The White Room (43 page)

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Authors: Martyn Waites

BOOK: The White Room

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âHere,' she said.

Mae looked puzzled. âWhat?'

âThis is supposed to be our last session today. I got this for you.'

Mae opened the wrapped package. It was a Biba headscarf, dirty pink.

âJust like mine,' said Joanne. âI know you liked it. Well, now you've got your own.'

Mae looked at it, nodded. âThat's not fair,' she said. âYou know I can't get you anythin'.'

âI don't want anything, Mae. I've really enjoyed working with you. I just wanted you to have it, that's all.'

Mae nodded again, slid the scarf off the table into her pocket. She was trying hard not to cry, Joanne knew that. Joanne also knew that Mae regarded crying as a sign of weakness. She pretended not to notice.

âRight,' she said. âLet's get going.'

Mae smiled, excited.

âRight,' said Joanne. âLet's get started. I want you to imagine a room. A sealed white room. Can you think of one?'

Mae said nothing. She sat perfectly still, rigid.

âMae?' Joanne leaned across the table. âMae, are you all right?'

Mae was shaking.

Joanne looked quickly around, trying to find someone to help. No one was near. âMae?'

âYou want three words?' Her voice was shaking as much as her body. âI'll give you three words. Suffering. Pain. And â¦ andâ'

Her mouth moved quickly, as if speaking a silent litany, as if auditioning and rejecting words before settling on one she could say. That she was brave enough to put in her mouth and speak aloud.

ââhope â¦'

Her voice trembled. Tears freely cascaded down her cheeks.

Joanne moved around the table, arms ready to comfort her.

âDon't touch me â¦ don't touch me â¦' Mae sprang back, recoiled from Joanne.

Mae's eyes locked with Joanne's. Mae seemed to be standing on a precipice of words, wanting to tip them over, waiting for the right time. The right person to unload them on to.

Mae snatched a sheet of paper, picked up her brush, started painting.

She worked in a frenzy, eyes locked on the paper, seeing shapes and colours, looking beyond them. Pulling something out of herself, dredging it up and spewing it out. Almost attacking the paper with paint. Grunting and huffing, lips moving in a silent, mumbled running commentary that only her own ears could hear. And the speed: Joanne had seen nothing like it. She was fascinated by the girl.

Joanne couldn't make out the image that was being created. She tried to guess but after a while gave up. Her guesses would be nowhere near.

âFinished,' said Mae eventually. She sat back in her chair, sweat beading her forehead. She looked exhausted, visibly shaken.

Joanne turned the wet sheet of paper around, looked at it. She couldn't hide her surprise.

Jesus crucified on the cross. His face twisted. Against a white background. Shadows forming at the corners.

âWhat d'you think?' Mae's voice again small.

âIt's â¦'

âNot what you were expectin'?'

âTo be honest Mae, no. I didn't know you were religious.' Mae gave a harsh laugh. âI'm not that stupid.'

âThen why this?'

âBecause â¦ Jesus died. He was made to suffer. And then he died. And came back. He came back â¦' Mae's voice trailed off.

Jung's fourth question: a white room.

The white room: how the subject sees death.

Joanne nodded.

âComin' back from death, that means hope, yeah?'

Joanne nodded. âYes, Mae, it does.'

They both stood there in silence, staring at the picture.

âAre you going to tell me what they all mean?' said Mae. âWhat I've been painting?'

âI said I would. I'll pass the results on to your therapist. She'llâ'

âI only want to work with you.'

âWhy?'

âI trust you. An' you've suffered an' all.'

Joanne nodded. âWe'll work something out.'

Mae looked at her painting again.

âThere's sufferin' there,' she said. âBut hope. Hope.'

Joanne nodded. She thought of Jack. Wondered what his three words would have been. Wondered what things he would have painted.

Mae began crying again. Joanne went to put her arms around her, comfort her. She didn't rebuff her this time.

Joanne stood, holding the weeping girl in her arms.

Suffering, she had said. But hope.

Hope.

For the future.

Joanne held on tight. Not letting her go.

Acknowledgements

This has been a difficult book to write. Inspired by real people, real events and set in real locations, when you're dealing with a past that is still pretty fresh in certain people's minds, it's a thin line to walk between giving offence to the survivors, being libellous to the innocent bystanders and being obliged to tell the truth as the writer sees it. But it is fiction. I've just reimagined everything to suit my story and myself and that includes dates, places and events. All the main characters (with the exception of the late T. Dan Smith) are entirely fictional.

People who assisted in one way or another: Deb Howe, Councillor Nick Kemp, Councillor Joe Hattam, Pat McCarthy of Amber Films and Dave Douglass.

Reference books:
Newcastle Upon Tyne, a Modern History
edited by Robert Colls and Bill Lancaster;
Geordies Wa Mental,
Dave Douglass; T. Dan Smith's Autobiography;
Cries Unheard
by Gitta Sereny. Also two photo collections:
Scotswood Road
by Jimmy Forsyth;
Byker
by Sirkka-Liisa Konttinen.

My editorial team: Kate Lyall Grant at Simon & Schuster, Caroline Montgomery at Rupert Crew and my wife Linda.

And just in case you were wondering, the Jungian archetypes in the last chapter is an established psychological test.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

cover design by Katherine Lynch

This edition published in 2011 by
MysteriousPress.com
/Open Road Integrated Media

180 Varick Street

New York, NY 10014

www.openroadmedia.com