The Woods, page 11
Everyone’s looking at me as I hunch over, arms wrapped around myself. My nerves are taking their minds off whatever brings them here and I can’t get angry with them because I do the same when I’m in the doctor’s waiting room. Who doesn’t? The ten-year-old magazines, gray carpet, gray chairs, the smell of antiseptic and the sounds of sniffing and coughing—what else are you going to do to kill the time? The yellow man with the shakes, the sneezing, coughing, wailing kids—easy-peasy. But the ghost-pale woman in the corner staring straight ahead? Less easy to diagnose. Oh no, wait. That’s me, reflected in the window. Foot still bouncing, ready to take off for space, then a buzz and my name is called. I take a deep breath and get up.
The doctor has a bald spot, shiny and red. It reminds me of someone, a fleeting memory that’s there and gone before I can catch it. I can’t help but notice it because he stays bent over the keyboard he’s tapping away on even when I come in and sit down. Maybe he’ll notice I’m here if I reach over and rub it, Aladdin style.
“I’m having trouble sleeping,” I say weakly when he finally looks up. I see his gaze slip away from me, to his computer. He’ll look me up now to check that I’m not an addict looking for a prescriptive fix. He’ll give me some pills to help me sleep and send me away. I have to try again.
“It’s more than that. More than insomnia. I’m sleepwalking and…and I’m seeing things.”
That gets his attention. “You’re seeing things? Spots? Floating black spots in front of your eyes? Flashes? Prisms?” He’s getting out that light thing, ready to shine in my eyes, ready to look into my brain for some physical thing to hack off, burn out, drown in pills.
I shake my head. “No—real things. Well, not real. I think I’m hallucinating and talking to…a person. My sister.”
“You’re seeing your sister?”
A gurgle of laughter escapes, almost a snort. What am I doing here? “Yes. I saw my sister last week. In the middle of the night. And I haven’t slept properly since.”
“And you think it was a hallucination?”
“My sister’s dead. She died ten years ago. So yes, I think it was a hallucination.”
He frowns, taps something into his computer. “What was she doing?”
I laugh again, clamp my hand over my mouth to try to stop it coming out. What was she doing? That’s what he’s asking? The doctor looks flustered now, out of his depth. What can he prescribe for this?
“I haven’t been sleeping,” I say again. “I’ve been under a lot of stress at work. And there’s a serious illness in the family. But these dreams or hallucinations or whatever they are—they’re so real. So vivid. More than a dream.”
“Hallucinations, though—that’s fairly extreme. I think I need to refer you on. I’ll organize some tests for you; blood tests, a CT scan. And I’ll arrange for you to see a consultant.”
I shake my head again, reach over, and put my hand over his to stop him from typing in whatever he’s typing. He snatches his hand away like I’ve got something contagious. I think I’ve crossed a doctor–patient line.
“I’m sorry. Sorry. But…do you think it could it be real? No. That’s not what I mean. I know it’s not real. But there are so many things from when she died that I don’t remember. Do you think the strain I’m under could be unleashing some repressed memories?”
He’s frowning and there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Miss Cooper. Tess—this is something we have to treat. If you’re hallucinating…it could be a symptom of something else, beyond the insomnia. Repressed memories? I don’t know, but nothing said to you by a hallucination can be real. And if you’re at the stage where you believe that it is…” He pauses but he doesn’t really need to finish. I’ve just heard myself and I sound crazy. Full-on, bat-shit crazy. He pushes a prescription and a letter across the desk to me. “The prescription should help with the sleep issues and you may find the problem…disappears if you sleep. But I’ve also put in a request for a consultation for you. To rule out any physical issues first and foremost. If nothing comes from that, we can look at a psychiatric evaluation.”
“Forget it,” I say, jumping up, swaying as I go momentarily dizzy. “Forget it—all of it. I don’t need drugs or psychiatric help. It’s probably just really vivid dreams, right? I’m sure it happens all the time.”
The doctor calls after me as I leave, clutching the prescription and referral letter. My cheeks are burning and heart thudding as I hurry away. Damn it—I do not need a psychiatric evaluation, or a bloody CT scan. I’ll take the pills if that’s what I need to sleep while I’m back home. It’s just being back there, isn’t it? The fragments of memory, the dreams, the sleepwalking, it’ll all go away when I leave, won’t it?
I pause on the corner, waiting for the pedestrian light to turn green. But if they really are memories, if being back there with everyone is finally causing me to remember—do I really want it to go away?
Sophie is already in the pub, two ridiculous cocktails in front of her, complete with paper umbrellas. It soothes me seeing her and I go over with a smile.
“Maeve? Maeve Larson, super detective?”
She turns and grins at me, getting up to give me a hug. “Isn’t that you on your undercover case to solve the crime?” She winces. “Sorry. That came out wrong. I didn’t mean…”
“Oh don’t. Don’t be daft—just pass me a bucket of alcohol. I have had one hell of a day.”
“Ah. The meeting.”
“Yep. That’s it. Teaching career well and truly over.”
“Shit.”
I don’t want to tell her about my run-in with Rebecca’s father. Or my visit to the doctor, or the box of sleeping pills now sitting in my bag. It’ll make her worry. Even more than she’s obviously worrying now.
“Soph, it’s okay. Not how I would have chosen to go, but at least…well, at least I can have a shot at finding something I really want to do now, right?” I pull a face and take a huge swig of the too-sweet cocktail. “So long as it isn’t anything that requires references.”
“Well, cheers to the future career of the indomitable Miss Tess Cooper,” she says, clinking her glass against mine.
“Listen, I hope you don’t mind, but Max gave me a lift back, so I asked him to join us.”
“Ooh, the heartthrob? The lost love of your life?”
“I wish I’d never told you about him.”
She laughs. “I promise not to reveal all the details of the crush you told me about.”
“Good,” I say, looking at the door. “Because he’s just walked in, so behave.”
He’s wearing a suit and as he walks across the pub I realize he looks like all the other city boys crowding the bar downing pints. And such a contrast to me and Sophie, both in jeans. It strikes me as a bit odd—I mean, I know he said he was calling into work, but why not change into something more casual to meet us? Unless he plans to take me somewhere suit-worthy for dinner. I hope not—I want to be somewhere I can kick my shoes off, lean back, and eat comfort food. I look at Sophie. She’s forever mocking the city boys—I don’t want her to see Max as one of them.
“Hey, Tess,” Max says with a big smile. “And you must be Sophie? Can I get you both a drink?”
It’ll be fine, I tell myself as he comes back over with a tray of drinks. He’s Max.
“Well?” I say, leaning in toward Sophie as soon as Max leaves to find the men’s room.
“He’s certainly good-looking,” she says.
I wince. “You don’t like him.”
“It’s not that. What’s not to like? He’s charming, attentive, tells good jokes…”
“But?”
“It’s not really a but. It’s just…I don’t know. He’s almost too charming. Like it’s an act. I’m sorry—I’m being a cow, aren’t I? He’s probably being his most charming self to impress me and I’m being a right surly bitch.” She sighs. “He just seems so different from the person I thought you’d end up with. He’s so ambitious and…and…well groomed.”
I snort with laughter and spit some of my drink out, spraying her with strawberry daiquiri.
“Oh, nice, Cooper. Very nice,” she says, wiping her face with a napkin.
“Sorry, but—he’s too well groomed?”
She grins. “You know what I mean. He’s so smooth and slick. You like gardening and running, your wardrobe runs to jeans and Lycra. But I guess opposites attract and you can’t listen to me when I’ve only known him for the time it takes to down three strawberry daiquiris.”
Opposites? I never used to think of us as opposites.
“But seriously,” Sophie says, touching my hand. “If he’s the one good thing that comes out of such an awful time, then I’m all for it.”
She smiles up at Max when he returns and reaches for her coat. “Well, guys, I’m off. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” She winks at me as she says it and dissolves into laughter as I shove her hard on the shoulder.
“So where do you want to eat?” Max asks after we’ve waved Sophie off in a taxi. “I saw a nice Italian place on my way here.”
I’m hit with a wave of exhaustion. Three cocktails on no sleep was probably not a good idea. “Would you mind if we just went back to my place? I can cook something, or order takeout.”
He hesitates, then smiles. “Sure. No problem. Lead the way, Hardy-girl.”
“This is it—not much to see. Kitchen and living room—bathroom through there. And my room.”
It’s hardly a tour—I can stand in one spot and see every room in my flat, but it’s mine and it’s safe. Quiet. I always used to be able to sleep here. Max wanders round, looking at the kitchenette with its shiny cream units, the big brown sofa that doubles as a bed for guests. I want him to see past the bland rented flat furniture and see the things that are me: the shelf I’ve put up in the kitchen with all my vintage teacups, the books, the ornaments. Nothing valuable, but each one treasured. But his eyes skip past the shelf and the battered leather chair that sits next to the plain sofa. Does he notice the turquoise cushion with the pink and orange pompoms that sits proudly against the brown leather? I hadn’t noticed how much in the corners and shadows I’ve placed these pieces of me. Shy, hidden expressions of personality. They look hesitant; they look staged.
The bathroom’s probably most obviously me, with every surface crowded with bottles of bubble bath and lotions and potions. I can’t remember if I’ve picked all the clothes up off the floor, so I don’t open my bedroom door.
“Wow,” he says, staring down at my flashing answering machine. “You have a lot of messages.”
I feel a sick thud. They’ll all be from the school.
“I’ll listen to them later,” I say, turning my back on the blinking light. After all, the deed is done—doesn’t matter if I listen to them or not, now, does it?
“You don’t have any plants,” Max says, looking around.
“No, I don’t like houseplants. I like plants to live outdoors.”
“I never imagined you living somewhere without some kind of garden.”
“Can’t afford a house or even a garden flat on a teacher’s salary.”
“Not here, no. But then, I never imagined you living in the city, either. You were always a country girl.”
“Were being the operative word there. You haven’t seen me in ten years. I was sixteen then, a kid. So were you.”
“Didn’t expect you to have changed that much, though.”
“Oh eff off, Max. Stop being so sanctimonious. God, so I’m a teacher in a flat, so what? I’m not a goddamn crack dealer, am I?”
He laughs and he’s Max again. “Sorry—sorry, Tess. I’m being an ass, I know I am. It’s weird, that’s all. It’s been so long, and I guess I was expecting you to still have dirt under your fingernails and leaves in your hair.”
He means it to be light-hearted, but I see dead Bella in his words, dirt under her nails, leaves and blood in her hair. Didn’t he tell me how much I looked like her now?
“I haven’t changed that much—look.” I lean past him and unlock the glass door to my small balcony; it’s the reason I took this flat—my outdoor space, my garden. It’s full of color—big pots of green and purple, a tall shrub in burgundy red. I have window boxes of herbs and just about enough room for one wrought-iron chair among it all.
Max laughs again, a bigger, happier laugh. “Your secret garden in miniature,” he says, and I nod. Yes, that’s it. All mine, hidden away four floors up.
“Why don’t you sit out here while I go and see what I can cobble together to eat?”
I bring him a beer and leave him sitting in my secret garden, half-hidden among the plants, looking out over the city. I go into the bedroom and am hit with a wave of tiredness so powerful I sway like it’s a real wave. I sit on the bed, then sink back onto the pillows. Just five minutes, that’s all. I just need five minutes…
“Tess?”
I can hear someone calling me but I ignore the voice because I’m looking for Bella. It’s dark here and I can’t see but I know she’s here and she has something to tell me, something important. I just have to keep looking…
“Tess.”
My eyes fly open. Max is bending over me, shaking my shoulder. I blink away sleep—I was asleep. Actually asleep. I look over at the clock—eight thirty. I only slept for an hour, but I still slept.
He smiles down at me. “I was wondering what happened to you.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice sounding slurred and drugged. “I haven’t been sleeping…”
“It’s not surprising,” he says, sitting on the bed, trailing his hand down my arm. “With everything that’s going on with Julia.”
I shake my head. “It’s not just that. I’ve been having dreams. About Bella.” I can tell Max, can’t I? He was there, he’ll understand the turmoil in my head.
His fingers stop their slow stroking.
“I think I’m starting to remember things. I thought I was just having really vivid dreams, but I think they might be memories. And I saw Bella, like, so vividly. I know it’s not real, but…she said her death wasn’t an accident.”
“What? The inquest…”
I sit up. “I know what the inquest said. But I didn’t want to believe it then and maybe I was right not to. I’m remembering other things too, fragments from the night of the wedding.”
He’s frowning down at me, no sign of his beautiful crooked smile, and I wish I hadn’t said anything. I don’t want him looking at me with the same wariness the doctor did, like I’m off my rocker. I reach up and impulsively kiss him. I think he’s going to move away, then he kisses me back and, instead of pulling away, he sinks down on me, onto the bed, and I’m no longer tired, not one little bit. My heart is pounding as he pauses and looks at me.
“Tess—are you sure?”
I remember the first time I saw Max, when Julia brought him for a visit. He came in last and I think I loved him right away in the way only fourteen-year-olds can fall in love—full, instantly, from head to toe, of shivery, pulse-racing love for a lanky teenage boy with brown hair and a crooked smile. I loved him without pause for two more years until the day of the wedding when, for the first time, I thought he might love me back and I think we almost kissed. Almost. I probably would have exploded if we had. Just plain exploded from all that bottled-up love. But we didn’t kiss. Bella died instead and I didn’t see him anymore. And not once, in all the years since, have I ever felt that soaring love for anyone else. So am I sure?
I pull him back toward me and reach for the buttons on his shirt.
When I wake up, Max’s arm lies heavy across my belly. I lift it off and look over at the clock again. My stomach rumbles. We never did have dinner. The pizza we ended up ordering is congealing in the kitchen. It’s nearly five in the morning. I slept again, this time for nearly six hours. With that and the hour earlier, it’s more than I’ve slept in days. But I’m wide awake now and I know my sleep’s over for the night.
I could lie here for the rest of the night next to Max and watch him sleep, the culmination of all those dreams when I was fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…But my leg twitches and I’m already getting restless. The sex was awkward, self-conscious. We weren’t comfortable together, it was clumsy and…I wanted to stop and I think he did too. He turned his back as soon as it was over, pretending to sleep. I know he was pretending by the tension in his shoulders, the unevenness of his breathing. It was sex by numbers and when I close my eyes, I mourn for the daydreams all shattered in thirty sweaty minutes. I need to get out. There’s an all-night grocery a couple of streets away. I’ll go and get bread and milk, attempt to make the morning after less awkward.
I hesitate when I step outside the building, looking into the patches of darkness between the street lights, half-expecting Sean or Jack to be hiding there. Silly—they don’t know where I live. They haven’t sought me out in ten years; there’s no reason they would now. It’s being back there. It’s spooked me. I should feel reassured being back here, in my safe place, my safe new life. I’ve made drunken late-night forays to the grocery before, seeking snacks after a night out with Sophie and the others. But at five o’clock in the morning, the streets are empty, the roads quiet. It’s as quiet as back home, where the woods haunt me. I hesitate before striding out, head down, taking a route that’s lit all the way.
“Where the hell have you been?”
“What?” I look at the clock—it’s five thirty. What’s he doing awake? He’s standing in the kitchen, shirtless, bare chest shining pale under the fluorescent light. I look away. All those years of me dreaming about having Max in my home, half-naked, but in this brightly lit reality I just want to throw a T-shirt at him and make him cover up.
“I woke up and you weren’t there. When you didn’t come back, I got up and you were nowhere. Where the hell have you been?”
