Crossing the Line (9 page)

17

T
he day has come that I’ve feared. I’m to return home, back to the cottage in Collins Street with Amy and Matt. Back to school. Back to therapy sessions with Noel.

‘You’re out of your depression now, Sophie,’ Helen says. ‘You’re no longer a danger to yourself.’

‘But . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘But what about us? Won’t I see you again?’ Suddenly I’m blubbering, feeling about two years old, barely articulate.

‘You’ll miss me?’

I shake my head wildly. ‘No! No!’ ‘Miss’ doesn’t even
begin
to describe how I feel.

Helen turns her head slightly to one side, her way of inviting me to explain.

I force myself to say it. The hardest thing I’ll ever say.

‘I love you.’

A wisp of hair has caught at the corner of her mouth. She closes her eyes for a moment, then sighs, long and deep.

Whatever she says now doesn’t matter. I won’t ever take back what I said. It’s there for all time. I love her. I just love her.

‘What you’re feeling, Sophie,’ Helen says, ‘is not love. It’s called transference. It’s common for patients to have feelings of transference for their doctors. They transfer feelings they have for other people onto their therapist.’

‘Please will you hug me again?’

She shakes her head. ‘I can’t, sweetie, really I can’t.’

‘But you did before.’

I’m engulfed by wave upon wave of the most devastating pain imaginable.

Helen’s face is a mask. After pausing a moment, as if weighing up her options, she says, ‘I’ll prescribe some medication. It’ll calm you.’

‘No, no! I don’t want tablets! There’s nothing wrong with me! Can’t you understand, Helen? I just love you!’

The look she has for me changes. The gentle love I knew before is gone. Her eyes are full of pity.

It all becomes a blur then. At some point I take the prescribed tablets. They numb me, but the pain of rejection feels like it is going to consume me.

I want to cut myself. And cut and cut. Erase every skerrick of the agony. I can’t imagine going home or returning to school or anything else. If I can’t see Helen again, I don’t want to live.

The final session. I go in there determined to keep my self-respect, to hold my head up. But in the end, pride doesn’t matter.

‘You’ll soon be back with your friends.’ Helen smiles. ‘I know you’ll be happy there.’

‘But I like it here. It’s peaceful. Can’t I stay? I won’t be any trouble. I can work outside in the gardens or help you in the office. I’ll clean if you like. You just tell me what to do, Helen, anything at all and I’ll do it. But please don’t send me away.’

‘It’s human to want something good to last forever.’ Now Helen sounds so stiff and formal, as if her heart has turned to stone. ‘But everything inevitably changes.’

‘I don’t want to leave you.’

‘You can’t stay here forever, Sophie. You need to get back to your life. To the outside world.’

‘If I leave, can I keep on seeing you?’

Helen shakes her head briskly. ‘I want you to continue your therapy sessions with Doctor Palmer. I’ll send him a report on your progress, and I want you to be as honest with him as you have been with me. Okay?’

‘I don’t want to talk to Noel,’ I sob. ‘It’s you I want to talk to, Helen, you, not him. I love you.’

‘Now, Sophie . . .’

‘Please hold me.’

‘No.’

‘Please,’ I persist. ‘Just once more. Then I’ll never ask again.’

‘You must go.’

The words stab into my heart.
You must go.
There is nothing more that Helen offers. She starts tapping into her laptop as if I have already vanished. All the hurt in my life is nothing compared to this cold dead moment.

Marie comes to collect me. I can’t bear to talk to her, to look at her. I’m in turmoil; old desires are new again and festering inside me.

At the ward front door I walk past Lauren and Ashley. They speak but their words don’t sink in. Holden, Felix and Emma are nearby. I recognise the word ‘goodbye’, but I ignore them.

All I want is to see Helen, and I can never do that again.

In the car, Marie fires questions at me. How could she begin to understand? How could I ever trust her?

I look out of the window through tears and say nothing.

Amy and Matt are at the house when we arrive.

‘I’ll be okay now,’ I mutter to Marie as I get out of the car. She shrugs and drives away.

There is a handmade
WELCOME HOME
sign strung along the length of one wall. Emotion bubbles up when I see it and then they both hug me. It feels good.

Amy has shaved her head and is tanned and healthy. Matt is the same as always, tall and good looking, his eyes warm and friendly.

I feel awkward at first, but my flatmates treat me as they always do. They are both full of smiles and happy chatter but despite their efforts, all I want is to escape to my room. I can’t though, not yet. I go along with their hospitality as we sit around the table over mugs of coffee and look at one another.

‘Well,’ I say, trying to sound cheerful, ‘here we are again.’

‘About time you came back,’ Amy says. ‘Matt’s becoming lazy. I need you to help me boss him about.’

‘I’m
lazy?’ Matt gapes at Amy. ‘You should talk.’ He turns to me. ‘I’ve had to do all the work since you left, Sophie. Ames here hasn’t lifted a finger!’

That of course spurs Amy into action and insults fly back and forth, none of them serious. At another time I might have enjoyed their pretend battle. Not now. My head and my heart are back at the hospital. I’m sitting opposite Helen or she’s hugging me, yes, she’s hugging me, her warmth enveloping me. I’m safe in her arms.

Matt touches my shoulder. ‘Hey, Soph. Good to have you back.’

‘Yeah,’ says Amy. ‘It really is.’

I smile but feel weak and distant. I can’t fake being happy right now.

We sip our drinks and Amy tells me about her new boyfriend, Johnny. ‘We’re going on a holiday tomorrow. Up the coast on his motorbike, camping out.’ She runs her fingers over her spiky skull.

‘And I did my exams a while back,’ Matt says. ‘I did pretty good. Much better than I expected. Had some time off work because of my hand and I was actually able to study for once . . .’

I can’t take it any longer.

‘I’m really tired.’ I stand abruptly and head out of the room. ‘I have to go to bed.’

In the dark, my eyes closed, Helen holds me. ‘I love you, too, Sophie,’ she says.

Sleep is impossible. I miss her so much. Keep saying her name. Can’t stop. Don’t want to. Helen. Helen. Helen. It is a physical pain I feel – in my chest, my head. There’s only one way to be rid of it. I find the razor. I am carving Helen’s initials on my arm. I am bleeding for Helen. I stand at the mirror. ‘See, Helen. This is how much I love you. I will never stop loving you.’

Only when my arm is cut and streaming with blood, when the pain from the cutting soars above the pain I feel for Helen, only then can I sleep.

18

N
ext morning I meet Amy’s Johnny, a tall, bulky guy with tatts, and farewell the two of them on their trip up the coast. Then Matt and I are left together. He tries to initiate conversation. In a stumbling, hesitant way he touches my arm. I move away from him, shut him out. Finally he leaves for his job and I’m alone. I water Amy’s pot plants, remembering how Helen told me that before the latest rainfall she’d had to buy in a tank of water. Then I wash a few dishes, thinking how hard it must be to live in the country. I turn on the television and sit petting Amy’s cat, Persia. He purrs and I wonder if Helen has a cat. Or perhaps she has a dog. She’s so loving I’m sure she’d have some kind of pet.

The TV’s on but I’m not watching. I have my own show playing, in my mind. Helen. I know that her middle initial is M. What does it stand for? Mary? Margaret? There can’t be many Helen M Marshalls. I flick through the phone book. There are four with that name. Only one suburb looks right for her, the others are too far from the hospital. I think of the mud I saw on her tyres every morning it rained. It has to be rural; it has to be Eagleton Valley.

I feed Persia, put him outside, get my sweater and leave the house.

I’m out on the street and the sky is black with rain. I hardly feel it. I’m walking towards Helen. Just that thought has sewn me back together, all the jagged pieces of me slip into place. This is how it was meant to be. When she turned me away before, it was a test. Anyone can say, ‘I love you’. It’s too easy. It only has true meaning when you back your words up with actions. I understand that now. You’ll see, Helen, you’ll see. No one will ever love you as much as I do. We were meant to be together.

It’s early afternoon by the time I get out on the highway. The rain drones on, hard and cold. I put my thumb up and stand at the edge of the road, so close to the cars I could lean out and touch them as they flash past. I’ve never hitched before but it doesn’t worry me. I’m not scared of anything now. I clutch Helen’s address in my hand and feel like I have a little piece of her with me, protecting me.

Finally a car pulls over.

‘Better get you inside out of the rain, luv.’

It’s a woman in her sixties. Her face is gaunt, not at all like Helen’s.

‘Thank you.’

‘You know, a young girl like you shouldn’t be hitching a ride – it’s not safe these days.’

‘It’s an emergency.’ The lie comes so easily. ‘I have to get to Eagleton Valley. A friend is sick.’

‘Eagleton?’ She thinks about it for a few seconds. ‘Yes, I know where that is. I can get you close to there.’

I don’t reply. Not even when she smiles at me.

I’m going to Helen.

At the end of a steep driveway set into the side of a hill, I peer over a metal fence. Helen’s house is not as grand as I’d imagined; it’s ordinary. Wooden, with a corrugated iron roof. The view across the valley, though, is beautiful. There’s an orchard in front of the house, and beyond that, rolling green hills.

I feel compelled to explore further, but now, suddenly, I’m nervous. Helen ought to be at the hospital at this time of the day, but she might come home for a late lunch. I want so much to see her again, but I couldn’t stand it if she turned me away. In time she’ll accept me into her life, I know she will, but I have to be patient. For now I’m happy just to have seen where she lives. When I dream about her, I’ll be able to see her in this little home set on the hill. I’ll see her car puttering down the dirt road and turning into her driveway and I’ll be there to greet her. She’ll get out of the car and she’ll hold me again. Like Arlene once did. Like my mother. This will be my home, too.

I walk back to the highway and hold out my thumb to the approaching traffic. I feel so calm.

I had left the hospital with the idea of not being cooperative with Noel but after having gone to Helen’s home, Noel doesn’t bother me now. Nothing does. I feel like a child with an enormous secret that she’s bursting to share.

‘Welcome back, Sophie. It’s good to see you again.’

All I can do is grin with happiness.

‘You seem more cheerful today than I’ve seen you in the past.’

I feel like giggling but restrain myself.

‘You seem so happy, Sophie. Would you like to tell me about it?’

‘What’s to tell? I’m happy. So? That’s a good thing, right?’

‘Yes.’ He rubs his chin, perplexed. ‘Of course.’

I throw it back at him.

‘Are you happy?’

‘Yes, thank you . . . How was your stay in hospital?’

‘It was okay.’

‘Hmm . . . You saw a doctor while you were there?’

He’s opened the door and I am more than glad to walk right in. ‘Helen Marshall. Her name is Helen Marshall. She . . .’

I feed him little morsels about Helen, about how I care about her, only I don’t use the word ‘love’. I don’t want to share that with anyone but her. Noel sits, as always, fingers interlaced, intently listening to me, occasionally murmuring, but never commenting, not letting me into any part of his world, not the way my Helen did. When I have talked for a long time, he smiles at me, a smile I have never learned to interpret. We sit in silence as he waits for me to continue, but I’ve said enough. I close my eyes and listen to the clock ticking. A few moments later his voice intrudes.

‘So you have strong feelings for Doctor Marshall?’

‘Not really. I just like her.’

‘I see.’

He doesn’t really. He never will. That part of my life is not for anyone else to see.

Noel looks at the clock and says, as he always does at the end of the session, ‘I’m afraid we’ve finished for today, Sophie. But we’ll talk more next time.’

I leave him, my secret safe and warm inside me.

The rest of the day seems long and loose. I gaze at the bloody initials on my arm, and trace my finger around the letters HM. It draws me even closer to her.

When Matt finally arrives home, it’s good to sit with him. If he wonders why I run so hot and cold he doesn’t comment. With a beer to keep us company, we discuss movies, music, and our pet hates, before the conversation winds around to this: ‘Do you want to talk about being in hospital, Soph?’

‘It wasn’t too bad. I survived.’

‘Thought you might have been scared.’

‘Of what?’

‘I don’t know – the other patients?’

‘No way. They were scared of me.’

‘That I understand.’

I see his cheeky smile.

I tell him a few anecdotes about the other patients, careful to avoid any cheap joke about loonies that might get an easy laugh. That tends to happen when you find out you’re one of the loonies yourself. And I do drop Helen’s name, making it seem almost an afterthought.

‘Oh, and there was this woman I met who was nice. Helen. She was my doctor.’

‘Did she help you?’

‘Yes. Yes, she really did.’

Just the mention of her name, even so casually, has an effect on me. I have to change the subject.

‘Anyway, that’s enough hospital talk,’ I say. ‘What have we got to eat?’

‘There’s hardly any food in the house,’ Matt says. ‘Tell you what – let’s go shopping. We’ll stock up on groceries and later I’ll cook dinner for you. Sound okay?’

‘Sounds brilliant.’

We snack on chips in the car on the way to the shops. In between bites we share our favourite eating experiences. It’s a game Matt likes playing. Name the food and the place you had it. And explain why it is memorable.

‘Hokey-pokey ice-cream,’ Matt says. ‘White chocolate ice-cream laced with honeycomb pieces. I had it when I was on holiday with my family in New Zealand. I was ten. It was the best thing I’d ever tasted – but I dropped it! I cried like I never have, before or since, and my mum bought me another one. I went from abject sadness to absolute bliss. Unforgettable. Your turn, Soph.’

It’s not hard to choose. It will have to be something I ate when I was living with Arlene and Dutch, because the other times I don’t want to remember.

‘Poffertjes,’
I say.

As expected, Matt replies, ‘Huh?’

‘It’s about the only Dutch word I know. They’re mini pancakes. A big favourite with people from Holland. A sprinkle of sugar, some butter. Yum! I used to have them when I was with my aunt and uncle. I’ll make you some one day.’

‘You’ve got a deal,’ he says.

I like the idea of sharing things with him. One day in the future. When you’ve been passed around between as many families as I have, you crave any sense of permanency in a friendship. Later, as we stroll around the supermarket filling our trolley with groceries, thoughts of Matt jostle with deeper thoughts of Helen. Matt hangs close, as if we’re a couple and a part of me yearns for that to be true. But I can’t stop thinking of Helen.

She wraps her arms around me and I snuggle my head against her chest. I’m at such peace.

‘Soph – Sophie.’

Matt holds up an avocado. ‘Does this look ripe enough to you?’

I squeeze it and nod.

He crosses it off his list and goes back to perusing the fruit and vegetables. I go back to Helen.

When does she do her shopping? Weekly? Daily? Do we buy the same sort of breakfast cereal? The same washing detergent? I want to find out everything about her; what she eats and drinks, the clothes she wears when she’s not at the hospital. Is there a man in her life? She looks so beautiful there could easily be one. But my heart tells me there isn’t. She’s alone. She needs someone to look after her . . .

‘Hey, Sophie.’

Matt is smiling at me.

‘You seem so far away. You okay?’

‘Perfect,’ I say. ‘Everything is perfect.’

At home, Matt lines up all the ingredients he needs to make dinner. But first there’s a question: ‘Anyone you’d like to invite, Soph?’

I play with the idea of inviting Helen, but I know that’s impossible – for now at least. I’m about to say no when I have a sudden idea.

‘Yes, there is someone, Greta. That all right?’

‘Sure. No problem.’ Matt doesn’t hesitate. ‘We eat at seven. How about you crash between now and then – you look really tired.’

No arguments from me. I fall onto my bed, but before I let myself doze off, I ring Greta. I want to be overwhelmed by her cheeriness. I’ve missed it. I’d also like to see for myself if there’s any chemistry between her and Matt.

‘Sophie!’ She is her usual bright and bubbly self. ‘How you been?’

‘Home from hospital. All fixed up and better than new.’

‘Fan-bloody-tastic!’

Her unbridled enthusiasm blasts down the phone line and puts a smile on my face. I love that about her. And of course she’s as mad as a rabid hatter, so we have much in common.

‘Would you like to come to dinner tonight? Matt’s cooking.’

‘Cool. I’m in.’

I start to give her the details, but don’t get very far.

‘Hey listen. Before I come over I want to set you straight on something. I know you were upset that night at the pub because you thought I was coming on to Matt.’

‘No I wasn’t, Greta. What are you talking about?’

‘Yeah, well, I might have got it wrong. But just so you know, there’s nothing going on between us. Never was. I was just mucking around flirting with him, wasn’t ever interested in him, really. I’ve already got a guy. His name is Reece. Wait until you meet him. He’s a hunk. Anyway, Matt’s already taken – by you.’

‘Greta, you’re insane.’

‘Open your eyes, Sophie. Every time I rang to ask after you, all he could do was rave about how wonderful you are. I was getting really annoyed.’

‘You’re such a liar.’

‘Dead set, the guy likes you heaps.’

‘I don’t believe a word of it,’ I say, but secretly, I do. Greta continues to chat. Soon the words form one continuous blurred line. In contrast, in vivid sharpness, is Helen’s face. I was really happy to hear what Greta said about Matt, but now that feeling passes. I can’t concentrate on anything else but Helen.

I make my excuses and get off the phone. Sleep comes fast. It is deep and peaceful because I don’t feel alone.

The dinner party is excellent. Greta is wild and witty and dominates most of the conversation. Matt is the perfect host, even if the food is overcooked. Doesn’t matter one little bit. The only disappointment is me. No one comments about it, but I feel and act like sludge. I just cannot lift myself into a happy state. My insides feel prickly and restless. Questions are treated to one word answers. Twice I catch myself snapping at Matt – for no apparent reason. More and more I retreat into a cocoon.

‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I have to take stupid medication. It makes me exhausted. And bad company.’

They both try to cheer me up.

Matt says, ‘You’re doing fine, Soph.’

‘And you’re always great company,’ adds Greta.

Such liars. Such good friends.

Around midnight I announce, ‘I’m off to bed, before I fall asleep at the table.’

Matt and Greta party on, her voice and laughter ringing through the house high above his. I’ve stopped feeling jealous of her now. She’s much prettier than I am but she’s not really Matt’s type. He’s quiet, like me.

I bury my head under a pillow to shut out all sound, but though I was exhausted when I came to bed, now I can’t sleep. Moments with Helen come back to me. I linger in them, never want them to leave. It’s been forty-eight hours since I last saw her but tonight she stays with me, every minute.

When I wake in the morning, groggy yet strangely energised, I know I have to go to the hospital to visit Helen. I can’t stand another day without seeing her. She needs to know how I feel about her. If I showed her how I cut her initials into me, then she’d have some idea. But I won’t have to go that far. I’ll just walk in there and her eyes will light up. ‘Sophie!’ She’ll throw her arms around me and it’ll be like I never went away. I know she didn’t mean for us to never see each other again. Helen isn’t just any doctor. She can’t be judged by the same rules as others. The feelings that we share are unique. I know what happened between us. I know the love that she gave me. I know I don’t ever have to be scared with her.

Within a short time I head out to catch the train to Marstown, the hospital’s closest station. The suburbs rattle past in a blur. Pretty soon I am walking down the long driveway and then I’m in the foyer near Helen’s office.