Borderliners (5 page)

I motioned that we should sit down. He had a can in his hand - I wondered if it was his first - and seemed reluctant to move from the doorway. I moved further into the room, but before I could get myself a drink he had started talking again.

‘Do you play the piano?’ he asked, contemplating a neat Yamaha in the far corner.

By the piano was a young couple dressed in smart, dark tailored clothes, who were resting their glasses on its smooth wooden surface. They were joined by another pair, dressed in almost identical clothes. A gale of laughter rose up like a badge to mark them out as confident, happy and superior. One of them half turned to look at me, almost as if my disdain had reached out to touch them across the expanse of this large, Victorian room.

I gave Tony a quick nod, but my mind was elsewhere. I had heard the unmistakable, ebullient tones of Emma, Vince’s younger sister: she was the sort of person you heard coming long before you saw them.

I re-scanned the room to make sure, catching sight of her by a long trestle table laden with Julia’s home-cooked food. ‘You’d be surprised at how much I can put away!’ she was telling a receptive group of men who looked amused at the sight of her overloaded plate. I wondered where Vince was. And as if she had read my thoughts, I heard her say to one of the men. ‘The other half is watching the football and Vince won’t be over until later. So I’m all alone at the moment!’

Her easy, friendly air was at odds with her brother’s guarded disposition, and that wasn’t the only difference between them. Vince was as lean as Emma was rotund. On the surface of it they were close and his edges seemed to fall away when he was in her company. This didn’t surprise me: I expected all family members would be relaxed within their collective strength. The Hewitt family was well known for its tight-knit clan-like value system, feared and respected by many as one of the old cornerstone families in the village. I had crossed them early on by renting a house Vince had earmarked for his sister, something I thought nothing of at the time but repented at leisure afterwards. The rules of the game were quite different from what I had been used to in the anonymous city suburb which had been my home prior to my move. Outbidding an established villager on their dream home just wasn’t done. Had the house been handled by one of the local estate agencies - Vince’s included - it would never have been let to me. In a way I’d been lucky the landlord had fallen out with the local agents and put the property up on an independent website but I’d failed to anticipate the ramifications. In another life we could have been friends but our opportunity for friendship in this one had been hampered from the start. This thought hung in the atmosphere for a second.

Emma turned as if in response to the feeling of my eyes upon her. Unlike many others who tended to return my stares with open hostility, she waved and grinned openly. Thinking of her friendship with Louise and Lucy, the two catty receptionists at the doctor’s surgery, I found the gesture surprising, but twitched a tight-lipped smile back at her before turning my attention to Tony once more. He was waving a roll-up at me.

‘Do you mind if I smoke this?’

‘Does Julia mind?’ I was a little alarmed.

‘Ah well I thought I could stand by those French doors.’ He motioned towards the back of the room. Remembering my off-duty mode, and, more importantly, my isolation in a room now full of Emma and her entourage, I nodded before leading the way towards the doors, stopping to pour myself a glass of white wine on the way.

‘Nowhere to drive to afterwards?’ enquired Tony not stopping to listen to my answer. ‘I’m very interested in comparative religion,’ he continued, flicking a dead zippo lighter until I took it out of his hand and snapped it on, reaching its blue flame towards his bent, grey-flecked head. He took a long drag on what was clearly a little more than mere tobacco. I took a step backwards and turned the zippo over in my hand as Tony continued to puff on his roll-up in contemplative silence.

A slight break in the atmosphere made me look up, and glancing at the door we had been standing in a few minutes ago, I realised Vince was watching us. Emma had also acknowledged her brother’s presence by waving a full beer can at him from her position next to the trestle tables. Snapping his head back round he moved towards his sister and friends without any further ado.

‘I went through a phase of socialising with Mormons,’ Tony was saying and I wondered why he was telling me this, grateful at the same time, that he was. ‘Do you know anything about them?’ he asked.

‘No, not really,’ I said, although this wasn’t strictly true.

‘I was a youth worker at the time, working with kids suffering from depression…’ he snickered. ‘Ironic, really. Sort of reverse psychology - I think that was the idea. Anyway, I became obsessed with the idea of the Mormons, of their unorthodox family set ups and their smart suits and earnest mannerisms.’

I nodded quickly. I was keen to hear the rest of the story: both my medical and metaphysical instincts were on alert. I stood up a little straighter, although I already had a good idea of what the next line would be.

'Well, the kids at my school thought it was hilarious, but my employer decided they didn’t need that kind of entertainment. A great shame, really, as it cheered a lot of them up no end.’ At this last, he chuckled and despite myself, I joined him.

My mind was racing as I considered a number of questions I wanted to put to him, but instead I said, ‘Well, we all make mistakes. I did all sorts when I was younger.’

He took another drag. ‘Like what?’

‘Oh, this and that. I went through a phase where I tried everything from Buddhist meditation to astrology and palm reading. I was really interested in certain avenues of research followed by Jung and Freud, but particularly the former. Carl Jung is my hero. But of course, we’re not supposed to say that these days.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘You know,’ he said. ‘I read a lot of his research too. I was interested in the inner reaches of the mind. Those were the days when I was desperate for a cure, of course. Now I just accept my mind the way it is. We’re all different, eh?’

I noticed he held my gaze for a minute then, as if trying to assess my intentions. ‘You realise I’m a psychotherapist?’ I said, but he just smiled and the dreamy expression returned to his eyes.

‘Then you’ll be aware that we know next to nothing about the brain and its potential. I read somewhere there are people who can see across time. It seems in some people the usual constraints are not there. Theoretically, the only reason most of us can’t see into the future, or back into the past, is because we don’t believe we can.’

The mood of the room ebbed and flowed around me as I thought about my student days. In my second year I’d had a row with a young tutor in the pub after our end of year exams about my views on psycho-analysis. I could still remember the look of disgust on his face as he’d told me I’d have no future in my chosen career if I insisted on dabbling in ‘hokem’. The thought of it reminded me of Vince’s expression as he’d stood at my door on the night of the Tarot card break-in at my house. As if I was a supernatural object myself, he’d looked at me, his green eyes both understanding and distrustful in the same instant. And as I thought of him, a familiar prickling sensation began to crawl down my back.

I was reminded of when I was a child, of the look my father would sometimes give me when I described my dreams, especially the ones which involved my Italian grandparents. After my Nonna Rosa died, my father had flown into a rage. My mother, instead, had understood. I don’t know why I never questioned that. But after that day my father distanced himself from me.

The prickling persisted. I looked round to see that Vince was watching us again. From his vantage by the window, he appeared casual enough. He was wearing a checked shirt with one hand thrust into his jeans pocket which he didn’t remove, even when a straggly bit of hair fell forwards into his eyes. I noticed he was able to keep an eye on us, lowering his gaze occasionally to dip in and out of the conversation around him, his wits quick as he threw comments into the mix to draw gales of laughter from his thicket of male companions. His eyes flickered back over to us and he nodded my way, beer in hand, un-fazed by being caught in the act of looking over.

Meanwhile the atmosphere in the room had thickened as more and more people piled in. Julia and Iain’s popularity was really something, I thought, trying to keep my face from deteriorating into a sour pout. My mind wandered as I let my gaze travel around the room. There were little thickets of people of all ages. Many of the women were wearing the same silver trinket around their necks. Vaguely Gothic in appearance, there was something about it which made me uneasy, but I couldn’t get close enough to any of the women to study it properly.

My thoughts were interrupted as a crash and the sound of a woman crying out alerted me to a commotion on the other side of the room. Vince, crouched down, was at its centre. A gathering crowd fidgeted awkwardly at the side-lines whilst Emma had disappeared altogether. I rushed across the room to see what was happening. Pushing my way past a few stubborn backs to the edges of the circle I saw my patient, Joan, lying on floor. The inner circle tightened around me as I knelt on the floor next to Vince.

I turned quickly to Vince. ‘What happened?’

‘She fell. Think she might have fainted.’ He was cradling her head.

Joan’s eyes flickered open and I put my hand on the woman’s forehead. ‘Joan, are you all right?’ I asked.

‘Oh. Dr Lewis,’ replied Joan, her voice vague and uncertain. It was clear she was disoriented.

‘Did she hit her head?’ I asked the waiting crowd, which had thickened. Onlookers were obviously more comfortable with watching more closely now that there was someone with more authority on the scene.

A few people answered. ‘No, Vince caught her before she hit the floor.’

‘Can someone get a drink of water for her, please,’ I commanded, although there was no need. I could hear Emma’s confident voice ordering people to move aside. A hand holding a cup of water reached downwards towards Vince and with my free hand, I took the cup from him.

‘Joan, sip some of this water and then we’ll help you up, OK?’ I said, performing a quick visual check of the woman’s condition as I did so.

‘Do you feel any better?’ I asked, concluding there was probably nothing seriously wrong with her. I turned to Vince. ‘Can you help her up into a sitting position?’

I saw that Emma, who had passed the water down to Vince, was now accompanied by Julia, who was offering people more drinks as she got closer. The crowd started to disperse and I straightened up as Joan answered my question.

‘I feel all right now Dr Lewis, thank you. If anything, I feel a bit silly.’

She looked up and I caught her flinch as her gaze fell on Emma and Julia. Keen to lighten the atmosphere, I cleared my throat. ‘Well, I’m glad you’re feeling a bit better. I think you’ll be fine but just take it easy now, won’t you?’ I turned to a small group of women of a similar age to Joan, who were still hanging around in a little cluster. ‘Ladies, can you keep an eye on her for me?’

Nobody answered as the group of ladies took it in turns to look around them until a couple of them replied that they would before pressing inwards to bustle around Joan. Julia, on the other hand, made no effort to come any closer. Still in first-aider mode, I caught her eye and made a T sign with a questioning look. But instead of retreating to her kitchen to make tea, she closed her eyes and raised her arms to the sky. I was astounded as the women, including the ones who had been helping Joan get into a sitting position, stopped what they were doing to link hands around Julia.

‘Whosoever believes should not be lost, but have everlasting life!’ chanted Julia.

Ignoring the prayer circle, I turned to Joan. ‘I’m just getting you a cup of tea,’ I said before removing myself from the crowd. Vince stepped back at the same time and I found myself face to face with him, Emma by his side. In a low voice with half an eye on Julia, I asked them what had happened.

‘She was looking at that book shelf,’ Emma said. Vince glared at her and made a sharp head movement towards the circle. She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Look, shall I get that tea?’

‘OK, thanks Emma,’ I replied and turned to walk over to the book shelf.

A voice stopped me. ‘What are you doing?’

I coughed, recognising the rancid breath immediately. ‘Just having a quick look at this book shelf, Iain. It’s fascinating.’ Without waiting for an answer, I turned my back on him and moved closer to the wooden shelves which sat at the very back of the room where Joan had fallen. I ran my eyes along the volumes there, not knowing what I was looking for until my gaze fell on a small picture frame on the top shelf. It contained a photo of a group of women with a handwritten quote underneath. I strained to make it out.

‘Whoever is not with me is against me’ (Matthew 12:30)

The spidery writing again.

‘Ah, that would be my women’s prayer group. Maybe you recognise it?’ said a soft voice at my side, causing me to jump.

I felt my head spin. The world seemed to slow down as if her arrival had displaced the normal passage of time. Now alongside her husband, Julia stood watching me, her eyes flashing. For a few moments nobody moved until, finally, Tony appeared on the other side of me, apparently unaware. His eyes were clouded and indistinct and his hands a little shakier than they had been an hour before as he interrupted, not rudely but randomly, his voice slurred.

‘Elena, I’m off upstairs for a rest, but it was nice to meet you.’

‘Yes, and you.’

‘It would be great to meet up again sometime. I’ve enjoyed our chats today.’

I nodded. ‘Let’s meet again soon.’

Julia stared at me for a moment, before taking her leave to see to other guests. I watched her glide off, calm and collected as if nothing had happened, and it made me wonder if the woman was a good liar, merely self-delusional, or somehow both. I looked over at where Joan had been in the middle of the prayer circle and saw, to my relief, that she was drinking tea flanked by both Emma and Vince and an atmosphere of normality. The women around them had reverted to the usual bustle and chatter, behaving, like Julia was, as if nothing had happened. Iain bared his teeth in a smile which was part hostility, part mania, before following his wife back into the thick of the house party.