Daniel's Dream (10 page)

Daniel had to steel himself for the visit in the only way he knew how. But at ten in the morning, not surprisingly, the scotch went straight to his head, and he arrived at the surgery half an hour late having taken several wrong turnings along the way.

Daniel entered the surgery and sat down in the black, cracked-leather chair facing the doctor. He looked around him at the familiar, dowdy room, with its antiseptic smell and ageing wallpaper, and then at Dr Fischer, who, Daniel noted with some concern, appeared, like the wallpaper, to be yellowing and peeling at the edges.

‘So, how are you feeling, Daniel?’ croaked Dr Fischer, peering over the antique pince-nez balanced precariously on his bulbous nose, its intricate web of capillaries spreading out across its surface like a road map of the home counties.

‘Okay,’ said Daniel, who had learnt of late to be as non-committal as possible; every admission, he had realised, seemed to land him with another prescription for yet more drugs to throw down his throat, this being Fischer’s first line of attack: redemption through chemistry.

‘I see,’ said the doctor, who had grown familiar with Daniel’s unhelpful attitude. ‘And how are you sleeping?’

‘The same as ever,’ replied Daniel. ‘I have yet to enjoy a complete, restful night’s sleep.’

‘I see,’ repeated the doctor, with a nod. ‘And are you still taking the sleeping tablets?’

‘Yes,’ lied Daniel. Any attempt to thwart Fischer”s regimen would only end in tears.

‘And, in view of their qualified success, do you suppose you could manage without them? Barbiturates are addictive you know; we don’t want to turn you into a junkie, do we?’ Dr Fischer gave a little, stifled laugh, as if he had made a joke.

Daniel forced a smile. ‘I could manage without the sleeping tablets, yes.’

‘Good. We’ll keep you on those anti-depressants for a bit longer so that you don’t suffer from complete withdrawal, eh?’ Daniel thought he saw the doctor smirk, but did not respond. ‘Now then, are you still having problems with the fainting?’

Daniel bristled. ‘It only happened that one time, Doctor; I’m sure it was an isolated incident.’ Why did Fischer always have to bring that up? It was a one-off, a feeble swoon across the counter of his local newsagent’s. Nothing to make a fuss about.

‘Quite possibly. As I think l explained, some of the medication tends to lower the blood pressure a little. Now then, up on your feet. Right, now walk towards me swiftly and then about-turn a hundred and eighty degrees.’

Daniel sighed noisily; he hated these absurd tests, and the way Fischer treated him like a six-year-old.

‘Come along, Daniel,’ said Fischer, standing slowly. ‘It’s just to check your balance.’

Daniel did as the doctor requested. He could not help but resent all these investigations into his state of health and mind. He knew the doctor was there to help him, but it all seemed somehow invidious, prying where it was not welcome.

And what good did it do? What good did any of it do? Had Fischer cured him of his depression? No. Had he given him hope? Instilled some sort of optimism? No again. What did he honestly hope to achieve? Daniel was no New-Age mystic, but he knew one thing for sure: if you wanted to heal someone, the first thing you had to do was get them on your side, gain their trust, their respect. A patient has to believe the healer is capable of healing. If not, the whole process is a waste of time.

Daniel rose slowly, marched five paces towards the doctor, and turned on the spot.

‘How was that?’

‘No problem.’ lied Daniel, his head spinning a little. He knew the antidepressants made him prone to dizziness if he stood up too quickly, but he didn’t want to be taken off them. They could take away the blasted barbiturates that gave him the dreadful hangovers, but the anti-depressants were a godsend on the occasional days when things got tough.

The doctor scribbled erratically on a pad of prescriptions, folded the piece of paper in two and placed it deliberately to one side of the desk. He clasped his elephant-hide hands together, and leant forward.

‘Daniel, I have to tell you that I’m a bit unhappy about your progress.’ Oh shit, thought Daniel. The pep talk. Must be that time of the month. ’I know you’ve had a nasty experience...’

‘Nasty?’ Daniel bit his tongue. There were all manner of things he would like to say to the good doctor, but he knew that for the sake of good relations, it was better that he kept quiet. Besides, any misbehaviour would only upset Lisanne, and he had done quite enough of that already.

Fischer paused, seeing the distress on Daniel’s face, and tried a different approach.

‘Well... perhaps that’s not quite right. But tragedy is an integral part of living, Daniel, and you can’t allow one incident to defeat you this way.’

Daniel shook his head in disbelief. ‘I can”t believe what you just said. Do you have any idea what I went through?’

‘Well, of course I can’t know exactly-’

‘That”s right,’ interrupted Daniel sharply, then, with a small sigh, apologised. ‘Sorry,’ he murmured, ‘but you can’t know, Doctor. You just can’t.’

Dr Fischer drew a deep breath and nodded slowly. ‘Yes, well, even if that is the case, I do have some experience in these matters, and despite what you say, you can’t go on like this indefinitely. It’s been... let me see-’

‘Six months,’ interjected Daniel dryly, and gave a heavy sigh.

The doctor fixed him with a glare. ’Let me tell you something, Daniel. I’ve dealt with cases like this before, and others far worse...’ 

Oh God, thought Daniel, he’s going to say it again! Please don’t say it; please, please, please.

‘... and I can tell you that time heals all.’

Daniel closed his eyes and bit down on his lower lip. For Lisanne’s sake, for the sake of maintaining peace at the expense of his own feelings, he would not say what was uppermost in his mind; namely, that Fischer was a meddling old fool who should probably have been struck off years ago.

‘Thanks, Doc,’ he said, cringing. ‘You’re a brick.’

‘You’ll see, Daniel. You have so much to live for, so much to look forward to. You’re young, talented, you have a beautiful wife...’

‘Yes, thank you, Doctor; I’ve already counted my blessings once today.’

Fischer sighed. ‘Yes, well then, you presumably do not need an old fool like me to remind you.’

Daniel felt stung by this. Fischer was a meddlesome buffoon, but it was had not been his intention to insult the old man. 

‘I’m sorry, Doctor. I didn’t mean-’

Fischer held up his hand. ‘No, no, no need. I like you Daniel, and as you know I’m very fond of Lisanne. I just don’t want to see you get bogged down in all this. And neither does Lisanne. I spoke to her just the other day-’

‘Wait a minute,’ said Daniel, leaning forward. ‘I appreciate that you’ve known Lisanne since she was in nappies, but I don’t think it’s right to bother her like that. She has a lot on her plate just now.’

‘Look, Daniel, I don’t want to be harsh, but you’re a bright man, and I’m distressed that you can’t pull yourself out of this hole. You can’t go on this way for ever. There’s only so much sympathy your friends and family are able to feel for you. The world keeps revolving, Daniel, and if you want a future, you’d better consider rejoining it as soon as possible. I’m sorry I have to be so direct...’

‘Don’t be,’ snapped Daniel. How he hated being patronised. So he was depressed. So he was making everyone’s life miserable. So what? It was no reason to be treated like a child. ‘Don’t be,’ he repeated, less aggressively.

The doctor sighed and nodded very slowly. He handed Daniel the prescription.

Daniel stood up and walked to the door. As he opened it, he turned to face his examiner.

‘Look, I’m sorry for snapping at you, Doctor. I know you’re just doing your job, and I appreciate the help you’ve given me, only...’ He didn’t finish the sentence. He just shrugged, forced a smile, and closed the door behind him.

As he left the surgery, Daniel felt a drop of rain strike his face, He looked up into the grey skies and a feeling of great relief passed over him. He wouldn’t have to see the doctor again for two weeks; perhaps, he thought, as he sauntered along in the light rain, I may never have to see him again.

Back home, and all alone, Daniel sulked. Without doubt, one of the greatest impediments to his recovery had been his complete lack of interest in other people. Lisanne had attempted to bring him back to some nominal socialising by holding a couple of dinner parties for their closest friends, but these had been unmitigated disasters, during which Daniel had remained uncommunicative and bad-tempered. Everyone had been very understanding about it, but it was clear that they were not going to force themselves on Daniel. As both Janice and Vince (their closest friends) had said to Lisanne, he’d come round when he was ready.

But Daniel was not ready, not really. What did he have to say to these people? He could not speak about the accident to anyone. He could no longer talk about his work, as he didn’t have any, or his travels, as he hadn’t been anywhere, and besides, he was so depressed most of the time he did not want to inflict himself on the few people who might still care about him. Consequently, for six months he had had little or no contact with the people to whom he was closest.

But perhaps that could now change, After all, now there was something he could talk about. Something he felt he had to talk about.

He decided he would telephone Vince and arrange to meet him, but no sooner had he made the decision than he fell into a sudden, debilitating depression, brought on by the realisation that it had been so long since he had called his closest friend that he could no longer remember his phone number. It was a petty matter, but it was indicative of his present state, and he could not help but be upset by it.

Daniel tracked down the address book, nestling discreetly on the shelf below the telephone and dialled Vince’s work number. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Vince was not available to come to the phone. Daniel, who saw this as a further taunt, left a message saying he had called and then, sick to death of the inside of the house, dressed swiftly and, with no plans in mind, grabbed his jacket, wallet and keys and headed out.

Without any particular purpose to his movements, Daniel found himself walking towards Wood Green again. He did not stop to peruse the magazines in W. H. Smith but continued to the Underground station.

It was dark and grimy in the station; the early-aftemoon sun never penetrated the station’s dank interior. Daniel knew he was not alone in believing that there was something disturbing, even threatening, about the Tube, with its miles of black, labyrinthine tunnels with their stale air and ominous electric hum.

Five months previously, just a few weeks after the accident, caught up in the dark twists and turns of one of his blacker moods and consumed by despair, Daniel had stood on the platform at Holborn during the rush hour, and contemplated, with all due seriousness, throwing himself into the path of an oncoming train.

He had located himself towards one end of the platform and perilously near the edge while twenty-two trains - he counted them - came and went, disgorging one set of impatient, sardined passengers on to the concrete ledge before vacuuming up the waiting throng who shuffled, shoved and elbowed their way into the crowded compartments. He had studied the commuters with great curiosity as they brushed past him, leaving their day jobs behind, to return to husbands, wives, lovers, children, pets, televisions, soft beds and comfy chairs, each one striding with such urgency, such intention, that Daniel could only look on with envy and despair. All these people, rushing, running, pushing, shoving, as if life were too short, too important to fritter away on something as trivial as a journey on the Underground. Oh to be in such a rush, he had thought as the multitudes hastened past him. To want anything that much - if only a wish to get home as soon as possible - had seemed something much to be desired.

But even when the crowds had died out and Daniel had the platform all to himself, he knew he could not throw himself on to the live rails. Such a premeditated act demanded an expression of intent, and, for all his distress and desperation, he simply did not possess the will to carry it out.

Finally, exhausted by the spectacle and embarrassed by his own lack of courage, Daniel had turned his back on the trains and left the station.