Life Shift (4 page)

She had left her bedroom and called down the stairs, “Dad, Dad!”

“What’s the matter?” came his reply.

“I don’t know. I’m hearing something.”

He appeared at the foot of the stairs.

 
“Is the TV on too loud?”

“No it’s not that…it’s….” She had stopped herself. What could she say. He’d think she was mad. “It’s a buzzing,” she had finished, meekly.

“Buzzing! What do you mean buzzing?”

“Just something weird in my ears.”

“You don’t clean them. Go and get yourself some cotton buds.”

She sighed. It was pointless trying to talk to him. She’d tell her mother in the morning.

“Okay Dad. I’ll do that.”

She had made her way to the bathroom although she had no intention of cleaning out her ears. The voices had now stopped. They had stopped when she had started talking to her father. She looked at her face in the mirror. She looked pale and anxious, her usual look - or so everyone told her. As a child she was constantly being criticised by her parents for being too serious, too intense, too cold.

As she looked at herself in the mirror she wondered again at the image of herself that she gave out to the world. Was she the sort of person no one wanted to be around? Why was she always alone?

And now this – voices. She was mad and cold, she was one step removed from marrying Mr Rochester and going to live in the attic.

She went back to her bedroom and got into bed. Her feet were cold. She was scared. She didn’t want the voices to return. She hated the dark anyway but now that she knew other things were waiting for her deep inside her fear intensified.

The next day she mentioned it to her mother, but talked about it again as a buzzing. She did not want to mention voices. She did not want to be thought insane. Her mother peered into her ears with the torch her father used to look in the cupboard under the stairs.
 

“I can’t see anything,” she said.” Perhaps you need your ears syringed.”

“No! I’m not having that done. What about drops?”

“Hmmm. Yes. Drops might work. It’s probably a bit of wax. I’ll call into the chemist on my way home from work tonight.”

And that had almost been the last of it. Drops had been bought. Christine had pretended they had sorted the problem and life had moved on.
 

But the voices had continued for the next few months. And they didn’t only come to her at night, in the darkness of her room. No they started to come during the day – when she was in class, in church or out riding her bike. All of a sudden the whispering and chattering would begin. She’d try to ignore it and carry on doing whatever she was doing. But it scared her. And often it would be accompanied with waves of nausea. It used to feel as if her head was somewhere else, not really in the same place as her body. But she'd taught herself techniques to deal with it. She’d take deep breaths. She’d focus on something tangible around her. She’d touch something real and concrete. And she’d talk. Talk to anyone standing nearby because that always seemed to help, always seemed to silence the voices.

Then after about six months they'd stopped. Suddenly. And then she forgot about them.

Until now. Now she remembered. Now when other things were starting to make her question her sanity.

What if there had been something wrong even back then, she wondered. Should she have gone to the doctors then? It could be too late now.

Stop. Don’t think like that, she chastised herself. That won’t help and you don’t even know yet if anything is wrong. Stop thinking about it. You can’t do anything until you see the doctor anyway so wait and see.

She looked at the TV. What were they watching? She had completely lost track. She looked over at Damien and saw that he was staring at her.

“What’s the matter?” she asked him.

“Nothing’s the matter with me,” he said, “More to the point is what’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing. Why?”

“You’ve been miles away for about half hour. You haven’t been watching this at all and we only put it on for you.”

She looked back at what they were watching. She could see now it was Sex and the City.

“Sorry, I was thinking about work,” she lied, “I’m a bit stressed with some things.”

He got up off his chair and came over to the sofa and sat beside her.

“Come here,” he said, holding out his arms.

She slid over and curled up beside him, her head on his shoulder. He put his arms around her and held her close.

“You’ll sort it, whatever it is,” he said.

“I know,” she said, “I just worry.”

“Don’t. There’s nothing you can’t sort. You’re amazing.”

She looked up at him. “Thanks Damien. You’re so sweet.”

“I’m not sweet. You’re the one whose sweet.” He leant over and kissed her softly. She felt a shiver run up her spine. “And you taste so sweet too.”

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you too. Always,” he said, kissing her again, and then tightening his arms around her.

This was where she wanted to be. She never felt safer than when she was in his arms. Yes they argued. Yes they fought. But he felt so strong when he held her like this. He was the first person with whom she had ever felt she could let her guard down. And once it had come down it had changed her. It had changed her with others too. No one would ever describe her as cold and standoffish anymore. He had changed that forever. When she had let his love in, back at eighteen when she had feared she would never know love, it had opened her up to others in a way she could never have expected. By loving her and showing her she was lovable she had grown in confidence and willingness to show her love for others – for Damien, for her family and her friends. And it had made her a warmer person, a friendlier person, a happier person.

And now as she snuggled in his arms and felt herself start to relax she felt happy again. But as so often these days other images then appeared unbidden in her mind – images of a hallway not her own, a child not her own and a look from a man that made her shiver with fear and apprehension. What did it all mean?

 
CHAPTER SIX

She had to wait a week for her doctor’s appointment. In the meantime she tried not to think about it. Work was busy. She was still trying to avoid Matt and so far had not run into him.

And then something happened.

It was Thursday morning. She was getting ready for work - in the kitchen filling up the coffee machine. Without warning the piercing pain shot through her head again. She dropped the coffee pot and heard it smash. She was on her own in the house. Damien had left early to see a client.

Colours danced before her eyes. The world around her seemed to move, shift and change. She closed her eyes and put her hands on the counter to steady herself. When she opened them she was not in her kitchen.

She was standing in a garden looking over a wall –
 
a river flowed beyond, the water shimmering in the sunlight. Three boats were moored there, moving gently with the water. She turned around. She was in the garden of a house she had never seen before and yet somehow was familiar. It was a three storey detached house. The windows, Georgian style, stared back at her. Then she saw it - a glimpse of a figure at the top left window. Someone was looking out and watching her.

There were French windows leading into the house. They were open. She walked towards them. She had to see inside this house. There was something she was looking for.

She walked through the doors and entered the living room. She recognised it but to be certain she had to see the entrance hall. An arch - as she knew there would be - led to the entrance hall. She walked towards it. Yes there it was. The white staircase, the burgundy carpet. She was back where she’d been that Tuesday evening when everything had started to change.

She heard movement on the floor above her and looked up. She could hear someone coming. Her heart was racing. What was happening? Where was she? One part of her mind reminded her this was trespassing. The other part reminded her that trespassing was the least of her problems - she should be in her own kitchen now making coffee, life continuing as normal.

She looked up. She could see a figure at the top of the stairs. It started to descend. And then she saw him and the world as she knew it seemed to slip away from her again. It was Matt.

“You’re back,” he said, reaching the foot of the stairs.

“What’s happening?” she asked, “How did I get here? What’s going on?”

He looked at her. “Do you remember anything?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Come and sit down Christine, I don’t know how long we’ve got.”

He reached out for her hand. Once again his look was intense. She remembered what had happened between them last week. She remembered how it had made her feel. She put her hand into his.

There was a flash. An image so clear it could have been happening as she stood there. Matt holding her hand in a church. The priest stood in front of them. He was smiling at them both. She had looked at Matt and felt such happiness, they had done it at last, they were married. He had leaned over to kiss her….

“Christine, are you ok?”

She looked up at him. “Are you remembering?” he said, “Is it coming back?”

“I …I saw something…a church.”

“Yes, yes,” he looked excited. “The church.”

“We’ve never been in a church together though,” she said, trying to pull away. “I hardly know you Matt. We just work together.”

He looked stung. “No, you know that’s not true. That’s how it is there not here. You’re my wife.”

“What!” she snatched her hand away. “What are you talking about?”

“Come and sit down and I’ll explain. I’ll tell you everything.”

He was reaching for her hand again but she backed away.

“You’re crazy. How did you get me here? What are you doing to me?”

“I’m not doing anything. You’re here because you live here. This is your home.”

Before she could answer she heard more movement upstairs.

“She’s awake,” he said, looking up. He then turned to her. “Don’t scare her again Chris. She doesn’t understand. Listen to me -
 
in the other world go and see Dr Priestley. He’s a physicist. He doing a lecture series in St Mary’s church.
 
Go to it. If you won’t talk to me go to him, he will explain everything.”

“Who are you talking about?” said Christine, “What do you mean?”

But before he could answer another person appeared at the top of the stairs.
 

“Mum, you’re back!”

It was the little girl she had met days ago. Teresa. She knew for certain that was her name. And at that the pain was back. She put her hands to her head and closed her eyes. White lights danced before her. She felt someone move to grab her before she fell but they were too late. She hit the floor with a thump and then darkness.

When she opened her eyes she was all alone. A smashed coffee pot was on the floor beside her. She sat up and looked around. She was in her kitchen. She stood up shakily and leaned against the kitchen worktop to try and steady herself. Water, have some water, she told herself. Unsteadily she walked to the cupboard to get a glass and then returned to the sink. She filled it with water and noticed her hand trembling as she did so. She walked into the living room and sat down on the sofa. She sipped the water. She didn’t want to think about what had just happened but couldn’t escape the image of Matt and the little girl. What was happening to her? This was not like any illness she had ever heard about.
 

She knew she was scared now. Terrified she was losing her mind. Terrified she was insane. And yet… and yet… there was something else. The house, Matt, the girl, the image of the wedding. It all felt strangely familiar. The little girl, the name, it was like an echo of something she had known years ago.

What did it all mean? She needed to speak to Damien. Not about this of course. She didn’t even know how to start speaking about this. But she needed to hear his voice. Needed to know this was the real world and that he was her husband.

She got the phone and rang his mobile number. After three rings he picked up.

 
“Hello,” she said, “Everything ok?”

“Yes, everything’s fine with me. Are you ok though? I thought you’d be in work by now.”

She realised she didn’t know what time it was. She looked at the clock. 9.30. She was late.

“Yes, I don’t feel hundred percent so I’m going in later,” she said. It was half true.

“Why don’t you take the day off if you’re not well?” he said.

“I can’t. I’ve got too much to do. I have to go in.”

“Have you taken anything?”

“No but I’ll take some headache tablets, I’ll be fine.” She hesitated, and then, “I’m missing you today.”

“Aww babe. That’s sweet. I’m missing you too. Try and finish early this evening and
 
we’ll spend some time together.”

“Okay,” she said. She felt tears start to prick her eyes. He must have sensed something.

“Are you’re sure you’re feeling better. Don’t go in if you’re not. You don’t sound right.”

“I’m fine, Damien, honestly. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Ring me later if you need me,” he said. “I’ll have finished my appointments by one.”

“Okay. Speak to you later. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

She switched off the phone. Why did she feel as if she was betraying Damien? What was happening to her? Why was she seeing such things?

She sat back on the sofa. She had no idea what to do next. The doctor’s appointment was not until next week. And what could she say to the doctor? She realised she was scared of being committed to a mental hospital. That’s what they did to people like her didn’t they?
 

She could do with a drink. Not at 9.30 in the morning you don’t said her inner voice sternly. And it won’t help. It never does.

Right, I need to go to work then, she said to herself. She stood up. But then she remembered the smashed coffee pot in the kitchen. She had to clean that up first. She went into the kitchen and got out the dustpan and brush and started cleaning up the glass splinters. She carefully wrapped them up in newspaper and put them in the bin. Job done she put away the dustpan and brush.