‘OK,’ said Anneliese, feeling her heart break. She didn’t want Lily to go. But everything was changing in her life and it was as if she had no power to prevent it all.
She thought of the whale, lost in the bay, life ebbing out of her every day, and thought that it might be quite nice to dive in and sink to the bottom with the whale.
‘Mrs Kennedy,’ said Dr Whelan, looking up from his writing as she entered the surgery. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘A lobotomy,’ Anneliese said easily. ‘I just need a bit off. A trim, so to speak. It would be nice if you could do that with brains, take out the tricky, difficult bits, like removing split ends.’
The doctor put down his pen. He was younger than she was, which Anneliese liked. Younger doctors were always up to speed on the latest treatment. Old Dr Masterson had been a nightmare when it came to talking about depression. Despite the alphabet of letters after her name, she was one of the ‘pull yourself together’ merchants who felt that depression was entirely controllable by thinking happy thoughts. Anneliese had ended up moving to another doctor in the centre of town rather than visit her, but then Dr Whelan had come along. He’d been in Tamarin for ten years and in that time, Anneliese had visited him twice over her depression. He’d been friendly, helpful and kind. But none of these things made it any easier to discuss her problems with him.
If Anneliese felt like a failure because her head was flattened by this black dog in her mind, then it was hard to convince herself that he would feel any different.
‘Lobotomies aren’t much in demand nowadays,’ he replied, falling into the same light manner she’d used. ‘Certainly not on an out-patient basis,’ he added. ‘What’s wrong, Mrs Kennedy?’
Anneliese closed her eyes. She hated this, hated it. Being the supplicant in the surgery, having to ask for help.
‘I’m depressed,’ she said. The desire to burst into tears was dampened down by the tranquilliser she’d taken before she’d driven there. It was her last one. ‘I need to go back on antidepressants.’
Damn Edward and that bloody bitch for making her have to do this.
‘Is there any particular reason?’ Dr Whelan asked, joking manner gone.
The little white tablet gave up the ghost and the tears came.
Half an hour later, Anneliese had a prescription for the antidepressant that had worked for her before, along with a short-term script for an anti-anxiety drug to tide her over until the big boys began to work.
‘Come and talk to me anytime, please,’ Dr Whelan said kindly as she’d left, trying to mop up her red eyes before she headed back into the reception area.
‘Thank you,’ said Anneliese, knowing that she wouldn’t. She felt as if nothing could help her, even the various tablets he’d prescribed. They were short-term things. She wanted a guarantee of happiness and she didn’t know if that was possible any more.
At home, she made herself some tea, took one of the anti-anxiety drugs, and lay down on her bed. Her head ached from all the crying. Perhaps if she had a little rest, she’d have the energy to get up and cook dinner for herself, Beth and Marcus. They were going home the following morning and had been at the hospital with Lily that afternoon, giving Anneliese a chance to make her secret trip to Dr Whelan. She hadn’t told Beth how she felt and Beth hadn’t asked.
It was understandable: Beth wanted to protect her unborn child from stress. Any mother would do the same. But still, Anneliese felt a part of her ache inside at this evidence of her daughter’s ability to shut out other people’s pain.
Beth didn’t want to deal with her mother crying and alone, so she simply didn’t deal with it.
Lying down with several pillows cushioning her and the duvet loosely over her, Anneliese looked around the room. Maybe she should sell up. It was a beautiful cottage but it held too many memories for her now. It wasn’t as if she could redecorate it and make it different. As a beach cottage, it was perfect the way it was, all bleached wood, white walls and pale blue detailing. No, she couldn’t decorate it and change it. Selling was the only option. She ought to talk to Edward about it – well, talk to Edward’s lawyer. That would be next she supposed: his lawyer talking to her lawyer. She didn’t have a lawyer. There hadn’t been much call in her life for legal help, but she’d have to get one now. Not from Tamarin, of course. Even if the lawyer was the very model of discretion, still Anneliese winced at the thought of somebody local knowing everything about her and Edward’s break-up.
She could imagine it. Nell, sitting in a lawyer’s office, crouched like a witch on her chair, saying: ‘No, Edward, make sure you get half of everything – more than half.’
Anneliese shuddered. She’d get a lawyer in Waterford and let them deal with it. She’d say she wanted it done as simply and cleanly as possible, like amputation. Cut the limb off, cauterise it and walk away. But where would she go then? Would she stay in Tamarin? If Lily wasn’t there, she probably wouldn’t and Lily might not survive.
It had been over a week since her stroke and it was time to face facts. Lily might never come back and the more Anneliese visited her, the more she thought that Lily was getting older and frailer and more distant in the bed.
She could move to Dublin to be close to Beth and Marcus and her beautiful grandchild, but that might be crowding Beth; it wouldn’t be fair.
Her family home had been the other side of Waterford, but her parents were long dead and her brothers and sisters were scattered all around the country and the globe. There was no one place to call home any more, except Tamarin. When she’d married Edward, Anneliese had made this place her home.
God, the tablets were great, she thought sleepily. They allowed her mind to roam into areas she’d previously locked off. Which had to be good – or was it bad?
She closed her eyes, allowed herself to stop thinking about what she’d do next, and somehow she fell asleep.
The sound of a car crunching up on the stones on the drive woke her up. Beth was back. She should have been cooking and she’d fallen asleep. Blast it.
She threw back the duvet and looked out of the window, only there were two cars parking, Beth and Marcus’s car and Edward’s.
Anneliese’s chest tightened. She couldn’t cope with Edward right now. Clearly this was some idea of Beth’s to bring him here and make him talk to Anneliese. But Edward and Anne-liese didn’t want to talk to each other. They’d had two weeks to do it and neither of them had so much as picked up a phone to speak to the other. There was simply nothing to be said and too much pain would emerge during the saying of that nothing.
Anxiously, Anneliese pulled on her sweatshirt and jeans.
‘Mum,’ said Beth from the door of the bedroom. ‘Mum, I know you’re not going to like this, but…’
‘I saw your father’s car,’ Anneliese said. ‘Beth, this isn’t a good idea.’
‘Mum, please.’ Beth came into the room and sat on the bed. ‘Please.’
‘I’m not able for this.’
‘But talking is good, Mum, and you haven’t spoken to each other since he left, Dad told me.’
‘So?’ snapped Anneliese, feeling suddenly angry. ‘What is there to talk about? That he’s sorry and can we all be friends and do this amicably? I can guess what he wants to talk to me about, and I don’t want to listen. Once upon a time, he told me he loved me, and all the time he was involved with Nell. So frankly, I’m not interested in anything your father has to tell me.’