Hush (18 page)

Nathan snuck through the waiting room on his way to lunch, staring pointedly ahead, waving politely but with sudden, unaccountable deafness at Mandy as she waved papers at him and tried to call him back. He had been in back-to-back surgery from nine that morning, and he had precisely thirty minutes until he was supposed to be back for the lunchtime meeting. For once he was determined to try and spend those thirty minutes away from Mandy and her towers of paperwork.

The air outside was bitterly cold, the sky bright and clear. Nathan stretched his arms out to his sides, revelling in it after a morning of being shut in an airless space, and nearly punched a passing woman in the face. She gave him a reproachful glare as she hurried past, and he called an apology to her retreating back, trying not to laugh.

The sun was low in the sky, and so bright he struggled to see where he was going. The surgery was in the centre of town, and the pavements boiled with office workers, restless housewives, children in school uniform enjoying a brief escape. Nathan picked his way through the crowds, moving fast, muttering apologies to those he bumped into. He hated crowds, particularly in town; hated the way they dawdled, seemingly purposeless, in the middle of the street, wandering into shops at random and stopping for no reason whatsoever. If he had his way, he would live out in the sticks and have a quiet village surgery with a few hundred patients, all of whom he would know by name.

Connie would never agree to that, though. Whenever he’d suggested it she’d made protests about the schools, about the boys having to travel by bus every day, but really he knew she just couldn’t stand the quiet. She liked being all crammed in together, found safety in numbers, and he couldn’t resent her for it. He’d known when he married her that he was probably consigning himself to a lifetime of city dwelling.

Though he had found himself wondering, recently, whether there might be a chance of a different life for them. Maybe, if Lily and Richard managed to make a go of it in Drayfield, Connie would come round to the idea of living somewhere smaller. Quieter. It didn’t have to be the same village, or even anywhere nearby. But somewhere that was at least slightly disconnected from city life.

Lost in thought, he walked straight into the back of the woman in front of him, who spun around, her expression furious. Her features relaxed into confused recognition as she realised who he was. ‘Nathan?’

‘Andrea! Hi.’ He grinned widely, hoping to disguise the discomfort he felt at seeing her standing there, right in the middle of the street, as if she were a real person and not part of some drunken fantasy that he should never have followed through on. ‘How’s tricks?’

She raised an eyebrow at his enforced casualness, but let it pass. ‘Good, thanks. Just been out doing some house calls. Thought I’d grab a sandwich before heading back. You?’

‘Oh, yeah, busy, you know. Been in surgery all morning, just needed to get some air before the partners’ meeting.’ He was aware that they were standing in the middle of crowds of people, who muttered as they pushed around them, but he felt as if he was glued to the spot. ‘It’s good to see you,’ he said, stupidly. She laughed.

‘Oh, is it? From your expression I had assumed it was mostly just awkward and uncomfortable.’

He laughed. ‘I’d forgotten how blunt you could be.’

‘I’m amazed you remember anything at all about me,’ she said, without spite. ‘You were pretty far gone that night.’

‘Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, about…’ He stopped, realising it was pointless.

‘Don’t be. It’s all forgotten.’ She reached out a hand, squeezed his elbow, briefly. ‘Are you, uh… How are things with your wife?’

‘Yeah, not so bad, thanks.’ He attempted a careless grin, but it ended up as more of a grimace. ‘Well, you know how it can be.’

‘Sure. That’s why I’m not married.’ Andrea’s smile was kind. ‘How about we go for a coffee some time? You look like you could use someone to talk to.’ Seeing his expression, she added, ‘I promise I’m not going to try to tempt you into bed by means of caffeinated drinks and slices of cake.’

He laughed. ‘I didn’t expect you to try. Coffee would be nice. I’d say now, but I’ve got to get back and everything…’

‘Yes, me too.’ She rifled in her bag for a minute and produced a business card, which she thrust in his direction. ‘Give me a call some time?’

He put the card in his pocket, and nodded. ‘Sounds great.’

She reached up to kiss him on the cheek, and then she was gone, as quickly as she’d appeared, absorbed into the crowds around him. He stood there for a moment, feeling almost dazed, unsure what had happened. Then he continued on his way, his fingers brushing the edges of the card in his pocket.

He arrived home shortly after seven, pausing just inside the doorway to listen out for any indicators as to what kind of day it was. If it was a good day, Connie and the boys would be playing a game, or the boys would be playing while
Connie made dinner. There would be noise, chatter, smiles when he walked through the door.

Bad days generally meant silence, with the boys shut upstairs in their rooms, playing out of earshot of their mother.

Nathan could hear the low chatter of the TV in the living room, from which he deduced it couldn’t be an entirely bad day. He kicked off his shoes, dropped his keys in the dish in the hallway – the one that Connie, for reasons he couldn’t fathom, flatly refused to use – and walked through to find the boys curled up at opposite ends of the sofa, eyes glued to a cartoon Nathan didn’t recognise. ‘Hey, dudes. What’re we watching?’

‘You’re too old to say “dudes”,’ Tom said, giggling.

‘I’m your father and I can say whatever I want,’ Nathan retorted, leaning over and lifting Luke out of his seat, holding him high above his head so that he squealed and wriggled. ‘Don’t you agree, Luke?’

‘Dad! Put me
down
!’

‘Not until you agree with me.’ Nathan shook him menacingly, and he shrieked.

‘I agree! I agree!’

Connie appeared in the doorway just as Nathan dropped him back on to the sofa.

‘Trying to get them worked up before bed, I suppose?’ she said.

‘Oh, don’t be like that. We were just having a bit of fun.’

‘It’s after seven.’

‘I know. My magical time-telling device told me.’ He waved his watch in her direction, grinning, making the boys laugh. She glared at him and turned and walked back into the kitchen. Tom looked at Nathan, eyes worried.

‘She’s right,’ Nathan said with a shrug. ‘I shouldn’t have been messing around when you guys are on your way to bed.’

‘We’re not going to bed
yet
. And you were only playing.’

‘It doesn’t matter. I should know better.’ Nathan ruffled his hair, and waited until he had gone back to focusing on the TV before following Connie into the kitchen.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked, suppressing the urge to start a fight.

‘Fine.’ She didn’t look at him. She was hunched over the cooker, stirring something, the back of her neck radiating tension.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s fine.’

Nathan decided to ignore the tone of voice, which clearly stated that it was not fine. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said, carefully.

‘Makes a change.’

‘Ha, ha. I’ve been thinking about Christmas.’

He saw her stiffen, almost imperceptibly. ‘What about it?’

‘Oh, come on. You don’t have to say it like that.’

She stopped stirring. He thought she was going to shout at him, but she simply put down the spoon, turned to face him. She folded her arms across her chest, eyes glinting with exhaustion. ‘What about Christmas?’

‘I thought we could spend it with Lily and Richard.’

She kept eye contact, unblinking. Nathan felt his eyes begin to water as he fought to not blink either, and then realised he was being ridiculous. ‘Well?’ he prompted, when she didn’t respond.

‘Here? Or at Drayfield?’

‘Whichever you prefer. I don’t mind. I just thought it would be nice to all be together.’

‘We’ve never done Christmas together before.’ Her face and voice were equally expressionless; he had no idea what she was thinking.

‘Yeah, it’d be a change. But wouldn’t it be nice? Especially this year, with things having been so difficult…’

‘What things?’ She was instantly defensive, resentful.

‘Oh, come on.’

‘No, really. What things?’

‘Your mother dying. Lily being seriously ill and being forced into taking a sabbatical. Richard losing his job. Are any of these things a good enough excuse?’

He saw her soften slightly, and realised she’d thought he’d been talking about their relationship. ‘Oh,’ was all she said. Her voice was quiet, childlike. He knew she couldn’t think of anything to say.

‘It’s been a tough few months. Don’t you think it would be nice to end the year on a good note? And the boys would love it.’

Connie nodded. ‘You’re right. I’ll talk to Lily and Richard about it.’

‘Yeah?’

She smiled. ‘Yeah.’

Dr Mervyn had met up with Lily once a week since she had returned to school after Christmas. The other students watched her go, assessing, deciding for themselves what it meant. She felt their thoughts, directed at the slump of her shoulders.

When she had first started seeing the doctor, they’d rarely spoken. He’d explained that he knew as much as anyone else about her history, and didn’t need to know more, unless she cared to share it; that he understood that she chose not to speak, rather than being physically unable to, and therefore felt no particular need to pressure her into it; and that she should use her time with him in the most productive way she could think of. She mostly did homework, or drew pictures of whatever was outside the window.

Over time, they’d started speaking, just because it was natural to do so if you spent enough time in a room with only one other person. Dr Mervyn didn’t start the conversation, and he didn’t ask open questions. Because of this, she knew he wasn’t trying to trick her. He didn’t engage her in games to try to get her to talk, or treat her as if she were incapable of making her own decisions. Over the course of three months they built up an unconventional, not-quite-doctor-patient relationship, borne mostly out of mutual respect for each other’s privacy.

‘My mama’s been talking about starting to work,’ Lily told him, after she’d spent ten minutes idly doodling on the
pad in front of her. She’d started drawing a bird that was perched on a branch outside, over and over again, but she couldn’t seem to get its head right. Maybe the beak was too big. She frowned, and made adjustments to her latest attempt.

‘Yes? That’s good news.’ Dr Mervyn had been flicking through a book of psychoanalytic theory, as he often did when they were together, but he placed the book on the table when she spoke. Sometimes he read passages to her, though she didn’t understand a great deal.

Lily nodded, and scribbled over the bird. Turned the page, started again.

‘I don’t know if she should.’

Dr Mervyn waited to see if she’d say more. When she didn’t, he said, ‘Don’t you think it’s a sign that she’s feeling happier?’

Lily shrugged. ‘Not really.’

‘I see. Have you mentioned this to your father?’

Lily shook her head. Sketched the outline of the bird, in big strokes, confident. Frustrated. If she lifted the page, she knew, she would be able to trace the indents on the other side of the page with her fingertips, like Braille.

‘Do you think you should?’

‘No.’

Dr Mervyn picked up his book again, flicking through it idly. Still listening, but not waiting-listening. Not expectant-listening.

‘People thought Esmeralda was getting happier,’ Lily said, finally. Quietly. There was a pause while Dr Mervyn thought about this.

‘Did they really, though? From what you’ve told me, they were keeping her in her room, away from other people. That’s not a sign that they thought she was getting better.’

‘They told me she was.’

‘Are you sure?’

Lily looked at him. Confused. No one had ever questioned her recall before.

‘Of course. I remember.’

‘Sometimes we remember things differently from how they actually happened, though. I bet there are things that you and Connie remember differently about being little. It doesn’t mean there’s anything
wrong
with your memory. But, as you get older, you rationalise things, and when you think about things that have happened you sometimes change them by accident, to bring them in line with a more rational view of the world. Maybe you imagine that the doctors told you Esmeralda was getting better, because you can’t understand why they didn’t help her if they knew she was getting worse.’

Lily was quiet for a long time. Her pen hovered above the page, hesitating where it had been sure a moment ago. The as-yet-undrawn bird hesitated too, flickering in and out of tentative existence.

‘What if I don’t remember something at all?’

‘You mean a complete blank?’

Lily nodded.

‘Well, that can mean lots of things. Mostly it happens at times when the brain is under great stress. It means that all our extra blood and adrenaline and so on is sent to the places in the body that need it most, so some of the less essential parts of the brain stop functioning for a short time. As far as the body’s concerned, memory isn’t very important, so that’s one of the first areas that shuts down.’

‘So it doesn’t really mean anything?’

‘Well, it means that you were in an emotionally heightened situation, and that your brain thought you might need to run away.’

‘But it doesn’t mean you’re shutting out anything really bad? Like, um, whatsit –’ she waved her pen around vaguely ‘– that thing you told me about. Repression.’

‘No, not necessarily. There could be all sorts of reasons. Situations where the brain actively hides things from us, like when we repress a memory, aren’t very common at all. It’s much more likely to be a perfectly normal physiological reaction.’

‘Physio…?’

‘Physical. Rather than mental.’

Lily nodded. Lapsed into silence. They sat for a while, contemplating.

‘You know, if it is repression, then sometimes you can prompt yourself to remember,’ Dr Mervyn said. He watched her steadily from behind his notepad. ‘There are things we could do together, if you were interested in trying.’

‘Like what?’

‘Certain exercises. I would present you with things that might trigger something in your memory. It would all be done here,’ he added quickly, seeing the look on her face. ‘I don’t mean re-enactments, or anything like that.’

‘Would we need special sessions?’

‘No, I don’t think so. We should be able to do it in our normal time.’ He paused, giving her a moment to think it over. ‘What do you think? Does it sound like something you might like to pursue?’

She nodded, slowly. ‘I think so.’

‘Great. I’ll draw up some plans, then, and we’ll talk about it in our next session. Does that sound okay to you?’

Her smile was faint, but definitely there. ‘Yeah. It sounds okay.’