Claiming Noah (13 page)

At the end of the evaluation the psychiatrist diagnosed her with suspected puerperal psychosis and prescribed mood stabilisers, antipsychotics and bed rest.

For the three days that followed, Catriona did nothing other than sleep and eat. She slept for long stretches at a time, often waking up confused by the change in light out the window and the presence of a nurse in her room. It felt like they were there every time she opened her eyes, asking her questions, feeding her more tablets. She wished they'd leave her to the solitude of her blue cocoon. She thought she had seen James in the room once or twice talking to her, stroking her hair, but she couldn't be sure. Occasionally there was a young woman with unblinking eyes sitting on the second bed in the room, watching her, but she couldn't be sure of that either and when she asked the nurses about it they said the bed wasn't occupied.

By the third day Catriona was lucid enough to attempt to read a book, although she only managed three pages before the words stopped making sense. There was a television in the room, mounted on the wall halfway between the two beds, but she was afraid if she turned it on she would hear the voices she had heard before, so she avoided it. She ventured out of the room that afternoon, but after five minutes of awkward conversation with another patient in the recreation room she retreated to the sanctuary of her bedroom.

But today, her fourth day in the clinic, was going to be different. She couldn't hide in her bedroom today, because James was coming to visit her with Sebastian. Her psychiatrist, Doctor Winder, had recommended she spend some time with her son now that the medication had started to take effect and the worst of her psychosis appeared to have passed.

Catriona hadn't slept well; she had passed most of the night worrying about how she would react when she saw James and Sebastian, and how they would react when they saw her. What did they think of her after what she had done to Sebastian? Did they hate her? How could they want to have anything to do with her? There were too many questions running through her mind and it was only when exhaustion set in at around three o'clock that she had finally fallen asleep.

She had just returned to her bedroom after eating her breakfast of scrambled eggs and coffee, her first meal in the communal dining room, when the clinic's reception called the phone in her room to tell her James had arrived. Catriona told the receptionist she would be right down and then she held on to the receiver for a few seconds before replacing it in its cradle. As panic began to take hold of her, Catriona thought back to what her psychiatrist had told her.

‘Puerperal psychosis is a temporary and treatable illness,' he had said. ‘It's in no way a reflection of your usual character, or your capability as a wife or mother. You shouldn't blame yourself for anything you said or did as a result of the psychosis.'

His words resonated with Catriona and she made a vow to repeat them to herself whenever she needed a boost of confidence. Now was one of those times.

‘It's temporary and treatable,' Catriona said to herself as she made her way down three flights of carpeted stairs. ‘Not a reflection of my usual character. Not a reflection of my capability as a mother. Shouldn't blame myself.'

Catriona hadn't taken much notice of the reception area when James checked her into the clinic, but now as she entered the room again she noticed how beautifully decorated it was. Large, colourful artworks of beach and forest scapes adorned three walls, and the fourth was made up of floor-to-ceiling glass that showcased the manicured gardens outside. Large vases of flowers, presumably collected from the gardens, had been placed on every available flat surface in the room to the extent that it resembled a greenhouse that just happened to contain several white sofas and a desk. Sitting on one of the sofas, next to a giant vase of lilies, was James. He was leafing through a magazine and absently pushing Sebastian's pram back and forth with his foot.

James didn't notice Catriona until she had crossed the room, through the waft of perfume generated from the mass of flowers, and was standing right in front of him. He jumped up, flung the magazine on to a side table and hugged her. His embrace jarred her and she realised she hadn't had physical contact with another person in four days.

‘It's good to see you,' he said. ‘I've missed you so much.'

Catriona returned his smile in a way she hoped looked sincere and not forced, and then she looked down into the pram. Sebastian was asleep, with his eyes closed tightly and a slight frown playing over his face.

‘He'll be awake again soon,' James said. ‘The car ride knocked him out.' He turned around and looked out on to the gardens. ‘Is there somewhere we can go to get a coffee and talk?'

They walked to a cafe set within the clinic's gardens, only a short distance from the building that housed the reception area and patient accommodation. Like the rest of the clinic, the cafe was carefully decorated, this time reminiscent of a Paris cafe with French cabaret posters on the walls and wicker seats placed next to each other facing the gardens rather than facing each other. Catriona wondered whether the seat placement was a deliberate way to encourage conversation between its patrons without the intensity of having to look directly at each other. Whoever designed Gardenia Gardens seemed to have paid a great deal of attention to what its patients needed because, if other patients felt the way she did, this first reunion with her family since being admitted to the clinic was terrifying and she was grateful for the distraction of the gardens.

‘Hey,' James took hold of Catriona's hand, which was resting on the table. ‘You're so quiet. Are you okay?'

Catriona looked at James, wondering how she was supposed to have a normal conversation with her husband when only four days earlier she had tried to kill their son. What could she say to justify her actions? How could he stand being around her after what she'd done?

‘I'm fine, sorry. My mind is somewhere else.'

‘That's okay, you don't need to apologise.' James thanked the waitress who brought their coffees and immediately took a sip from his cup. Catriona had always wondered how he could drink his coffee so hot without scalding himself.

‘Have you been taking the medication?' he asked her.

‘Of course.'

‘Is it working?'

Catriona thought about James's question. Her mind had started to feel clearer, and the hallucinations had stopped, but she wasn't sure if that was because of the medication, or four days of rest and solitude.

‘I don't know,' she answered finally. ‘I haven't done much besides sleep.'

‘You seem a lot better. A lot more . . .'

‘Normal?'

‘I wasn't going to use that word, but yeah, you do.'

She glanced sideways at the pram James had parked on his side of the table. ‘How's Sebastian doing? Was he okay . . . you know, after . . .'

‘The doctor said he's absolutely fine. He hardly took in any water, so they think he was only under for a few seconds.'

As Catriona stared into the pram she saw the image of her son floating underwater, staring at her. She blinked away the image and took a deep breath to calm herself.

‘I didn't mean to hurt him,' she said. ‘I thought it was what I was supposed to do. I thought it would make me a good mother.'

Because of the way they were seated Catriona couldn't see the look on James's face, and instead of turning to look at him she watched a black-and-white striped butterfly dance around a gardenia bush for a few seconds before she continued.

‘I can't even imagine what you must think of me. Everything we went through to get pregnant, and then I did that. If you hadn't walked in when you did . . .'

‘But I did walk in. And Sebastian's fine.'

‘I'll understand if you don't want to be with me any more,' Catriona said. ‘You must think I'm a monster.'

‘Hey. Of course I still want to be with you. I know it wasn't you who did that to Sebastian, it was the psychosis. I know you love him.'

Sebastian started to stir and Catriona could see him studying her through his half-opened eyes.

James was watching her. ‘Do you want to hold him?'

‘No.'

‘I think you should. Doctor Winder said you should have as much contact with him as possible.'

When Catriona hesitated James reached into the pram, undid the straps and lifted Sebastian to her chest. For the first few seconds Sebastian snuggled into the nape of her neck and Catriona felt a wave of motherly affection rush through her. But then he started to cry.

She shoved Sebastian at James. ‘You take him.'

James held him in exactly the same position, and straightaway Sebastian stopped crying. James offered her a look of apology, but there was nothing he could apologise for. It wasn't his fault that her child didn't want to be held by her.

‘He's just being fussy,' James said to her. ‘Please don't take it personally. He loves you.'

Catriona didn't believe him, but she nodded to placate him. She gulped down her coffee and then smiled at James, not caring this time if her smile looked false.

‘I probably should get back,' she said, looking at her watch but not actually registering what time it was. ‘I'm not meant to be gone for more than fifteen minutes.'

That wasn't true, but she was about to cry and she didn't want to do it in front of James.

‘Of course,' James said, sounding surprised. ‘Whatever you need to do.'

They both stood up and Catriona let James kiss her, but she didn't return the kiss.

‘Call me whenever you want to talk, okay?' James said to her.

Catriona nodded and muttered a quick goodbye before she strode back towards reception. She didn't turn back to look at them; she didn't want James to see the tears dribbling down her cheeks.

•  •  •

When a nurse came to check on her, Catriona was sitting at a small table by the window, writing a letter.

‘What's that?' she asked her.

‘It's a letter to my husband,' Catriona said. ‘I'm saying goodbye.'

‘Why do you need to say goodbye?'

‘Because I'm going to kill myself.'

The nurse took a seat opposite her, folded her hands and placed them on the table. ‘Okay. Do you have a plan for how you're going to do it?'

Catriona nodded. ‘I thought I'd take the belt from my jeans, wrap it around the shower head and then tighten it around my neck. It's strong enough, I think. It should hold my weight. And it won't be messy, so no-one will have to clean up after me.'

‘Can I read the letter?' the nurse asked.

Catriona hesitated, then pushed the half-written letter across the table.

The nurse read the page and then handed it back to Catriona. ‘Do you think this is what your husband wants?'

Catriona looked out the window at the darkening sky. ‘He says he doesn't, but I know he doesn't mean it. He doesn't want to be around me after what I did. He might be sad at first, but it's the best thing for him if I'm not around any more. It's the best thing for both of them.'

The nurse handed Catriona her tablets and a glass of water to wash them down. ‘Why don't you think about it over dinner, and we can discuss it when you get back.'

When Catriona returned to her room after dinner her belt, scarves and even her shoelaces were missing. So were the phone and lamp from her bedside table. The cords that opened the venetian blinds had been tied up out of her reach and her nail scissors weren't in her toiletry bag.

‘Where's all my stuff gone?' she asked when the nurse came into her room a few minutes later.

‘We're just hanging on to it for a little while,' the nurse said. ‘For your own safety. We'll give it back to you when you feel better.'

The next day, her psychiatrist told her they wanted to start her on antidepressants and a course of electroconvulsive therapy. He told her the electrical current prompted a chemical reaction that often proved useful in patients with psychosis and severe depression. She gave her consent, thinking it couldn't make her feel any worse than she did already, and later that afternoon they prepared her for the procedure.

A cannula was inserted into the back of her hand and she was hooked up to an IV, which reminded her of the Syntocinon drip she had been given when she was induced with Sebastian. The nurse told her she would be given a muscle relaxant and general anaesthetic so she wouldn't be awake during the procedure. Catriona stared at the ceiling, indifferent to what was going on around her, and then she felt herself drifting off. When she woke up she was still in her room, but the IV drip had gone. She had a throbbing headache just behind her right temple and a sore jaw, as if she had been clenching it.

•  •  •

Three days later, after her second ECT procedure, Catriona's suicidal thoughts had lessened and she felt a desire to talk to James. She was upset that he hadn't tried to call or visit her again, and her psychiatrist encouraged her to call him rather than presume he didn't want to speak to her. The phone had reappeared in her room the day before, along with the bedside lamp and her clothing.

It took five rings before James answered.

‘Hi, it's me. Why haven't you come to see me again?'

‘I'm sorry, babe. I will, I promise. Maybe in a few days?'

A few days?
It had already been a few days since she last saw him, didn't he miss her? Perhaps she had upset him when she ran off during his last visit. Or perhaps she was right in assuming he didn't want to be with her.

‘Cat, are you still there?'

‘Yes.'

‘How are you going? Are you feeling any better?'

Catriona traced the floral pattern on her bedspread with her finger. ‘They've started me on ECT.'

‘ECT? What's that?'