The Middle Child (7 page)

     A plan formed in Alex’s mind.  She pinned Catherine’s legs to the bed and tore her shoes from her feet. 

     "No, No," Catherine protested as she realised what Alex was planning to do but it was too late.  Her socks were resting in a pile on the floor.  Alex pinned Catherine's ankles and drew shapes on her soles.

     Catherine’s laughter became manic.  She threw the books at Alex but she was having too much fun.  She tickled and tickled until Catherine forced her legs free and turned on her.  She pinned her on the bed and tickled her sides until Alex cried with the pain in her stomach from laughter.

     They collapsed in a heap, exhausted and still giggling.  Once she’d recovered Alex leaned over and kissed Catherine on the cheek.  "Thanks," she said, before bounding off the side of the bed and retrieving the exercise books from the floor.

     She returned to her position of kneeling at the lower bunk and began sharpening her pencils.  Now that she’d got more paper she could carry on with the ideas that had been plaguing her all day at school.  Incey, her character had just met the fairies at the bottom of the garden.  They were living in plant pots and sleeping in the flowers, sliding down the stems into the soil if they heard anyone coming. 

     "How many of those have you filled?" Catherine asked, lying on the bed, facing her direction.

     Alex shrugged.  It didn’t matter.  They were all in her bottom drawer.  She reached in and pulled them all out.  She counted them.  Twelve exercise books filled with Incey’s tales and adventures.

     "Is it ever going to be finished?"

    
"Dunno," Alex said, absently, concentrating on her story.  She hoped not.  She could live in Incey’s world forever.

     Catherine changed
out of her school clothes and headed for the door.  She hesitated and turned back.  "Don’t forget to put those books back in the drawer."

    
"Okay," Alex said, waving away her sister’s words.  She just wanted to be on her own to write stories about the fairies and the elves that lived under the shed.  For the next two hours Alex was transported to another world, away from her own, where children had fun and laughed all the time.  Incey’s mummy took care of her and hugged her and helped her with her homework.  Incey’s mummy read her stories at bedtime and kissed her goodnight.

    
"Alex, tea," her mum shouted from the bottom of the stairs.

     Alex rushed to write down the last few lines of the story in her head.  The beginning of Incey’s next adventure.  She scribbled quickly misspelling many words in her haste to get them on paper.

     "Alex, I’ll come and get you in a minute," her mum shouted again.

     Alex could hear the anger in her voice and jumped to her feet.  She launched herself down the stairs and landed beside Beth.  She viewed the plate disinterestedly.  Cheese sandwiches, again.

     Her mother passed behind her and slapped her around the head, hard.

    
"Next time you'll come first fucking time I tell you."

    
She left the room and they all ate silently for a minute.  Catherine reached across and rubbed her head.  Alex looked at her, determined not to cry.  Catherine blew air into her cheeks and forced her eyeballs into the corners, making her laugh.  They took it in turns to pull faces.  Alex started to chuckle but Beth looked worriedly at the door and told them both to shush.

    
"Oh my God," their mum called from upstairs.  "Quickly, run outside.  It’s only fucking snowing."

     They looked at each other in wonder.  It was the beginning of May.  They all headed for the door at the same time and jostled each other to get through first.

     Alex was the first to make it outside into the back garden, below their shared bedroom.  She looked up in wonder.  It was, indeed, snowing; tiny white pieces of exercise book.

     Alex swallowed, hard.

     "Where did you go just then?" Nikki asked, gently.

    
"Nowhere important," Alex said, without meeting her gaze.

    
"Then why have you started to cry?"

     Alex rubbed at her cheek, surprised to find it wet.

     This situation was beginning to feel far too familiar for her liking.  It was surprising how easily they had slipped into their previous roles, the roles they’d had before it all went wrong. 

    
"Listen Nikki…"

    
"I know it’s over, Alex.  I’m seeing someone else but it doesn’t mean that I can’t still be a friend when you need one."

     Alex focused on the cigarette that was glowing brightly in the breeze.  The fact that Nikki had moved on stung her.  She wanted to ask if it was serious but it wasn’t her business.  She’d lost count of the girls she’d had sex with in the six months since they’d split up but she had not yet been
"seeing someone."

     Alex finished the hot chocolate and rose to her feet. 
"I’ll just call a taxi and…"

    
"Don’t be ridiculous.  Who on earth is going to look after you when you get back?"

    
"Don’t you mean who is going to stop me drinking when I get back?" Alex asked, knowingly.

     Nikki shrugged. 
"If the cap fits…"

     Alex protested. 
"Honestly, I’ll be fine.  I’ll go straight to bed and off to sleep in no time."

     Nikki put her finger to her chin in a mock pose. 
"Hmmm…my sources tell me that you’ve tried that one already on Jay and he fell for it."

    
"For fuck’s sake.  Is there anything that Jay didn’t tell you?"

     Nikki thought for a moment. 
"I don’t think so.  But even if he hadn’t, I know you well enough to hazard a guess at the type of tricks you’ll pull."

     Alex chuckled. 
"For God’s sake, you make me sound evil."

    
"As I said before, if the cap…"

    
"Alright, don’t get clever.  I can see that I’m not going to win this one so I’ll kip on the sofa…"

    
"You take the bed.  You need the sleep more than I do."

     Alex shook her head vehemently.

     Nikki held up her hand with finality.  "Alex, for once do as you’re bloody well told and go to bed."

    
"Ooh, I like it when you get all masterful."

     Their joined laughter turned to embarrassment and unease as they both realised how that had sounded.  It was too much like past times.

     "Well…Goodnight, then," Alex said, weaving towards the bedroom door.  Despite the food and rest her legs still felt wobbly.

    
"Goodnight, Alex, sleep well," Nikki said, turning towards the window.

     Alex had the urge to take Nikki in her arms and hold her close.  For a moment she wanted to feel Nikki’s body against her own.  She wanted to nestle her face in the warm confines of her reassuring closeness.  The realisation that Nikki was seeing someone else surged through her.  That place in Nikki’s life had been taken and  didn’t belong to her anymore.  The knowledge hurt her.  She turned and closed the bedroom door.

     The room had barely changed.  The photo’s of them together on holiday had been removed and watercolour prints hung in their place.  The scent of lavender still permeated the air.  Clutches of church candles littered the room.  Nikki had always been entranced by the romanticism of candle-light.

     Alex threw off her clothes and snuggled into the bed that she had shared with Nikki for two years.  She lay on Nikki’s side but changed the thought.  They were both Nikki’s sides.  The whole bed was hers now.  Hers and whoever she chose to share it with.  She didn’t like that thought any better. 

     The familiarity of the room and the comfort of the bed pulled at her eyelids.  She fell into a deep sleep fighting the memories of their nights together.

     The ship had well and truly sailed on that one.

***

     Alex woke at
five thirty with a start.  The nightmares had been vicious and insistent.  They were based on fact but distorted in her mind.  She shook herself awake despite the hour.  She didn’t want to return.  For a while, in her dream, she had been that powerless little girl again.

     Memories of the previous night assaulted her.  The events in the club were blurred but she remembered clearly from the moment she saw Nikki’s face peering down at her within the toilet cubicle.  She remembered the mixture of feelings she’d experienced being back in her old home and suddenly she wanted to return to the safety of her bed sit.

     She stood and dressed quickly.  The effects of the previous night had worn off and she felt solid and whole again.

     She opened the door to the living room quietly, not wishing to disturb Nikki, who would insist that she return to bed and get more sleep.  It wasn’t the only reason that she wanted Nikki to remain sleeping.

     She tiptoed into the room and slipped on her boots, leaving the zips undone and headed for the door.  As her hand met with the door handle she was overcome with a curiosity about the spare bedroom.  She hesitated for a few moments, unsure whether it was wise to satisfy the urge to look.  Her hand moved away from the door handle and she padded quietly past Nikki, asleep on the sofa, towards the spare bedroom.

     She opened the door quietly and stepped inside.  She closed the door behind her and reached for the light switch.  She was stunned at what she saw. 

     The corner desk, crafted from Mahogany stood where it had been with the second-hand computer and printer on top.  The pile of lined notepads remained neatly stacked to the side of the printer.  The pencils that she’d used stood proudly in the desk tidy that Nikki had made for her from an old jam jar.  The embroidery above her desk still hung there.  It was a picture of an owl wearing a mortarboard holding an oversize book open in front of him.  The wording below read "I believe in you."  Every stitch had been sewn by Nikki.

     The desk, computer and printer had all been gifts from Nikki.  Nikki had made it possible for her to live her dream, or at least take a stab at it.  Nikki had been the one driving her forward, insisting that she had a talent that she should nurture and develop.  It was Nikki who had cried with joy when Alex had won a short story competition in a local newspaper.

     Alex felt the tears sting her eyes.  She had spent the happiest moments of her life in here creating stories and characters and living within her own fantasy dream world.  The art of turning words into pictures had consumed her for days and nights and all the time Nikki had supplied her with coffee and encouragement.  She had hand-written hundreds of pages of paper until her hand cramped up with pain. 

     Alex backed out of the room, the bittersweet memories too much for her to endure.  She covered her mouth as she darted across the room and out of the front door.  Once outside the tears came.  They rolled from her eyes freely and she made no attempt to stop them.

     She glanced up at the window, behind which Nikki lay sleeping.

    
"Why, oh why, did you demand something from me that I just didn’t have to give?"

Chapter 7 – Catherine

  
Catherine couldn’t help the swell of pride as she looked around her new office.  Not only was it on the highest floor of the building but it was situated on the east corner affording her a view of the river and the morning sun.  Her desk was formed of French polished mahogany and was wide enough to land small aircraft.   

     The space to the left of her desk was occupied by two leather sofa's and a drinks cabinet.

     She had fashioned the walls with prints of her favourite paintings.

     Luxury came at a price, she thought, remembering her meeting with Mr Leigh Senior the previous day.  Although the conversation had seemed innocuous, Catherine had caught the underlying meaning in every word he's spoken.

     "Is the office comfortable enough for you?

     Because you’ll be spending most of your life here.

     "Have personnel contacted you about the salary increase?"

     I’m reminding you that we’re paying you a lot of money to deliver.

     "We’re sure we made the right decision in asking you to head the project?"

     There were others who would have killed a close relative to get this position.

     "You’ve chosen a very different artistic theme to Jonathan Adkins."

     The office belonged to someone else before and it can do again.

     And so far he had not been wrong about the amount of time she’d spend in the office.  She’d moved in on Monday and in the four days since she had not switched the lights off before eight o clock. 

     Not that the atmosphere at home was anything to rush back for.  By the time she got in, the girls were in bed and Tim was working in the study.  So far this week she’d spent the rest of her evenings alone in the kitchen, sipping a glass of wine.

     Since the ultimatum Catherine had been in shock at the severity of his feelings.  She was stunned that he thought that she needed to speak to a therapist to deal with feelings that she didn’t have.  The hurt had come later. 

     When she was with Tim she sensed that he had withdrawn from her completely.  She still saw him and the girls each morning and he was polite and courteous to her but she didn’t want that.  She felt like a casual acquaintance with whom he was being forced to communicate. 

     His face, so animated when he was talking to the girls could harden within a second when she asked him a question.  Seeing that change in his face cooled her blood.  He’d said that he still loved her but how could he look at her with such distance in his eyes.

     She sighed and checked the clock. 
"Lisa, I’m going out.  I’ll be back in an hour or so," she said, via the intercom.

     The appointment was for 4.30 but she would have to return to work. 

     As she exited the underground car park, Catherine wondered at what point she would pass Tim’s test.  Would she be required to make up stories about her non-existent feelings about her mother to satisfy his concern?  Or would simply attending the appointment suffice?

***

     The office was located in a Georgian building in a residential area of Much Wenlock.  The street was quiet and fashionable, littered with luxurious cars.  Catherine resented the fact that her hard-earned money was contributing to this phoney doctor’s lifestyle. 

     Catherine didn’t class Psychotherapists as Doctors.  She classed them as people who charged extortionate sums of money to listen.  Something the Samaritans did for free.

     The office into which she walked was nothing like Catherine had expected.  It was decorated in warm pastel colours with simple watercolour prints on the wall.  Her appraising eye noted that they were all signed by the same artist but not one she had ever heard of.

     She approached an empty desk that housed a switched-off computer and an A4 diary.  The door that led off the reception area was slightly ajar.  Not sure what to do, Catherine coughed loudly.

     The door opened wider and a woman that Catherine guessed to be in her early fifties appeared.  Her hair was completely white and spectacles hung around her neck.  She was dressed smartly in a chocolate brown trouser suit.  She offered her hand with a smile.  "Emily Dunn.  Please call me Emily," she instructed moving to the other side of the desk.  As she opened the diary Catherine noted that names were entered in almost all of the spaces and that her name was green.

    
"You’re busy," Catherine said, nodding towards the diary as the doctor closed it.

    
"Those names may be fictional, placed there just to reassure you that I’m good at what I do."  She smiled disarmingly.  "Of course, that joke was inappropriate if you’re suffering from some type of paranoia."  She put on her glasses and peered at Catherine closely.  "You’re not, are you?"

     Catherine shook her head. 
"Why am I listed in Green ink?"

     The doctor smiled. 
"Because you’re new," she said as she indicated for Catherine to follow her through to the inner sanctum.  She motioned towards two leather chairs that faced each other across a coffee table.

    
"So I’m green?"

    
"At the moment you are.  It’s a system I have of dictating how people are progressing through therapy."

    
"What colours come after Green?" Catherine asked, as the doctor sat opposite.

    
"Catherine, may I call you Catherine?" she asked without pausing to acknowledge any response.  "We can spend the entire hour talking about my colour-coding system or my filing system or even refusal to conform to the twenty-first century and buy a smart phone but that’s not why you agreed to my fees."

    
"What exactly am I paying you for?" Catherine said, honestly.  Her instincts told her that this woman was intelligent and perceptive and would appraise her within minutes.

    
"Yes," she said, crossing one leg over the other.  "I thought you were a non-believer but I would like to correct your question.  What exactly have you
paid
me for?  I ran your credit card details before the session in case you can’t pay."

     Catherine was shocked.  So already her bank balance was lighter and she’d barely said a word. 
"That seems a little…"

    
"Sensible?" the doctor completed.

     Catherine shrugged.  She supposed so but what if someone who was in desperate need of help was a little overdrawn and couldn’t pay.  Would this woman just turn them away?  Actually, she suspected not.

     "Nice art," Catherine complimented, nodding towards the east wall where the watercolour prints continued.

     Emily’s face flushed with pride. 
"The artist is my daughter and yes she’s very talented."

     Catherine felt an inexplicable sickness in her stomach.  She was relieved when the doctor re-arranged her expression and glanced at her questioningly.  She held up a shorthand notebook and pencil. 
"Do you mind?  I prefer the old-fashioned way."

     No response was necessary from Catherine as Emily had already scrawled a couple of notes on the first page.

     "I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say," Catherine admitted, feeling self-conscious.  She felt the responsibility of all the pauses as the purpose was for her to talk.

    
"Start by telling me why you’re here, and don’t lie."

    
"I’m not really sure what…"

    
"I said, don’t lie."

     Catherine thought for a moment. 
"My husband forced me to make an appointment."

    
"Why?" Emily asked, registering no surprise at her admission.

     Catherine shrugged.

     "Why does your husband think this is a good idea?"

     Catherine looked down at her feet.  She didn’t want to say the words.  It hurt her to have to admit to a stranger that her husband thought she was incapable of being a mother.

     "Would you like some coffee?" Emily asked.

     Catherine answered that she would in an effort to play for time.

     "I’ve added a good measure of truth serum," the doctor said as she placed mugs on the table.  Catherine noted they were emblazoned with the emblem of Shrewsbury Town football club.

    
"I’m uncomfortable with this…situation," Catherine admitted. 

     Emily put her notebook aside. 
"What exactly do you mean by this situation?"

    
"Sitting here talking to a stranger who has been paid to listen to me.  It feels unnecessary."

     Emily nodded. 
"Of course it does.  I’d expect nothing less from someone who had come to me of their own volition.  What you’re feeling is understandable.  Within this room you can say as much or as little to me as you like.  I have plenty of thoughts in my head to fill the silences such as do I prefer Pasta or a Sandwich for my dinner.  I can think about how poorly my favourite football team played last night or, now listen here because it’s important, I could actually be thinking of the best way of helping you overcome your problems.  It’s your choice."

     Despite herself, Catherine smiled.  Emily’s manner was somewhere between abrupt and firm yet she found herself warming to her forthright attitude and kindly eyes.

     "So, tell me what event prompted your husband to decide that you need help?"

     That was easy enough, Catherine decided.  Maybe if she relayed the story precisely Emily would understand exactly why this was a waste of time for both of them and money for her.

     She relayed the whole episode, detailing their fight, word for word, in the kitchen.

     Emily was thoughtful for a minute.

     Catherine filled the silence as she felt inclined to do.  "Do you see how unreasonable he’s being?"

    
"Your husband seems to feel that you need help in two areas.  He feels that you need to come to terms with what happened in your childhood and he feels that you have no connection to your children."

    
"That’s right," Catherine said, mortified at the absurdity of his accusations.

    
"And you think he’s wrong?"

    
"Of course."

    
"Why?"

     Catherine suddenly felt frustrated.  She had just explained the whole situation.  She’d explained about her work and how important the promotion was.

     "You’re already siding with him," she said, defensively.

    
"I’m not siding with anyone.  You’ve explained the catalyst for your husband’s feelings and concerns but you disagree with him so I’m only asking for your side of the argument.  Why are his observations unfounded?"

    
"Because I love my children."

    
"Be specific," Emily instructed.  "You’ve given me an actual event from your husband’s viewpoint but a generalisation from your own.  Give me an example."

    
"Well, I cook the breakfast, iron their clothes.  I make sure that their Gym bags are ready for school, I…"

    
"I’m after something a little bit more but we’ll leave it for now.  If you had to rate your achievements so far in your life from one to ten, where would you fall?"

     Catherine thought about the question and decided to answer honestly. 
"Probably around an eight."

     Emily nodded. 
"When you visualised what your life would be as an adult, what did you see?"

     Catherine remembered her dreams. 
"A husband, children, a good job, a nice home."

    
"So that would be your ten in achievement?"

    
"Yes," Catherine nodded.

    
"So why isn’t it?" Emily asked, frowning.

    
"I don’t understand."

    
"Everything that you dreamed of you already have so if that was your ideal dream, why isn’t your current achievement rate ten instead of eight?  What’s missing from the picture you had in your head?"

    
"I don’t know," Catherine admitted.  "I have everything that I ever wanted, everything that I vowed I would have, everything that she said I’d never…  I’m happy.  I don’t understand.  It’s Tim who wanted me to come here," she said, feeling the words fall out of her mouth.

    
"It may have been Tim’s idea but there’s a shortfall between the image of how the dream would be and the actuality of it in real life.  It’s one of the things we need to find out about."

    
"But my children don’t suffer," she protested.

    
"By your standards that may be true," Emily offered, kindly.

    
"But…"

    
"I’m not here to judge you, Catherine.  "I’m here to help you.  You provide for your daughters but…"