The Boy in the Olive Grove (16 page)

The men came in at lunchtime to make their tea and coffee. Jason shuffled his feet and kept sending me lightning-fast glances. Oh hell, what now?

‘Video. Put the link on the website,’ he blurted at last.

I gaped at him — a good gape, not a shocked, speechless one. ‘Jason, you’re brilliant. Thank you! It’s the obvious thing to do and I never even thought of it.’

From what I could see of his ducked face, it looked as though it was blushing.

‘Man, I feel so dumb! I’ll get right onto it.’ I took a huge risk and said, ‘Don’t worry, Jason — I won’t do it, but consider yourself hugged.’

He met my eyes for a whole second. ‘Those pies are like hugs.’

The rest of us bellowed with laughter. ‘Done! I’ll get you one right now. What sort d’you want?’

So that was how come I ended up out in the sunshine, dropping crumbs off my own beef and guinness pie while Jason chomped through his mince and cheese, followed by the sticky bun I’d thrown in for good measure. The men chatted, I mostly listened, Jason said nothing but took everything in.

The rest of the day involved another round of paperwork. The best was a text from Mary Jane with an address to send the nativity scene to. She had already deposited the money. She ended the message with:
I charged auntie another 100. My brokerage fee.

Typical MJ, she was such an opportunist. Cheeky too. I was stoked, but couldn’t quite get my head around the fact Auntie Lucy had been happy to pay for the set even with the extra hundred on top.

The reply came from the insurance company at the end of the day, thanking me for the quotation for the ladder-backed chair but they were sorry the job had gone to another firm.

‘Arses!’ I yelled.

I shut the computer down and went to break the bad news to the men — who took it in their stride. A fortnight ago, they’d have all been drooping around, convinced their jobs were down the gurgler.

‘Good luck for Wellington,’ I said to Maurice. ‘I’m off to Auckland again tomorrow, everyone. See you on Monday and have a good weekend.’

‘You too, boss. Don’t worry about the bloody insurance job. Things are looking up, I reckon.’

I hoped with every molecule in my body that his confidence wouldn’t turn out to be misplaced. Still, it made a nice change from fretting over the two men I wanted in my life but apparently couldn’t have.

AT 11 THE NEXT MORNING
, Gwennie showed me into her consulting room and examined me in silence for half a minute before speaking. It’s a long time to sit while somebody stares into your head.

‘Things are better with you and Iris?’

I felt she’d made it a question simply for the sake of being polite. ‘Yes. We talk now. There’s no stress, no awkwardness. It’s good.’

‘Unlike with your own mother.’ She didn’t make that into a question.

‘No. Not really. Sometimes she’s nice and I think things are improving. But it never lasts.’ I told her about the debacle over Hadleigh’s message. ‘It all ended up being my fault. I can’t do anything right. She thinks she’s the perfect mother because she cooks spectacular meals and gives me a huge allowance. I try being grateful. I try being polite. I’ve had a go at ignoring her. I’ve yelled at her. But she still finds
something
to bitch about.’ I shut up, and tried to calm down. I was talking about her, not to her. Then I opened my mouth and wailed, ‘She never yells at Hadleigh. She loves him. I don’t think she even likes me.’

Gwennie stood up. ‘Come with me.’ She walked out of the room, not checking to see if I was following.

She led me out into the back garden.

I gazed around, all the stress fading. Trees, vines, shrubs, a birdbath, and the most gorgeous statue of a figure that could have been a man or a woman, it was abstract enough.

‘Wow! This is heaven!’

‘Come here,’ Gwennie ordered. ‘Stand in front of the statue. Yes, that’s right. Now put your arms around her and embrace her.’

‘What?’ This was meant to help me cope with Mum?
I don’t think so, lady.

‘Do it please, Bess.’

I shrugged, and did as I was told. The texture was smooth against my skin.

‘Describe what that feels like,’ bossy Gwennie said.

‘Smooth. Cool. Hard.’

‘Now describe what feedback you’re getting from her.’

I dropped my arms, swung around to face her. ‘Very funny. At least a bloody statue can’t yell at me.’

‘What else can’t she do?’ my tormentor asked.

‘She can’t cook. She hasn’t got a bank balance.’ It was no good. I gulped and faced what she was rubbing my nose in. ‘She can’t love me. That’s what you’re getting at, isn’t it? Wanting Mum to be different. Wanting her to treat me the same as Hadleigh. It’s not going to work?’

At last Gwennie smiled. ‘Well done. Come back into the house.’

When I was sitting down, she started talking. ‘As I told you last time, Bess, I know a good deal about your mother from what Iris has said over the years, and also from the things you’ve told me. Without seeing her, though, I can’t be certain that I’m correct in my assessment of her, so bear that in mind.’

I nodded. It was so cold in this room.

‘My guess is that she has a narcissistic personality disorder. She’s probably somewhere on that spectrum anyway. If that is the case, it means she’s incapable of changing. Nothing you do will affect the way she sees the world.’

I hugged my arms around my body. The statue had leached all the warmth out of me. ‘But she loves Hadleigh. Why does she hate me?’

‘It won’t do you any good to play the victim here. A narcissist will often choose one child to favour and another to make the target for all she perceives as being wrong in her life. Hadleigh looks more like her, whereas you take after your father. That’s quite enough reason for her personality type to cast each of you in the appropriate roles.’

I sat up straight. ‘I
am
the victim. Every single day I get criticised, blamed, yelled at. All for nothing.’

Gwennie kept her cool. ‘You’re only a victim if you choose that role. Look at your life. You’ve got a good place to live. You’ve got money. You don’t have to lift a finger to keep the household functioning. You’ve escaped from her for the last few years because she sent you away to an excellent boarding school. You have other adults close by who love you and support you.’

I seethed. How dare she belittle my struggles with Mum? She didn’t have to try and live with her. ‘I don’t deserve what she does. It’s not fair. You just don’t get it.’

‘I didn’t say it was fair. Of course it’s not. But that’s what it is, and the sooner you understand she’s incapable of changing, the easier it’ll be for you.’

I wouldn’t describe it as easy. From where I was sitting, all I could see was a dark, dismal year ahead of me. ‘She
should
change. There’s no reason for her to be such a cow.’

‘You’re going to have a very miserable year if you persist in resenting her for being unreasonable.’

‘But there’s got to be a reason. If only I knew what it was, I could help her.’

‘She’ll never change. Why should she? In her eyes, you’re the problem, not her. Think of the statue. That’s your mother. She can’t give you warmth and love. She can’t do it any more than the statue can.’

I felt sick. ‘Do you think I should leave? Go and live with Dad and Iris. Mum would hate that even worse than she hates me.’

‘It’s up to you,’ Gwennie said. ‘But if you do leave, you need to know that she will likely punish you by withdrawing any further financial support.’

That would mean no handy allowance dropping into my bank account every couple of weeks. ‘There must be a reason she hates me. There has to be. I want to find out if I burned her to death too, back in another life.’

‘You’d do better to work on understanding how she is in this life. You need to accept that you must let go of all expectation that she’ll love you or even speak kindly to you. That’s the work you need to do right now.’

‘I want to do a regression.’ It’s hard to speak with your teeth clenched.

She did another of her long, searching
examinations
of my soul. ‘Very well. If that’s what you want.’ She checked the clock on the wall. ‘There’s enough time.’

I settled into the armchair and closed my eyes. I concentrated on Gwennie’s calm voice, letting go of the rage so that I could relax.

‘Go back to a time that relates to a difficulty in this life.’

Images began forming in front of my eyes.

‘Look at your feet. What is your footwear?’

‘I’m barefooted. I’m a child. Quite young, about five or six. I’m playing beside water. A lagoon, I think. There are other children there. I’m happy. The water is warm. Brightly coloured fish swim around us when we dive into the blue water.’

‘Are you a good swimmer?’

‘Yes. We all are. We live on an island. I think it’s somewhere in Polynesia. Oh! Oh no! He’s telling me he’s going away on a voyage. He says he’ll be gone a long time.’

‘Who is telling you this?’

‘My father. It’s Hadleigh and he’s leaving me. The sun won’t feel warm until he comes back again. I’m watching the canoe cut through the surf. Everyone is singing but I can’t.’

‘Does he come back?’

‘I don’t know. I’m somewhere different now. America. I’m a woman. I’m wearing a long dress and boots. I’m folding garments. They belong to my son. My heart is heavy because he is leaving to go to war. He’s too young. He doesn’t have to go, but he’s afraid the fighting will be over if he waits another year. I beg him not to go. He just laughs and tells me he’ll take care. I’m heartbroken. I’m watching him walk down the road. He’s jaunty and full of confidence. I know I’ll never see him again.’

‘Do you recognise him from your present life?’

‘He’s Hadleigh.’

The mother’s anguish — my anguish — pressed on my chest. I was cold right through to my heart.

The woman and her soldier son disappeared. Instead, I was looking at Hadleigh and me in this life. ‘I’m nine years old. Hadleigh is twelve. We’re in the lounge in Mum’s house. He’s telling her he won’t go to boarding school. He’s telling her he’ll live with Dad and go to the local school. She says
I understand. A boy should be with his father.
I say I want to go with Hadleigh. She says
Absolutely not.
I watch him ride away on his bike. I feel bereft. He loves me but he’s left me by myself with our mother. My heart is breaking.’

Gwennie’s voice guided me out of that world, counting me back to the present. I sat dumbfounded, trying to get a handle on what I’d seen.

‘I’d forgotten about Hadleigh leaving me with Mum. He didn’t really leave me, though. He was the best brother.’

‘Do the scenes you saw relate to a problem in your current life?’ Gwennie asked.

I sighed, and told her about my outburst at the airport.

‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘Very interesting. You had no memory of him abandoning you in this life?’

‘He didn’t abandon me. He wrote to me at school every single week. I always knew I could talk to him when Mum got to me. He loved me, I know he did. Does.’

‘So, why do you think you blocked out all memory of the scene you’ve just revisited?’

It was still hard to think about. ‘He was the only one who really loved me. He was only twelve. He was a brilliant brother. The best.’

‘Yes, he was still only a child. And yes, he looked after you. But he also left you alone with your mother. Think about why that’s so painful to acknowledge.’

‘I can’t … he didn’t … he loves me.’ I made an enormous effort. ‘He didn’t love me enough to stay. He left me and I had nobody who loved me.’

I bent over, holding my stomach.

‘Talk about that. Focus on your body. Why are you holding your stomach?’

Oh god. I didn’t want to do this. ‘I feel sick. No. I feel like I’ve been kicked in the guts. He always said it wasn’t fair how she was mean to me. I could stand it because he’d wink at me or roll his eyes. Often he could stop her, but I never could. I could only endure it because Hadleigh loved me. But he went away. He escaped and he left me behind. He didn’t love me enough to stay.’

Now, when I could do with a spiel of reassurance from Gwennie, she kept her mouth shut.

‘I needed him to be my rock. He had to be infallible or my world was a bleak and shaky place.’ I felt a hundred years old. ‘It was awful to leave me with Mum like that. But Dad could have stepped in and he didn’t. Iris would have, except that …’

‘How do you see your brother now?’

My mouth twisted. ‘He’s not superman, he’s not the solid rock I’ve always made him out to be. He’s a bit selfish, he’s stubborn, but he’s kind too. And loving. I want to thump the crap out of him for leaving me with Mum, but then I remember the letters he wrote me every week. I think of the cool presents he bought me because he knew she wouldn’t get me anything nice. He did all right. He’s not perfect. He’s human, that’s all.’

Gwennie said, ‘You’ll probably remember more of that time over the next few days. Don’t shut it out. Feel the emotions, then let them go. It’s in the past, you don’t need to hold onto the pain.’

‘All I feel now is numb.’

She got to her feet. ‘Yes, it’s been quite a session and not at all what we’d expected. That’s it for today, Bess.’ She took my hands, holding them firmly. ‘I’d have liked to do more work about your mother. But just remember that she can’t help behaving as she does. She’s not going to change. You can leave, or you can stay. If you stay, you need to detach yourself emotionally. That’ll be easier to do if you accept that she can’t love you.’

I absolutely didn’t want to think about that. ‘I was so waiting for her to pop up in that regression.’

Gwennie gave my hands a final squeeze. ‘The two of you may never have been together.’

‘Sheer random bad luck then?’

She smiled and shrugged. ‘Who knows?’

I took the envelope with the payment from my bag and put it on her desk. ‘Can I come again? If things get too toxic?’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Ring any time.’

Outside, the sun shone, the ceramic chips in the path glittered and the world went on.

 

I DROVE TO THE CAFÉ
to meet Clodagh. She took one look at me, told me to sit, disappeared, and came back with coffee and a chocolate brownie. ‘A chicken salad is on its way. My shout.’

I didn’t have it together enough to argue.

‘Tell all,’ she ordered.

And I did. Her eyes didn’t leave my face during the entire recital. Our salads arrived in the middle of it. We didn’t touch them until I got to the end.

‘Eat,’ said Clo. She picked up her fork, but she always ate glacially slowly when she was thinking. By the time my plate was empty, she’d eaten only two slivers of chicken and the slices of avocado. She gave up entirely while I dealt to the brownie, then she said, ‘Was the father really Hadleigh, d’you reckon? And the soldier son? One of them wasn’t olive grove boy, for example? Or Nick the dreamboat?’

I shrugged. ‘No. I’m pretty sure not. I just … well, recognised them both as being Hadleigh. Clo, d’you think it’s nuts? Is it all one massive feat of the imagination?’

She thought about that, getting through a cherry tomato while she did so. ‘If it is, then it appears to synch in with what’s going on for you this time around.’ She treated me to a bright glance. ‘Are you going to tell Hadleigh?’