The Hypnotist's Love Story (49 page)

“Thank you.” Ellen stared at the flowers. They were yellow, like Mary-Kate’s scarf. “I really don’t think there’s anything you can do, although I appreciate—”

“Tell me everything.”

“Pardon?”

“To the extent that you can do so without breaching confidentiality, tell me everything that has happened.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand.”

“I’m a barrister,” said Mary-Kate. “I specialize in defamation law.”

I
dreamed that Lance from the office was sitting next to my hospital bed, together with a pale, red-haired woman I didn’t know.

“No, Lance, I still haven’t watched
The Wire
,” I said, for my own entertainment.

“That’s OK,” he said. It wasn’t a dream. Lance really was sitting next to my bed.

“Are you in a lot of pain?” said the woman. “My cousin broke her pelvis years ago. She said the pain was worse than childbirth.”

“I haven’t experienced childbirth,” I said. Who was this woman?

“Me neither,” she said. “It’s the universal pain benchmark, isn’t it? It’s like you can’t talk about pain unless you’ve experienced childbirth. Although, apparently, passing a kidney stone is worse.”

“We should be taking her mind off the subject of pain,” said Lance.

“I was trying to show empathy,” said the woman. “I always say the wrong thing at hospital visits.” She glanced at me and said, “I’m Kate, by the way, Lance’s wife, if you can’t
place me. We met at last year’s Christmas party.”

“Of course,” I said, although I wasn’t sure I could remember meeting her before. Didn’t I usually find an excuse for not going to the Christmas party?

“We just thought we’d stop by,” said Lance.

“We’re on our way to the movies,” said Kate.

There was silence. I couldn’t think of anything to say. I didn’t understand why they were visiting me.

Then I said, “What movie are you seeing?” at the same time as Lance said, “I’ve got a card from everyone at the office.”

He handed me a white envelope with my name on it.

“And chocolates.” Kate held up a box and waved a hand in front of it like a game show hostess. “And trashy magazines. Oh, and grapes. Very unoriginal.”

I tried to open the card, but I couldn’t seem to manage it, my hands were shaking too much.

“Let me do that,” said Lance gently.

“Would you like a chocolate?” said Kate.

“Maybe later,” I said.

“Do you mind if I have one?”

“Kate,” said Lance.

“Sorry,” she said.

“You can have one,” I said.

I looked at the card Lance had given me and read some of the scribbled messages.

Saskia! No need to throw yourself down the stairs just to get out of the Eastgate project! Get well SOON! Malcolm

Thinking of you, Saskia, will be in to visit soon, Lots of love Nina xx

Dear Saskia, you poor thing! Keep your spirits up! J.D. (I’ll be in with chocolate brownies on Saturday)

“
Is there anything you need us to pick up for you?” said Kate, who was helping herself to a second chocolate. “I remember you saying that your family is in Tasmania, so…” She glanced briefly at Lance as if she was worried she was saying the wrong thing. Lance cleared his throat awkwardly and looked up at the blank television screen next to my bed. Kate kept talking.

“My family is in Brisbane, so I understand what it’s like, you know, other people have sisters and mothers and cousins and whatnot. Really. It’s no trouble.”

I stared at them. At Lance. He had kind, sleepy eyes and big shoulders, as if he worked out. I don’t think I’d ever properly looked at him before. I looked at his wife. She was extremely thin and flat-chested—“gamine” my mother would have called her, with very short hair and big eyes like a woodland creature. She was sitting at a strange angle on the chair, still eating my chocolates. Maybe I did remember talking to her at the Christmas party, about a holiday she’d taken to Cradle Mountain. I’d left the party early to sit outside Patrick’s house in my car. I saw him come home and carry Jack inside, asleep on his shoulder, his head lolling.

I thought of Jack again and his broken arm, and Ellen telling me that I should move away from Sydney, and what would these two nice people visiting me think if they knew what I’d done last night, what I’d been doing for the last three years, and I felt a plummeting sensation.

“It’s a shock, isn’t it, when something like this happens,” said Kate. “Your life is going along one way, and then, wham, you get thrown a curveball.” She jerked her head to demonstrate herself avoiding a curveball and half the chocolates went flying from the open box on her lap.

“Kate,” said Lance. He crouched down to pick up the chocolates.

“Oops,” said Kate.

“I’m not…” I was trying to say: You don’t understand. You think I’m a normal person like you, but I’m not.

The words dried up. It was as if my entire personality had disintegrated. I was still breathing, my heart was still beating, but I was no longer here.
The brisk professional Saskia that Lance had known, and the crazy Saskia that Patrick had known, had both vanished. I had no idea what sort of person I was: funny or serious, quiet or loud. If I stopped wanting Patrick, what did I want? What was I interested in? Did I exist at all? These two odd, sweet people were looking at me as if I did exist, but my very existence seemed questionable.

“Boogie boarding,” I said suddenly.

“Oh, yes,” said Kate amiably, as if that was a perfectly normal thing to say out of the blue.

“I thought Nina said you fell down a flight of stairs.” Lance frowned. “She said you were walking in your sleep.”

I had no memory of telling Nina that, but it was logical.

“Boogie boarding is an interest of mine,” I said, and then I thought, Did I just say that out loud?

“
Me too!” said Kate. “Well, not that I’ve ever actually
been
boogie boarding, but I’d like to try it, or, well, to be accurate, I’d really like to try proper surfing, on a proper surfboard. I’ve been meaning to have lessons.”

Lance snorted and Kate slapped him on the arm and looked at me brightly.

“Looks like they’ve got you on some pretty good painkillers, have they then, Saskia?” said Lance.

“Don’t be rude,” said Kate. “She’s making perfect sense.”

“I didn’t say she wasn’t,” said Lance.

“Whose phone is that?” said Kate.

I recognized the sound of my mobile phone. Kate lifted up my leather bag. “Should I answer it?”

I looked at the bag. How was it possible that I still had my bag? After all that had happened? For some reason it struck me as amusing that I still had my bag. I laughed out loud.

“I really want some of what you’re having,” said Lance.

“I’ll answer it.” Kate burrowed in my bag and pulled out the phone.

“She didn’t
say she wanted it answered,” said Lance.

“Saskia’s phone!” Kate stood up and walked away from the hospital bed with my phone pressed to her ear. I heard her say, “Well, yes, she is here, but, now don’t worry, she’s
fine
, it’s just that she’s actually in the hospital at the moment.”

“Sorry,” said Lance. “Kate can be a bit…” He shrugged, unable to find the right word to describe his wife. “Sure you don’t want a chocolate?”

“All right,” I said. I took a chocolate and watched Kate chatting animatedly. A few minutes later she came back and put the phone next to my bedside table.

“That was your friend Tammy,” she said. “You were meant to be meeting her for a drink tonight? Anyway, she’s on her way here. I gave her directions.”

“We should get going.” Lance slapped his hands to his knees and half rose from his chair. “We don’t want to tire you out, Saskia.”

“I guess we should.” Kate looked at her watch. “Although we’ve got plenty of time. We could wait until Tammy gets here if you want the company, Saskia?”

I had every intention of saying something like, Oh, you’d better not miss your movie, but the words that came out of my mouth were, “Please stay.”

“Of course,” said Lance and Kate at the same time.

It was early evening and Ellen’s house was unexpectedly full of people.

Patrick’s parents and brother had come over to sign Jack’s cast and give him get-well gifts and, to Ellen’s mild irritation, although she couldn’t explain why, so had her own mother. Anne had given Jack the book of
Guinness World Records
, which had proved to be a huge hit.

They were all crammed around Ellen’s dining room table eating sausages that Patrick had cooked on the barbecue. Patrick had come back
from the police station in a better frame of mind. The police had praised him for his Stalking Incident Log: a ring folder full of meticulously kept records of Saskia’s actions over the last three years, including printouts of e-mails, letters and descriptions of “incidents.” (Ellen had flipped through it, marveling at Patrick’s terse comments: “12:30 a.m., 27 July:
S banged on front door, demanding entry, ignoring repeated requests to leave
.”) Patrick had been told that an interim Apprehended Violence Order would be issued and that Saskia would be given the option to appear in court to contest it. She would also most likely be charged with trespass. It seemed that this time, whoever had been on the desk at Patrick’s local police station had given Patrick exactly the right level of respectful, authoritative sympathy. He was no longer seething. He had the look of a man who was finally about to be vindicated after a long fight for justice.

Ellen had her mobile phone on the sideboard within hearing distance. She was waiting for a phone call from Mary-Kate, who was going to try to get the newspaper article stopped. Ellen wasn’t holding out much hope. It seemed highly unlikely that Mary-Kate—stodgy, morose Mary-Kate—would be able to take on someone as powerful and shiny-toothed as Ian Roman.

“I’m not making any promises,” Mary-Kate had said, after she’d listened to Ellen’s story, using a small leather notebook to take down cursory, decisive notes. “But as soon as I leave here, I’ll file for an interlocutory injunction. There’s not a chance in hell we’ll get one—the courtshave this thing about freedom ofspeech, so you basically can’t ever get one—butI’m aiming to convince the
Daily News
’s lawyers thatwe will. It’s clear the story’s motivated bymaliceand sounds like it’d
really
flush your reputation down the toilet. But anyway, I’ll go in tough.”

“I thought you were a legal secretary,” said Ellen faintly.

“Nope,” said Mary-Kate, most unbarrister-ish.

A memory resurfaced now of Mary-Kate saying she worked in the “legal profession.” Ellen had just assumed she was a legal secretary. Would she
have been more patient and respectful with Mary-Kate if she’d known she was dealing with a barrister? Shamefully, the answer was yes.

“Do you know the world record for the most broken bones?” said Jack now. He had the
Guinness World Records
book open on the table next to him and was turning the pages while he ate. He didn’t wait for anyone to answer.

“Thirty-five! Some dude called Evel Knievel.”

“Really! I didn’t think we had that many bones!” said Maureen. She was acting particularly interested in the book to show that she didn’t mind that Jack had put aside her gift for Anne’s.

“We’ve actually got two hundred and six bones,” said Anne.

“Well, fancy that!” Maureen smiled fiercely.

“Babies have around three hundred bones. They fuse together as they grow,” said Anne.

“It must have been wonderful bringing up a child with your medical expertise,” said Maureen. “I was always bundling them into the car to take them off to the doctor and then feeling like a fool when there was nothing wrong.”

Please don’t be condescending, Mum, thought Ellen.

“Actually, I think it made it worse.” To Ellen’s relief, the smile Anne gave Maureen had only minimal queenliness. “I knew everything that could go wrong. Every temperature meant certain death.”

“Speaking of temperatures,” said Patrick’s father, “well, not temperatures so much, but
aches
, I’ve had this really strange ache in my—”

“Dad,” said Patrick.

“George refuses to make an appointment to see a doctor,” said Maureen, “but whenever he meets one he starts telling him about his medical problems.”

“I just thought she’d find it interesting,” said George.

“Would you find it interesting if people started talking to you about their electrical problems?” said Maureen.

“I certainly would,” said George. “Blown any fuses lately, Anne?”

“So,
anyway
, it must have been nice for you, Ellen, growing up with a mother who was a doctor,” said Maureen.

“Mum,” said Patrick.

“What?”

Patrick shrugged and took a bite of his sausage sandwich.

“She was always sort of cranky with me when I got sick,” said Ellen.

“Our mum was exactly the same!” spoke up Patrick’s brother. “The angriest I have ever seen Mum was the time I got knocked out by a cricket ball. I come to, and the first thing I see is Mum, and she’s yelling, ‘
Simon! Wake up this minute!
’”