In The Garden Of Stones (8 page)

She
feels slightly befuddled when she wakes, curled on the couch in
Alec’s flat, a beam of late afternoon sun warming her feet, the
vision of the garden and its rumpled reserved custodian still with
her, every detail still fresh.

It felt
so real, and she would swear she had actually been there, even
though common sense tells her this cannot possibly be true. She
gets up to make herself a cup of tea and ponder on what she thinks
might be a rational explanation - a phenomenon called lucid
dreaming.

She’d
read somewhere, Wikipedia probably, about how the dreamer is aware
they are dreaming and may experience sounds and smells, maybe even
have an orgasm in their sleep.

The more
she thinks about it, the more plausible it sounds, and could
account for everything that just happened to her.

Grace
jots down her idea on her notepad, and makes the decision to ask Dr
Mal about it at her appointment the next afternoon.

Chapter 7

“
How are you getting on?”

Dr Mal
takes a mouthful of coffee, pulls a face, tips in a spoonful of
sugar and worries it with a spoon.

“
Different brand,” he says by way of explanation. “Budget
cuts. You were saying.”

“
Fine, I think,” Grace says.

“
Problems?”

“
I don’t know. What can you tell me about lucid
dreaming?”

“
A strange topic to start with.”

“
It might be relevant.”

“
Okay.” Mal settles his teaspoon in his saucer. “In lucid
dreaming
the
dreamer may be able to exert some degree of control over their
participation within the dream state, or be able to manipulate
their imaginary experiences in the dream environment. Lucid dreams
can be realistic and vivid, and quite often the dreamer wakes in a
state of confusion, not quite knowing what is real and what isn’t.
Clear?”

Silence.

“
Do you think you might be experiencing
lucid dreams, Grace?”

She
holds her cup with both hands and lets its warmth leach into her
fingers, cold despite the ambient temperature of the room, and
studies the bubbles on the surface of the coffee.

“
Possibly. I don’t know. It’s all very
strange. In fact, it might not be a dream at all.”
She takes a
mouthful of the coffee, holds it, swallows.
“I’m confused, Mal.”

“
Then tell me everything and let me see what we can sort out
for you, okay?”

“
Okay.”

Another
thoughtful sip.

“
This imaginary friend I’m supposed to… make up,” she says.
“What … what would you say if I told you I didn’t have to … because
he was already there … and he made himself known to me
first?”

Mal
raises a quizzical eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“
Yes.”

And
grins. “Then I’d say … tell me more.”

And so
she tells him everything – the stone wall covered in ivy and
brambles, the gate, the garden, the cemetery, the gravestone with
the list of children’s names. And then she describes Colin McLeod,
right down to the hole in the knee of his trousers, and Mal’s
attention on her is rapt, eyes unblinking, mouth hanging open like
an empty sock.

“
Fascinating,” he says, when she’s finished. “Absolutely
fascinating. I never for one minute thought it would work so
well.”

“
So what do you think, because I think it’s a bit creepy?”
she says. “I can see the symbolic associations – the garden
represents life and the cemetery death, and Colin, by forcing me
out of the cemetery is trying to keep me from death. Perhaps he’s
acting as a sort of … guardian? Why he forced me out of the garden
too, and I mean right outside, all the way through the gate, I have
no idea, but I intend to find out.”

Mal puts up a hand. “Now slow down, speedy. You can be
reading things too literally. A garden and a cemetery
can
be just that, a
garden and a cemetery. Mental scene setting, pure and
simple.”

“
But what about Colin himself? I hadn’t got so far as
creating a persona yet, let alone giving him a name. I hadn’t even
decided if I wanted it to be a man or a woman. He just … turned up
and started shouting at me. I was enjoying the peace and quiet and
the sunshine, not thinking about anything, when he appeared out of
nowhere and told me to leave. He wanted rid of me, and quick. He
made it perfectly clear I wasn’t welcome there and I should leave
immediately. Before I knew what was happening he had me by the
elbow and we were on our way back to the gate.”

Mal leans forward in slack jawed fascination, keen to hear
more. “Interesting.” He rubs his brow. “Let’s, for ease of
reference and just for a minute, pretend that you
did
create this Colin.
Why do
you
think he was so keen for you to leave? Why do you think he
got physical with you?”

Grace
takes another sip of her coffee. “I did, hypothetically, just for a
minute, wonder if it was the negative part of my mind telling the
positive side that this talking business was a stupid idea and I
should just dismiss it, walk away and forget about it. Does that
make any sense?”

He nods.
“Yes. I can see that … but?”

“
But having had time to think about it, I’m not so
sure.”

The keen
look is back in his eyes. “Go on.”

“
The one overall impression I did get from him, from Colin,
was … fear. My being there made him very nervous and he was
desperate for me to go away and leave him alone. He was petrified,
I could see it in his eyes, like a frightened rabbit, and when we
shook hands, his were trembling.”

“
And how did it make you feel? Being forced out?”

“
The truth? At first, angry, and then … sad … for
him
.
What does it mean, Mal? It’s been dwelling on my mind since
yesterday and I can’t seem to get past it. Was it a lucid dream or
not?”

He sits
back in his chair. “To be honest, Grace, I have no idea. You seem
to have created a whole new category of … something.”

“
And I bet you’re just tickled to death with the prospect of
writing a paper on this brand new discovery, aren’t
you?”

He
narrows his eyes at her. “You do realise you just said that out
loud, don’t you?”

She
feigns innocence. “Did I? Hmmm.”

A
silence hangs between them during which Mal removes his spectacles,
huffs on one of the lenses, misting it, and then wipes it clean on
a handkerchief taken from his pocket.

“
Here’s what I want you to try and do, Grace.” He refits his
glasses. “I want you to try and go back to the garden, to the
cemetery, try to find Colin again, and this time, try and talk to
him, engage him in conversation. See if you can find out why he’s
there, why he’s sad and frightened and so desperate to be left
alone.”

“
You think it’s important?”

“
It could be.”

“
Because you think that sadness, that fear, is mine?” she
says, the insight becoming clear. “You think this Colin is
reflecting my own feelings back at me, and by talking to him
about
his
fears, I will be addressing my own?”

Dr Mal
smiles. “You’re getting good at this. Yes, that’s exactly what I
think. Hold on a minute. You say you shook hands with
him?”

“
Yes.”

“
Why?”

Grace
shrugs. “I don’t really know. I suppose because it doesn’t hurt to
be polite.”

“
No, but you already told me you can’t stand skin contact
with strangers, in case of cold fish syndrome. What made you think
Colin would be any different?”

“
I didn’t really think about it,” Grace says. “It was a spur
of the moment thing, and at the time I was convinced he wasn’t
real. Besides, if I did make someone up inside my head, I’m not
going to give them the one thing that repels me most, am
I?”

“
So you are coming round to the possibility he
might
be your
creation?”

“
I haven’t decided yet.”

“
And what will you do, if you meet him again, and you
discover he has bad breath and BO? Will you reject him and start
again?”

“
That depends. I never noticed any nasties the first time,
so if I do meet him again, and I can’t make any promises on that
score, and I like him despite any negativities, I can either ignore
them, work around them or, if they are troublesome and get in the
way of progress, work on re-evaluating his attributes and getting
rid of them.”

“
Like rewriting computer code to make the game run better?”
he says. “Changing the parameters to smooth out a
glitch?”

“
Just so.”

“
Do you think that is a good idea? What’s wrong with a few
imperfections?”

“
They go against my … pernicketiness.”

Pause.

“
Here’s something for you to think about,” says Mal. “If the
man is a construct of your imaginings, might his physical faults be
your unconscious way of reflecting different parts of
your
own psyche. His bad
breath becomes representative of, say, your feelings of self
loathing, his BO your own expectation of being rejected. Both
conditions keep other people at a distance.”

“
My own flaws made flesh,” she says, thoughtfully.
“Rewriting my own code to make
him
fresh and sweet smelling? My way of telling myself
that if I make a few changes here and there, even I can be more
acceptable, more –?”

“
Loveable?”

She
snorts. “Like that’s ever going to happen. It’s an interesting
concept.”

“
Something for you to think about and work on for next time,
eh?”

Grace’s
gaze darts to the clock on the wall, standing proud at three
o’clock. “What! No. Time can’t be up already.”

“
I’m afraid it is.”

“
But I have something to tell you … to show you. Can I have
one more minute? Please?”

Mal
glances at his watch, as if it and the clock might differ. “Okay,
but just one. My next patient will be waiting.”

She
hoiks up the sleeve of her sweater to show him the elbow roughly
seized by Colin McLeod, and the four small purple stains in her
pale skin.

“
What do you make of these?” she says.

Mal
gives the marks a cursory glance. “A collection of small bruises?
How did that happen?”

“
Look closer.”

He lifts
his glasses and puts his face close to her arm. “They look like the
marks left when fingertips have been pressed into the
skin.”

“
That’s exactly what they are. Remember I told you Colin had
me by the elbow when he tried to force me to leave?”

“
I thought you meant metaphorically.”

“
No. He actually did grab me. Roughly too, and it hurt,
although he did apologise when I threatened to report him for
assault. Who would I report an imaginary person to by the
way?”

Mal
scrutinises the marks a second time. “You’re saying he did this?
Your imaginary friend made actual physical marks on your skin when
he took hold of you?”

Did
anything ever sound quite so ridiculous?

“
Yes,” she says, and Dr Malcolm Pettit makes a low humming
sound deep in his throat.

And that
sound says it all, the pitch the tone conveying one bland fact – he
doesn’t believe her. Although he does not come out and voice his
accusation, she can tell what he’s thinking - she made the marks
herself, to play for sympathy, to seek more of his time and
attention. Well, she wasn’t going to get it.

“
I’ll see you same time next week, Grace,” he says, dropping
her file onto the coffee table and heading for the door. “You’ve
done really well, made some great inroads.”

He’s
making the effort to sound sincere, encouraging even, yet to
Grace’s ears, the words come across more a polite dismissal, and
she can see the disappointment in his eyes.

They
exchange brief and terse farewells, and in the time it takes for
her to cross the threshold of his office she has already decided -
there may not be another appointment.

She
trudges through the outer office, past the secretary, who bids her
a bright, “Cheerio”, and a young man already on his feet and on his
way into Mal’s office to take her place in the chair by the
window.

Already
withdrawn into her own gloomy despair, Grace notices
neither.

The rhythmic tapping of her heels echoes in the hollow
emptiness of the bland green corridor, and then
tick-tock tick-tocks
as she trots down
two flights of steps to the innocuous wooden door with its peeling
paint. She pushes it open and steps out into the street, heading
for the bus stop.