The Skeleton Cupboard (24 page)

“Probably. Did you know that Mollie is the youngest, after a big gap, of four kids?”

“So we're talking about her youngest kid, her baby, right?”

I nodded. “Perhaps even a bit of a Band-Aid baby. Eleanor told me that she conceived Mollie against Robert's wishes: He didn't want any more kids.”

“Wow. Ah, so now Mollie's growing up, Eleanor has the dread of the upcoming empty nest to deal with. I know the feeling—dreading it myself. My youngest is off on a gap year in a few months.”

“Yeah, but would you stop them leaving you?”

Linda laughed. “'Course not! I'm buying him the plane ticket!” She put her feet up on a chair. “But you don't think Eleanor is stopping Mollie growing up and leaving home, do you?”

“No. Not consciously, anyway. But I think that she doesn't want Mollie to leave because she's afraid of being alone.”

Linda offered me a biscuit.

“Oh God, I shouldn't,” I complained. “I'm gaining weight!”

Linda laughed and patted her stomach. “Don't we all, working here? That's our compensatory behavior. It happens to the best of us. Weight gain in the face of starvation—you overeat because you register people around you living in famine conditions. It's automatic. Survival and all that.”

Good fact. I now felt better about my newly acquired seven pounds in weight.

“Anyway, Mollie,” continued Linda. “She's the one in hospital, so what's her part in all this?”

I thought as I continued to munch on my biscuit. “Well, I guess that by being ill, she unites her parents as well as enabling her mum to care for her and keep her at home with her as she recovers. You know—she lets her mum still be her mum.”

Linda nodded. “Right, so via the anorexia Mollie delays becoming an adult and getting on with her life, leaving home.”

Bingo!

“Yeah, Linda, that seems right. This young woman is ill, needs to be with her mum, can't go to school and get on with her life, and so her illness stops her from growing up and leaving home, which is exactly what Mum wants.”

Linda smiled. “Sounds like a theory.”

“Linda, what's the word for stopping your periods when you get anorexic?”

“Amenorrhea.”

“Stop eating, get ill, need Mother to care for you, get thin, lose breasts and curves, and then periods stop…” My mind was racing. “Via her anorexia, the woman becomes the little girl again, psychologically, emotionally, physically and behaviorally, giving her mother more time in the role she can't bear to lose.”

Linda smiled. “I think you're getting it.”

“Mollie, the youngest child in her family and the last to leave home, is showing acute separation anxiety from her mother, whom she may be too afraid to leave because she's concerned that her mum won't be able to function without her. Her illness is symbolic of the unspoken role she has in her family. It serves a purpose by legitimizing her to not have to leave home. She also becomes, through her illness, a helpless dependent baby again. That allows her mum to continue the role that she can't let go of.”

Linda raised her mug to me in salute and then sat back in her chair, smiling. “So, how are you going to help her grow up and leave the nest?”

*   *   *

As if she wanted to prove us all wrong, outwardly Mollie was doing well; she was attending group meals and eating independently, gaining weight and becoming part of the community on the ward. I had a theory, but we still hadn't established her motivation. What would stop her sliding back, once discharged?

Chris had given me papers to read by the family therapist John Byng-Hall—family mythology was his central theme. He described how families function in terms of the myths that they create around themselves, the implicit agreements we make about the role that each member of our family plays. I needed to understand Mollie's role in the family and how this contributed to her difficulties. I wanted to test some of my hypotheses about her mother's need to preserve her own role and Mollie's need to enable her to do so.

I hadn't seen much of her parents recently—Robert was endlessly off on business. He had dropped by only once recently, with his rather pretty and attentive PA, on the way to an airport. Eleanor made daily visits but always very quietly, never speaking to me or any of the staff. Worried that she might be feeling embarrassed by her drunken episode on the ward, I decided to call her.

“Hi, Eleanor. I just wanted to check in, see how you are. We keep missing each other when you come in to visit Mollie.”

“I'm very well, thank you. How are you?” Eleanor's voice was flat and controlled.

“Fine, thanks. How are you finding Mollie?”

“Mollie seems to be doing well. I am pleased. How do you find her?”

“I'm pleased with how she is really working to eat. She seems much less anxious at mealtimes.”

“That's good.”

“The thing is, Eleanor, I was wondering whether we could book an appointment to all meet up. You and Robert with Mollie.”

“Why … would that be necessary?”

What a question.

“It would be useful to talk about the family—about Mollie's illness, how you all feel about what has happened over the last few years.”

There was a pause.

“Why is that relevant?”

“Well.” I had a sudden, almost vertiginous sense of how careful I needed to be in what I said next. “The thing is, Eleanor, as much as it is so vitally important that we enable Mollie to manage her urge to restrict her eating, it would be really useful to have some time together as a family, to think about how you all contribute to these issues.”

Shit. Badly explained.

Eleanor laughed hollowly. “Well, as I think you will remember, Robert has had a bellyful of the therapy conversations, and to be frank, actually, so have I.”

I could see from where Mollie got her controlling nature.

“I understand. I know that you've all been through many different therapists, but now that things have become … more
critical
, with Mollie having to be admitted onto a ward, it may be useful to look at those issues again.”

I was pretty sure I heard Eleanor snort derisively.

“Well, I will do anything for my daughter. You might want to try to persuade her father, though, because I don't hold out much hope.”

Oh God, where should I start?

“OK, to explain,” I staggered on, “difficulties like Mollie's often serve a purpose that extends far beyond the individual with those difficulties.”

There was still a deafening silence from the other end of the line.

“It is interesting—useful—to try to explore with the whole family why the young person is struggling in the way they are, and whether there are explanations that relate to the family structure and the family functions. Look, I feel it would be better if we met and discussed this face-to-face.”

Eleanor sighed. “Neither Robert nor I would wish this on any of our children. We just want healthy, happy children who are able to leave home and make their own way in the world.”

“Of course. I'm not suggesting that this is anything the family is wishing for in any sense. I guess it's just important to question why your youngest is finding the transition to adulthood so tough.”

“Did you find the transition to adulthood easy?”

“Well, no.”

“Did your family play a part in your difficulties?”

Shit, why was this about me? I was explaining things badly: Eleanor was getting defensive.

“I'm sorry, Eleanor, this is probably not the best way to have this conversation. Shall we book a time to meet up?”

Again a long pause.

“Eleanor, are you still there?”

“Yes. I need to check Robert's diary before we set up an appointment. I'll call his PA and get back to you.”

She was firm, but afraid too.

“Eleanor, I hope that you do not feel embarrassed to come in and see me because of what happened the last time we met.”

There was a strained laugh. “Oh goodness, no! I should have dropped you a note about that. I'm sorry I forgot. I wasn't well that day. Feverish. I'm sorry if my behavior was odd.”

“Eleanor, it's—”

“I really do have to go. I'll get Robert's diary and call you as soon as I can. Many thanks.”

The phone went dead.

*   *   *

Mollie and I had got to the point in our sessions where we were working on her “anorexic voice” and thinking about ways she could challenge it and learn to master it.

“So, it's all about anxiety?”

“What do you think, Mollie?”

“Yeah, I get it as in when I think about eating or know it's mealtime and I have to eat, I really start to panic, but otherwise I don't really do anxiety.”

“What about school, exams, pressure?”

“God, no, I love that stuff. I just don't get some of my friends who get so pathetic and cry about work and stuff. I just love it.”

“Maybe because you feel you are good at all that.”

“Yeah, I do. I mean, you know—I'm sorry to sound bigheaded, but I know I can do it and it's like my brain slots into this calm place where I can just think and study and do exams.”

“You don't worry about failing?”

“No, never.”

“Have you ever failed?”

Mollie grinned. “No, never.”

“Well, so here's a really great example of how your rock-solid self-confidence enables you to overcome anxiety and face down the challenge.”

“I love the challenge of school and work. It makes me feel free.”

“Why do you think that is?”

Mollie thought for a moment. “'Cos I don't have to think about food.”

This girl shouldn't be doing medicine; she should do clinical psychology.

“I should do your job!”

“I was just thinking that. But anyway, let's take this self-confident student and think about ways that self-belief can shift into your anxiety about food.”

“Yeah, but I fail with food.”

“Why?”

“Because I have to eat it, and when I do, I totally hate myself.”

“You seem to be dealing with it well at the moment.”

“I know, but that's because I have to.”

“What do you mean? Being here?”

Mollie looked down and her face became drawn. “No. I have to for Mummy and Daddy.”

I could see Mollie's eyes beginning to shine with tears.

“Well, Mollie, of course they are concerned. Your dad is clearly anxious for you to eat and, in his own way, is trying to encourage you.”

Mollie gave a small smile. “Yeah, that's because he wants a perfect final child. He just wants me to be the doctor. Gotta eat to be a doctor.”

“Do you want to be a doctor?”

Still holding back the tears, Mollie smiled to herself. “Yeah, of course I do.”

“Do I hear a ‘but' there?”

Mollie shook her head. “Doesn't matter.”

“I disagree. I think this matters very much.”

The tears began to flow.

“I want to draw and paint.”

I wanted to put my arms around her.

“But you feel your dad would disapprove?”

“They both would.”

“Your mum as well?”

Mollie looked up and wiped her tears on the sleeve of her sweater. “I think Mummy would like me to be a doctor. You know, it's kind of been the thing in the family forever—Mollie will be the family doctor.”

“Family doctor?”

“Yeah, you know. The only doctor in the family and also the doctor for the family.”

“What, you mean the expectation is that you would treat your family?”

“Kind of. But it's always been a joke really. Poppy does the finance for the family, Rupert keeps us out of prison, Tilly changes the law to benefit us all, and I keep us well.”

My heart was racing.

Mollie's role was to be a doctor, the family doctor. It was a joke, the sort of joke families tell themselves about themselves. But thinking about the story built up around the roles that each of the four successful children would hold in the family, I was suddenly struck that Mollie's role seemed the most significant in terms of her life moving forward into adulthood. She was at an age where her developmental task was one of individuation, of becoming herself, making an individual identity. But wasn't there a sense in which Mollie's role meant that she wasn't allowed to do that?

“So, your role, Mollie, is to keep the family well.”

Mollie half smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

“It sounds to me like that could be sitting in all this somewhere for you.”

“Perhaps. I don't know. But please don't hate my parents.”

“Why would I hate them?”

Mollie shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Do you sometimes hate them?”

Mollie paused and nibbled at a biscuit, taking ages to chew and swallow the small fragments in her mouth. “I don't hate them—I love them. I guess I worry about them.”

“Worry about what? Letting them down?”

Again, I sat out a long, slow, masticated pause.

“Yeah, that.” She smiled. “But I am doing a good enough job of that already.”

I waited as more biscuit was nibbled.

“I think I worry most about Mummy.”

“How?”

Mollie shrugged. “Dunno.” More nibbling. “Well, I think she's sad.”

“Why do you say that?”

Mollie looked at me incredulously. “You are asking me that?”

“Well, yes. What's the problem with my question?”

The atmosphere became tense.

“Come on. You're the trained one here. You've seen her.”

“What have I seen, Mollie?”

“The other week, her necklace. When she fell over. She was drunk.”

“Do you worry about her drinking?”