Simon's Choice (21 page)

Simon drew spokes on his circles. “And how about how others perceive you? For instance, I note that you speak slowly. Have you always spoken like this? Has anyone mentioned your speech patterns?”

The woman looked surprised. “Well, my son says I’m different on the phone. I just put it down to being tired. As I said, that’s what made me come in, Doctor. I just can’t seem to get up in the mornings. I’ve always been such an early bird but now … well, there doesn’t seem much point. Oh, thank you.” She put the shredded tissue into the bin, which Simon had yet again proffered.

“I think, Mrs. - Mary - that you are suffering from depression. It’s not uncommon in our more mature citizens, especially those who have lost a spouse or, in your case, a son. I believe your son lived very close to you over the years, didn’t he, Mary? It must have been hard for you when he got a job in New Zealand.”

“Awful.” Mary sniffed. “I couldn’t believe he went. I know he had to do what was best for him and that – but New Zealand. I’ll never afford to go there. I’ll never see him again. He might as well have died.”

Simon looked up sharply from his notepad. “Hardly.”

“Sorry?”

“Hardly. Look, I think we should start you on a very low dosage of fluoxatine, more commonly known as Prozac. No, don’t look so alarmed. We’ll start on a very low amount and see if we can’t help you feel a little better. Depression, Mary, is a lack of the hormone seratonin. This hormone is the chemical that balances our mood. When we don’t make enough, we get depressed. This can be triggered by a traumatic event – loss of job, grief for instance, or even, in some cases, by other drugs. By administering a small amount of fluoxitine, we can begin to regulate your seratonin levels until we balance your mood again. Tell me, have you been feeling suicidal at all?”

Mary looked up at him and frowned. “No, I don’t think so. I suppose it has crossed my mind. It doesn’t really seem such a big thing, nothing does. There’s not much to live for really. I don’t feel scared by death at the moment. I don’t feel anything at all. No, I’ve not planned to kill myself, but I’ve thought about dying and it doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. I suppose, I have thought about just ceasing to be. Not waking up. That wouldn’t be so bad…”

Simon nodded and added more spirals to the scribbles on the notepad.

“Right, well, I think that we ought to start you on a low dosage and see you monthly to keep an eye on things. They can make you feel a little sick to start with. Here’s an information sheet which will answer any questions but, of course, if you are really concerned about anything, come back and see me.”

Mary took the information sheet that Simon had printed out for her. “But aren’t these addictive? Do they turn you into a zombie?”

Simon completed the prescription and handed it over. “We will be very careful with the dosage and we can wean you off them when the time is appropriate. We won’t keep you on them for any longer than a year. They might make you a little woozy and foggy for a few days – only slightly. You must keep taking them, though. There are more details on the sheet.” Simon smiled and stood up, helping the woman to her feet.

“So, it’s as easy as that is it, Doctor? I take these and I feel better?”

Simon opened the door. “In your case, we hope so. Sometimes counseling is necessary to deal with any underlining pain or problems, but I think in your case, Mary, we should see good results with the medication.”

“Oh. Right. Thank you, Doctor.”

Simon bade her farewell and closed the door. Sitting back at his desk, he completed his paperwork and buzzed reception to call his next patient: Mr. Mohammed and a varicose vein. Simon sighed. He really could not be bothered.

* * *

Simon took one bite of his chicken and bacon pre-packed sandwich and decided it was more hassle than it was worth. He intended to use his half hour lunch break to catch up on some paperwork, but first he would have to deal with Melissa.

Whilst he was pretty sure that she was safe in the position he had left her, Simon retained a dogged sense of duty towards his wife. He had, he supposed, better check that she had not choked on her own vomit, appealing though the thought was.

Also, he needed to clear up the business at Madron House. Melissa had done a thorough job painting him as a deranged maniac. Now she’d better undo the damage. He intended to see his daughter.

He took out his mobile and hit the speed dial key for Melissa.

“Yes.”

Simon took a deep breath. “Hello, Melissa and how are you?”

“Fine. Shouldn’t I be?” A falter – just a little one, but recognizably a chink in a piece of armor he’d been acquainted with for twelve years.
She doesn't remember
.

“No sore head? Dry mouth? Nausea – no, I suppose you don’t feel sick. Got all that out of your system last night.”

“Oh. It was you.”

“Yes, of course it was
me
, Melissa. Who the hell else would be putting you to bed at midnight?” Simon stood up impatiently. He needed to pace.

“I thought perhaps I’d …”

“No. You were certainly not in a state to do anything. In fact, if I hadn’t found you, you probably would have choked on your own vomit. I won’t be wearing my beige Calvin Klein jeans again, by the way.”

“Oh.”

“Yes,
'oh'
. I can’t believe you ruined that little white teddy bear. I put it in the washing machine but no doubt it’s totally ruined. A bit much having you vomiting and throwing red wine everywhere, when you’ve accused me of being an unbalanced drunk. What were you playing at?”

“I was watching a film. ‘Reality Bites’. We watched it the first night I moved into the house in Headingly. Do you remember?

“No.” Simon lied. “And I don’t see how watching a daft film from the nineties should have you projectile vomiting my best Chianti. Twelve quid a bottle, that stuff.”

“I was just a bit emotional. It brought back a lot of memories. How things were … Never mind.” Melissa’s voice hardened. “What were you doing there anyway? I thought you’d moved into the
pub
.” Melissa injected venom into the word.

“I forgot Porridge’s basket and a duvet for myself. I thought seeing Porridge had been uprooted from his home, the least I could do was provide his normal place to sleep. I thought you’d be in bed. I didn’t expect to find a sozzled old drunk on the couch.”

“You can talk.”

“Don’t start that again.” Simon sat back down at his desk. “Anyway, we need to talk about all this nonsense. Obviously I need to see Sarah. I’m coming down this evening after work.” There was a pause. “Melissa?”

“You can’t.”

“Why?”

“Well, not on your own.” Melissa sighed. “You really did cause an awful lot of upset yesterday.”

Simon stood up again. “I caused upset? Melissa, everything that happened yesterday was entirely your fault. The dog was upset because of you. I don’t know what you’ve been saying to them, but you'd better
unsay
it.”

“I can’t. They don’t feel it’s safe to leave you alone with Sarah. I’m sorry, I know it may seem rather harsh …”

“Harsh?” Simon laughed mirthlessly. “So how do we sort this out? How do we get this lifted?” Simon paced again. “Because you know as well as I do, Melissa, that I pose no threat to Sarah. No man has ever loved his child more than I do. God knows, I don’t want her to suffer, but as a doctor I have faith that she is being made as comfortable as possible. I can’t believe you are still punishing me for talking to Sarah that night.”

“What does it matter if you have someone with you, then? Sarah isn’t talking much anymore anyway. Dad’s been reading her the Harry Potter book every day. She’s quite insistent that they find out what happens.”

Simon was quiet for a moment. “I want to read it to her.”

“You can. Just not alone.”

“This is ridiculous. I could speak to a lawyer.” Simon sat down again, resuming his doodling on the notepad. “I can take you to court. You can’t stop me seeing my daughter.”

“We’re not stopping you seeing her, Simon. You can see her whenever you want. Just not alone.”

“We? What is all this ‘we’? On whose authority? You and Rhonda can’t just decide this. You need an authority.”

Melissa sighed. “Social Services have said that …”

Simon flung his pen down and leaped up once again. “Social Services? You’ve got Social Services involved?”

“Calm down. You’re being aggressive again. This is just not like you, Simon.”

“
I can’t win
, Melissa. If I’m docile, I’m not coping. If I’m angry, I’m a lunatic. If I’m crying or drinking, I’m suicidal. I can’t win. What have Social Services got to do with all this?”

“Rhonda called them and …”

“’Fuck’s sake.”

“Rhonda called them. Currently, they don’t wish to take anything further, but they have suggested that you have company when you are with Sarah, for your own protection as much as ours.”

“Protection from what exactly?”

“In case you – I don’t know, Simon. You just don’t seem yourself. I’m worried you’re going to try to … I’m worried you’re going to try and help Sarah. She’s in pain, you’re grieving … I just, I just felt that …”

“Melissa, you can’t seriously think that, can you? I took the Hippocratic oath, Melissa. God knows, it kills me to see her this ill, to see her in pain, but I’m not going to hurt her. I want her to be better.”

There was a pause. “That’s what I’m worried about, Simon.”

Simon half laughed, shaking his head and running his hands through his hair. “Melissa. I’m not about to put a pillow over Sarah’s face, if this is what you’re saying. Don’t get me wrong. Sometimes, when she’s lying there, crying – but no. I have no intention of speeding up the process.” Simon sank back into his chair once again and pulled his notepad towards him. “I take it I can call her?”

“Yes. Yes, of course. Look, Simon, I’m sorry it’s all turned out like this. I just needed you to … I just needed you to be more … forget it. Call her whenever you like. I’ll talk to Rhonda. Give it a couple of days, okay? She’s not pleased with you for causing a ruckus.”

“I didn’t cause a
ruckus
.” Simon drew a line down the centre of a clean sheet of notepaper. “I’m so tired, Melissa.” He wrote
‘Stay For’
at the top of the left hand column. “We had everything. Beautiful home, wonderful family. It’s like we were a triangle. You, me and Sarah. We were strong. It seems to me that Sarah’s taken away and the triangle has collapsed. Like we could only love each other if Sarah was still in the triangle.”

“Simon, don’t do this to yourself. You’re not making much sense.”

“No.” Simon wrote
‘Go For’
at the top of the right hand column. “No, I don’t suppose I am.”

“I’ve invited your Mum and Dad round on Sunday. My parents are coming as well. I’m not going to do lunch. It doesn’t … well, it doesn’t seem appropriate somehow. But we’d like you to come. Come and have a chat. No rows, no shouting. Let’s just talk some things through. It might help with our parents there. I’m worried about you, Simon. Everybody is. Your Mum and Dad – my parents.”

“Really.” Simon was deadpan. He wrote
‘Melissa’
below the left hand column. “How nice of you all.” He added
‘Mum and Dad’
on the line below. “All I really want is to be with Sarah, Mel. If you really cared you wouldn’t stop me.”

Melissa faltered momentarily. “I’m not stopping you. I’ve said I’ll talk to Rhonda. You can be with Sarah. It’s just that I think it would be better if someone was with you at the moment, just for a few more days. You seem different, Simon. Not safe.
No, let me finish
, I know it doesn’t make much sense. You want to protect Sarah, don’t you? If you were concerned about my potential actions, wouldn’t you do the same? Wouldn’t you do anything, absolutely
anything
, within your abilities to protect Sarah?”

Simon wrote
‘Sarah’
beneath the right hand column and drew a thick black line through the word
‘Melissa’
. “Yes. Yes I suppose I would.”

STAY FOR GO FOR

Melissa Sarah

Mum and Dad

Chapter 24

“
Barbara.”

“
Diana.”

Simon opened the front door and watched uncomfortably as the two women nodded at each other, their husbands exchanging tight smiles and handshakes. Terry tutted at his son, “Can’t you have this damned dog trained, Simon? Get
down
, Porridge.”

They edged uncomfortably past each other in the hallway, and filed into the kitchen, where Melissa sat at the table.

Simon shut the front door behind them, feeling once again like the disgraced schoolboy. He had no wish to be at this meeting. A summit, as Diana had called it, to discuss the recent ‘events’. Never had such an innocuous word been so laden with distaste.

Melissa greeted her mother and father warmly, her mother and father-in-law less so. The family took seats at the great pine table, the Baileys taking the side served by a bench, the Halfords forming a panel along the opposite side. Melissa poured coffee. Polite thanks were issued.

“Right.” Melissa pulled the last cup towards herself. “I think we all know why we are here.”

“I don’t.” Simon muttered.

Diana raised an eyebrow. “Ostensibly, because we’re worried about you, Simon.”

Simon spluttered sarcastically. “You’re not worried about me. You’ve accused me of being a danger to my child and you’ve had me thrown out of my home. If that’s your brand of concern, Diana, then I would hate to really cross you.”

Diana pursed her lips, raising an eyebrow and catching Melissa’s eye. An
‘I see what you mean’
look.

“Robert and I have been very concerned about you. Obviously, it was a dreadful shock to us when Sarah told us that you had gone ahead and told her she was dying.”