cut.’ The difference between me and this client is – I can’t shake the psychopath off my trail. You are the black cloud. The similarity is if I allow you to be part of me, to creep inside my mind again, then you win.

  ‘You must remember: this is not your real world. Our emotions can distort how we think. We can become inflexible, thinking in black-or-white, all-or-nothing terms. But life has many grey areas. We can also become extremely negative, forgetting to count or even see any positives. Catastrophising and personalising, disqualifying what is working, still and despite. We forget about all the resources we have to help us. Is this ringing any bells?’ I see the bells are resonating for us both. This is all very well and good, but often easier said than done. He untenses his legs, allowing them to fall into a more comfortable position.

  ‘Yes, but how do I get back to how I used to be?’ he asks. I’ve asked myself this so many times. The simple answer is – I will never return to a carefree and light-hearted body. I can’t ever untread the steps I’ve taken; I’ve trained myself to think as a psychopath. As the words roll off my tongue, practised advice, a genuine wish to help my client, the irony hammers at my head. Never make judgment at surface level. No one knows what lurks beneath the muddy obscured depths. The ones who do not reveal, who do not speak, tell lies to cloak and bamboozle, are often the ones nearest the edge. What I hold in my mind is mine; what you think you know is probably wrong. I will never sit in the chair opposite.

  Fifty minutes later, I show him out of my room. Ruan is busy on the phone, so I close my door behind me. You are my depression, aren’t you? Attempting to conquer. Hungry to isolate. Pilfering my confidence. Chewing away at my energy. Were you in my home, this morning? The kitchen door was locked after all, but I’m not wrong: something alien was definitely lurking in the atmosphere.

  Chapter Seven

  Before

  I notice eyes; they speak to me. I always observe the eyes. Your eyes didn’t see the truth. Didn’t express the truth. They told lies. Lies I was too young and naive to see through. I wanted to believe; my beliefs let me down. I gathered information to fit the perspective I sought to hold. A downward spiral, eventually taking my self-belief with it. Then it was too late. Immersed and pulled under the tidal waves and layers of life. Swimming to drowning. A seamless transition. Then, as I struggled against the current, I cut the very lifelines that might have kept me afloat. You watched me do it, one by one, friends and family; holding tightly to isolation. Cast away from the shore without an anchor. How did I not realise it was all part of your game?

  We began so ordinarily.

  An evening enjoyed in a plush dining
establishment determined the first stage of entrapment. So speedily it happened. After I secured a work experience secondment in a brain rehabilitation hospital. Not long graduated, working towards my doctorate. So much to be happy for. This time highlighted the preciousness of life; unbeknown to me, I was about to lose the freedom to live it. Do you remember how you were so thoughtful, so interested in my work, my clinical cases? And you were, just not for genuine reasons. I was merely one of your textbooks; you bookmarked my chapters as useful or not.

  We were introduced through respective managers, by caustic chance. An organised charity meal, mixed tables peppered with professional heads. Following that evening, my manager attempted to warn me; his friend being the senior partner at some eminent solicitors in Birmingham. Apparently you were renowned for being a sharp operator. It didn’t trouble me; I knew better. Being a psychologist, I understood people, no worries. Why was I born pig-headed? Sharp doesn’t come close though, does it? You asked me to join you the following week for a fine dining experience in Brindleyplace, Birmingham.

  Why would I not accept?

  An eatery I longed to visit, but my student debt persuaded me otherwise. A French chef stolen from a legendary bistro, assured to delight the palate. The surroundings were chic, with colourings and textures of planet Earth. Atmospheric dimmed lighting to complement diners of all shapes, ages and demeanours. Candlelight danced to the sound of the centrepiece waterfall. Extravagant yet gracious. I couldn’t wait.

  You were early, I was late.

  You hooked me from this first date. You stood to greet me, leapt to pull back my chair ahead of our waiter. In the pretence of a gentleman. I was charmed.

  The dawn of the deception.

  Didn’t we chat so easily with your sharp sense of humour, such an acute attention to detail, to me? An analytical brain, taking observant notes. You used it to flatter and empathise. Nothing slipped past you, such diverse conversation, so effortless. Considered and articulate. Watching, studying all the time.

  ‘May I say, your work sounds so incredibly fulfilling, Eve, so meaningful. You must gain an enormous amount of satisfaction. Unbelievably fascinating, isn’t it, the human mind? I’ve always been captivated by what makes us tick. Nothing in your league obviously; popular psychology mostly.’

  ‘Hmm, there’s a lot of it about, that’s for sure. Not everyone thinks as you do though, trust me; some people avoid me like the plague, thinking I’m some form of witch. I either break up the conversation entirely or I’m expected to know each and every intimate detail within two minutes of meeting someone. Special powers, I don’t have.’

  You smiled warmly. ‘They assume you can read minds, am I right? So tell me, what am I thinking right now?’ You chuckled.

  I laughed. ‘Exactly, yes, seriously, people do actually believe I can, and say those things.’

  You swirled your wine with purpose. ‘How amusing. If only you could, Eve. How incredibly useful that would be. Though I would be an extremely worried man. Tell me more – what’s it really about?’

  ‘Well, it’s often rewarding, though it’s also incredibly sad at times too.’ You raised your eyebrows as if surprised. ‘I mean, my cases don’t always hold a happy ending. Take last week, a man in his thirties was admitted, following a car accident. Out with his family for the day, his wife was driving, she asked him to pass her something from the footwell. He took his belt off for a few seconds, to reach for it, just as the car left the road, collided with a tree. Two young girls, he has, now he’s in a coma. His prospects are poor. Given the region of the brain damage, he’ll never be the same again, if he wakes. Very probably never recognise his children again. Sometimes it’s crueller still for the families. You’re not really allocated time for the families, but I often give them my break time. Honestly, if you could see the damage it does, you’d do the same. Or we’ll meet up after my official shift has finished in the café at the hospital. They often feel so completely helpless. It’s all so truly heart-wrenching.’

  You rubbed your smoothly shaven chin, took a cool swig from your enormous wine glass. ‘Hmm. But at the end of the day – you can’t win them all.’

  ‘Win?’

  ‘Your cases – some you will be required to let go of, I’m sure, in order to focus on those you can win, help, I mean.’

  ‘Oh, I see, yes, I guess, it’s a sorrowful fact – life isn’t always simple, is it? Not if you’re human.’

  You smile, deep in thought. ‘No, but it’s the challenges that make life fun. Or in your case more, more worthwhile.’ Your eyes so intense.

  ‘Uh-huh, I suppose that’s one way to look at it. We do have debriefing sessions, but can you ever accept, come to terms with, such appalling sadness?’

  You shrugged.

  ‘But you’re right, focusing on what I can do, rather than what I can’t do, is the only way.’

  ‘Exactly. No point in dwelling. I’m sure you do all you can, Eve. Detachment is probably key.’ You refilled our glasses, to our hovering waiter’s dismay. I mouthed thank you to him.

  ‘At the end of the day, I’m lucky to have this opportunity. Working at the hospital, it’s not easy landing a placement. They turn away graduates weekly. It’s so tough to secure the experience required to progress. So, I feel relatively fortunate too.’

  ‘No such thing as luck, Eve, believe me. You made it happen. You’re obviously extremely talented, so are justly rewarded. Take the credit you clearly deserve.’ You raise your glass to me. ‘Enjoy it. Nothing happens in life by chance. We create our own luck.’

  Such confidence, if only I could have a share. ‘Thank you.’ I reluctantly pocketed it. Compliments don’t always sit comfortably with me. ‘What about you? Where do you hope to go with your job?’

  You sat back. ‘Job? It’s hardly a job, Eve.’ You ran a manicured hand through thick styled hair, a flicker in your eye. ‘It’s a vocation. As yours is. But in answer to your question, to the top, the very top.’ Your eyes scanned the room. ‘I have allowed myself five years to achieve senior partnership. If for some reason I’m not obliged by then, I’ll go elsewhere. I attract enough offers. I’ll not be waiting around like the rest of the duds. I mean, I do sympathise with them, of course, but, as I said, you need to make things happen in this world. There’s no hope involved either. Just belief.’

  ‘It must be so reassuring, flattering, to be head-hunted, wanted by others. You’re evidently very good at what you do. So ambitious and determined, I note.’

  ‘Why waste time? To be honest, Eve, between the two of us…’ you leant into me ‘… it will not be too difficult. The company homes far too much dead wood. It’s being stifled, lacking in enterprise. Too many jobsworths. You must appreciate where I’m coming from, what with working within the NHS. The entire partnership would benefit from a good shake-up, you must agree.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not sure I have the right to say. We’re NHS but we’re such a specialist unit. Though the amount of paperwork is ridiculous, that I can agree. If we spent less time on compulsory filling out tick forms, assessing targets and debriefing meetings, we’d get to meet more patient targets, for sure. Do you believe you’re the one to take your company forward, then?’

  ‘Absolutely. Why not?’ You gestured to the waiter to replace the emptied bottle. ‘Let’s have a toast to our future.’ You raised your glass to clink against mine. ‘And, of course, Eve, our new-found partnership.’ You winked a lying eye.

  Sold on your self-assured calmness. Your refreshing direct dialogue yet sensitive tongue, eloquent in expressing all the correct words. I had never met anyone quite like you. It was so rare to meet such a competitive nature, fuelled by a robust self-esteem, yet so empathic and telekinetic. A one-off.

  The following morning, a striking arrangement of blossoms, shades of white, stippled with greens, smothered my modest desk. A card surreptitiously tucked beside a silky petal informed me:

  It was a delight, Eve. Forgive the haste – I believe you are all
I have been looking for.

  I need look no more. You are perfect!

  A car will collect you at 20.00 tonight, come dressed for the occasion.

  Exquisite. X

  Caught in a whirlwind. Hindsight judges me now. It informs me the romantic hidden deep inside misled me. Unbelievably foolish. It doesn’t stop, the questioning of my stupidity; if it were a stick, I’d be forever black and blue. It all so quickly became sour.

  Sometimes I feel nothing but self-hatred.

  We were married in less than twelve months. No obvious telltale signs until then. When the big day arrived, I admit, I was struck numb. I mistook it for nerves; I was told it was, but I now comprehend it was more than that.

  ‘What is it, Eve?’ Sam, my childhood friend, angled her head at me. ‘You look so worried. Come on, this is your day to shine. It’s what you wanted. Isn’t it?’

  ‘I feel a little sick.’

  ‘Of course, you do, silly. It’s called nerves. You look so beautiful, by the way. Scrub up okay really, don’t you?’ She winked at me. ‘Oh, come on, smile! Everyone gets last-minute nerves. It’s a huge moment in your life – it doesn’t get much bigger than this.’ I watch her in the mirror tweaking my veil.

  ‘I don’t feel nervous, though, just numb. Not real, kind of strange, removed.’

  ‘That is nerves.’ She smiled less convincingly. I was making her nervous too; she wasn’t her usual fizzy self. ‘You should know. Affects us all differently, doesn’t it? Some people freak out and some freeze, I guess. You tell me.’

  I knew what she meant but it wasn’t that.

  ‘It’s just…’ I began, thinking back to the previous night.

  ‘What? What is it?’ A worried look spread over her face.

  I decided not to say anything. I wasn’t stupid. Sam didn’t need any ammunition; she hated you, it couldn’t be any more obvious.

  ‘Nothing, you’re right, as always. Must be nerves. Shall we join the others downstairs, have ourselves a glass of champagne, if they haven’t already guzzled it all?’