Pieces of My Heart (33 page)

‘OK, babe, I get it.’

I peeped out to see Bobby giving Sarah a hug. I was so glad she had him – especially now when she needed someone to lean on. He was very good to her and put up with all her bossiness. Paul and I were so distracted with Ali that Sarah was getting left out. I was going to make damn sure we were in the front row of the audience at the play, clapping loudly so she’d see how proud we were of her.

37

On Saturday morning at nine forty-five Paul, Sarah and I went to the clinic for our family session. Paul and I were really nervous while Sarah was as cool as a breeze.

When we drove up the drive, she whistled. ‘Hello! This is amazing. It’s like a really posh house that Prince William or someone would live in. I thought it was going to be grey and depressing like a mental institution. I wouldn’t mind staying here myself.’

‘It’s not half as nice inside,’ I said.

‘Well, it’s pretty fancy on the outside.’

As we walked towards Reception, we saw a very large girl going for a walk with a nurse.

‘Ohmigod – is that what happens when you get better? Do you turn into a big lump of lard?’ Sarah asked.

‘Keep your voice down,’ I hissed. ‘Some of the people in here have overeating problems.’

‘They shouldn’t put the fatties in with the sticks. It’d hardly make you want to eat if you saw those ten chins staring you in the face,’ she whispered. ‘I presume they have to be in a different section or there’d be no food left for the anorexics.’

Thankfully, before she could voice any more opinions, Mary Boland came to meet us. She showed us to a small room with five chairs set up in a circle.

‘Welcome, everyone, and thank you for coming. Now I know you’re all probably nervous. This is a very important meeting. Alison is putting on weight, which is positive, but the nurses and I feel that we still haven’t broken through to her. She’s gaining weight simply because she is unable to exercise and is eating small amounts of food regularly. She’s a very fragile, sensitive girl, who is struggling with life. Alison needs to build trust in the world before she can give up control of food and we need to build her self-esteem. She needs to value herself as a person. She needs to figure out who she is and what her place is in the world. She is a very lost soul at the moment.

‘In today’s session she must be allowed talk through her feelings and you must be prepared for her to be very angry. She’s angry with the world, with you, with herself, with the situation she is in, and she’s frightened of eating and letting go of the only thing she can control. She is absolutely terrified to give in and eat because then the feelings and emotions she has suppressed with hunger will come flooding back. Whatever happens today, try not to take anything she says personally.’

‘That’s easy for you to say. You’re not on the receiving end of it,’ Sarah said.

‘I know this is difficult for you, but you must be patient. Recovery is a long and slow process. It will be very much one step forward and two steps back. It’s important for you to vent your frustration before you see Alison so that you can be as calm as possible with her,’ Mary warned us.

‘Whatever we say, it’s always the wrong thing. I’m terrified of saying something that’ll make her worse. I feel as though I’m letting her down by not bringing her home like she begs me to every time I call,’ I admitted, trying not to cry.

Mary nodded. ‘These feelings are completely normal. All parents are afraid of saying the wrong thing. What’s important is for you to look her in the eye and keep asking her how she feels. Ask her things like “How do you feel when you control the food? Does it make you feel better? Can you tell us why you’re angry?” Plan what you’re going to say to her so that it doesn’t come out the wrong way. Allow yourself to be comfortable with gaps in the conversation. They can be positive, not negative. Maybe you could paraphrase what she says to you to show her you understand. That will encourage her to say more.’

‘Easier said than done,’ Paul interrupted. ‘You can’t have a conversation with someone who refuses to speak to you. She won’t talk to me when I call. I can’t get through to her.’

‘Sometimes when conversation proves difficult, we suggest the parent writes a letter expressing how they feel. Tell her how much you want her to get better and how much you love and value her and how you want to help her in any way you can.’

‘I suppose that’s an idea,’ Paul said.

‘You must remember that recovery is going to take a lot of courage and energy on Alison’s part. Eating is torture for her.’

‘And watching her not eat is torture for us,’ I commented.

‘I understand this is a very trying time for all of you. Now, why don’t we bring Alison in and have a chat?’

Ali was wheeled into the room. Paul and I went over to kiss her while Sarah waved from her chair.

‘Welcome, everyone,’ Mary said. ‘What I’m hoping to achieve today is an open and honest conversation about how you’re all feeling and to try to come up with some steps and plans to get Alison back on her feet. The key today is to listen without judgement. I need everyone to remember that. There may be some anger and some frustration, but we must be patient and non-judgemental. We are all here for a common goal – to help Alison get better.’

Paul and I nodded eagerly, Ali looked at the floor and Sarah yawned.

‘Now, can you tell me a little about Alison’s childhood?’ Mary asked us.

‘She had a very happy childhood,’ Paul said. ‘Before all of this started, she was a perfect child – bright, kind, considerate, happy. She’s never given us a day’s trouble. Always a straight-A student, never had any problems at school, just a really great daughter.’

‘She had a very normal childhood,’ I added. ‘She always seemed, as Paul said, very happy and content. We’re just a regular family. Nothing strange or unusual went on.’

‘Except the shooting,’ Mary reminded me.

‘Oh, God, yes, except the shooting, which I think, in hindsight, we mishandled. We should have been honest with the girls and not tried to protect them. We thought we were doing the right thing. They were so young and I was worried they’d be traumatized, but I can see now that it was the wrong way to deal with it. I fully admit that we messed up there and I feel awful about it.’

‘How do you feel about that, Alison?’ Mary asked my daughter.

Ali said nothing.

‘Come on, Alison, don’t bottle your emotions up. It’s all right to be angry. Whatever you’re feeling, let it out.’

Ali’s head snapped up and she stared at Mary, eyes blazing. ‘I’M RAGING!’ she shouted. ‘I’m pissed off that my parents made up that stupid story about Dad having appendicitis when everyone knew he’d been shot. Why couldn’t they tell me the truth? Why couldn’t they talk to me about it? Why did I have to live with this ridiculous lie in the house? I was never able to say I was scared. I was terrified the man would come back and shoot us all. I only found out he went to prison when I eavesdropped on their conversation. No child should be shut out and lied to like that. They didn’t protect me, they stifled me. They made me suppress how I felt. They stunted me. But I had to play their game. They were trying to pretend they weren’t upset. When I found Mum crying, she’d say she had something in her eye. LIES, LIES, LIES. I was desperate for someone to reassure me, to hug me and tell me it was all right. I was nine, for God’s sake. Instead I was constantly hugging my parents and trying to make them smile again by being the best child I could be. I was consoling them! It’s ridiculous. I tried talking to Sarah about it, but she wasn’t even eight and whenever I brought it up, she’d just say, “Who cares?” ’

Paul and I looked at each other in shock. We’d never seen Ali like this before. She was shaking with pure fury. It was like looking at a stranger.

‘I’m sorry, pet. I didn’t want you to be frightened so I said Dad had his appendix out. I can see now it was silly. I’m sorry you were scared and had no one to talk to. I wish I’d done things differently. I had no idea you knew – it must have been awful for you.’

‘I’m sorry too, Ali. We wanted to protect you. We thought we were doing the right thing,’ Paul added.

‘Well, you didn’t protect me. You made it a million times worse. I felt so alone. I had no one to talk to,’ she fumed.

‘Excuse me,’ Sarah said, sitting up straight. ‘I’d like to say something to my sister.’

‘Go ahead,’ Mary encouraged her.

Sarah leant forward and roared, ‘GET OVER IT! Dad got shot eight years ago. It happened. He survived. No one died. Why do you have to go around dragging the past behind you on a leash? MOVE ON. GET A LIFE. Jesus Christ, you don’t hear me bitching and moaning about how you ruined my life by waking me up and telling me about the bloody shooting. I probably never would have found out about it if you hadn’t dragged me over to the window to be a witness. Am I starving myself to death because of something that happened eight years ago? No, I bloody am not, because I like life, Ali. I like having fun and boyfriends and not sitting around whining about my past. Get over yourself. Mum and Dad are, like, totally stressed out. You’re ruining their lives. They’ve aged ten years in the last few weeks – they look old now. So why don’t you stop being so selfish and eat something? I’m sick of hearing how sensitive poor Ali is and how perfect she is. She’s killing herself and we’re all supposed to dance around and feel sorry for her. Well, you know what I think? I think you’re a drama queen. Have you got enough attention now, Ali? Are you satisfied now that your family is totally miserable and too terrified to say boo to you in case you stop eating four cornflakes a day and die? You’re being a selfish cow and I’m sick of your bullshit.’

There was silence in the room. Mary went to speak, but Alison jumped up and pointed a finger at Sarah. ‘Fuck you!’ she snarled. ‘We weren’t all born thinking we’re God’s gift to men. We don’t all have your over-confidence and delusional idea that we’re the best thing to happen to the earth. The only reason you don’t have issues about the shooting is because you’re so self-obsessed that anything that doesn’t directly affect you goes over your head. You don’t care about anyone but yourself. You’ve never worried about anyone else in your life. As long as Sarah’s OK, then to hell with the rest of us. You don’t care about studying or if Dad’s pub is doing well or if Mum’s company is making money or if Charlie is losing his mind. You think global warming is great because it means we’ll get better weather. You’re so shallow and selfish it makes me sick.’

‘Oh, no, Ali. I think you’ll find that starving yourself is what’s making you sick. And as for not being sensitive, do you honestly think I want to be like you and end up in a loony bin with a bunch of anorexic, self-harming freaks? And if I’m so selfish then what the hell am I doing here, with my play coming up, listening to you crashing on about how difficult your childhood was? Do you honestly think I enjoy coming to this nuthouse? You’re the one who’s delusional.’ Sarah sat back and crossed her arms.

I sank into my chair, stunned at both outbursts. The girls had always been very different, but they had got on well. Sarah made Ali laugh and Ali made Sarah think. Sure, they’d had their fights, but nothing like this – never, ever had they been so hurtful and personal. Paul looked equally shocked.

‘Well, that was very revealing,’ Mary said, as I cringed. What did she mean? That now she could see our family was completely dysfunctional? That both my daughters were messed up?

‘Well done, girls, you both let go of a lot of suppressed anger, which is extremely healthy. Right, let’s move on to another topic that Alison has brought up in our one-to-one sessions. She said she feels a lot of pressure from you, Paul, to do well in her finals and go on to study medicine. She finds this difficult to deal with at times.’

Paul bristled. ‘I’ve never put pressure on her. I just encourage her like any good father would. She said she wanted to be a doctor. I was delighted and told her to go for it. Where’s the harm in that?’

‘Do you want to study medicine, Alison?’ Mary probed.

Ali shook her head. ‘I never said I wanted to be a doctor. I said I wasn’t sure what I wanted to be and Dad said that because I was so clever I should study medicine. He said it’d make him so proud to have a daughter who was a doctor. He pushed me into the decision.’

‘What would you like to study?’ Mary asked her.

‘I’m not sure yet, maybe journalism.’

Paul’s mouth opened like a goldfish’s. He closed it, then said, ‘But you told me you wanted to be a doctor.’

‘I only said it to make you happy. I knew that was what you wanted me to do. I didn’t want to disappoint you, so I went along with it. But it’s not what I want to be.’

‘Well, why didn’t you just say so?’

‘Because every time you meet someone you tell them how proud you are that your daughter is going to be a doctor. I didn’t want to let you down in front of everyone.’

Paul stared at his daughter. ‘Ali, I’ve been proud of you your whole life. You could never let me down. I don’t care what you study. I’d like you to go to college because you’re smart, but as for what you become, that’s up to you. I just want you to be happy. I’d love a doctor in the family, but if you want to be a journalist, that’s fine with me. I never meant to put you under pressure. I can’t believe you felt that way. I’m sorry.’

Ali cried into her handkerchief. Paul went over and gave her a hug. For the first time in months, she showed him affection and hugged him back. Mary smiled at me and mouthed, ‘Excellent progress.’

‘And now to the subject of David,’ Mary continued. We were clearly going to cover all the angles today. ‘Alison has told me how heartbroken she felt and how humiliating it was to be in school every day seeing David with his new girlfriend.’

‘I tried talking to her about it but she wouldn’t talk to me,’ I explained.

‘I couldn’t talk to you about it, Mum, because you were too emotional. You kept getting upset and saying he was an idiot and I was great and there were more guys out there. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear.’

‘What did you want to hear?’

‘I just wanted you to listen. I didn’t want you to fix it or tell me what to do. I just wanted you to let me talk.’