The Snake That Bites Its Tail, page 12
She squeezes her eyes tight as tears leak out and track down both cheeks. Lakmaker reaches across the desk for a box of tissues and waits in silence as she dries her face.
‘Sorry.’
‘You’ve nothing to be sorry about, Jane, but do you often think about killing yourself?’
‘When the panic gets to me, life don’t seem worth living.’
‘Does nothing help with these feelings?’
‘Grass.’
‘You smoke cannabis?’
She nods.
‘How often?’
She shrugs her shoulders. ‘Once a day, mostly in the evenin’ if I’m not workin’. Stops me thinkin’ about bad stuff, helps me sleep without nightmares about… well, you know.’
‘Unfortunately, even assuming I wanted to, I can’t sanction cannabis as a medication.’
‘It works,’ she comments.
Lakmaker looks at his patient. She is younger in appearance than her sixteen years, underweight, small in bone structure and, even sitting down, he towers over her. Her legs and arms are thin, her skin pasty white and her face pockmarked with spots. He sees signs of oedema, a slightly distended stomach which is usually a sign of protein malnutrition. He’s treated too many children like her, abused, uncared for, starved of a decent diet and of affection.
‘I’d prefer you not to smoke cannabis even if it appears to be helping. You’re a little under-nourished and I’m going to prescribe a drink that should help build you up to a more normal body weight for your height and age. As far as your anxiety is concerned, the first step is to realise you’re in no physical danger at moments when your emotions take control.
‘Over the coming weeks, we’ll examine the situations that trigger your anxiety. I should be able to teach you ways to relax your muscles and regulate your breathing using special words.
‘Going forward, you’ll learn how to control those aspects of life that worry you by differentiating between those you’re able to manage and those beyond your control.
‘I’m going to prescribe you Valium and you should take one tablet three times a day. They’ll help ease your anxiety.’
Jane’s face is ashen-white. She feels drained and exhausted although strangely liberated. ‘Thank you, Doctor, er…’
‘Peter, please call me Peter.’
‘Thank you, Peter, I’ll try an’ cut down on the weed.’
‘Good. Now, I would like to see you once a week for as long as it takes, which is unlikely to be less than six months. If you see the lady on reception, she’ll book a series of weekly consultations at a time to suit us both. I’m conscious of your work commitments.’
He hands her the prescription as she stands and makes ready to leave.
‘Give this in at the pharmacy on your way out and please make sure you take the tablets regularly.’
She hesitates a moment before asking one last question. ‘You won’t tell my parents where I am, will you?’ Her eyes widen as she speaks.
‘Jane, I promised you everything you tell me will remain within the walls of this consulting room. Legally you’re not an adult and your parents ought to be informed of your whereabouts, but I believe your story and as your consultant, I’ve decided they should not know where you are. Occasionally, rules need to be broken.’ He breaks into a reassuring smile.
‘But please, only resort to cannabis on those occasions you really feel completely out of control.’
She nods. ‘See ya next week then.’
Ten
From: Robin Farnham
To: Dr Lakmaker
Ref. No: 6
That was nasty! No, I have no memory of attacking Penny and I’m sorry I threw up on your carpet. Being called a wife-beater is not easy to take and I’m becoming increasingly concerned over my inability to remember too many incidents from my past.
It feels as if something rooted from way back is trying to force its way into my head. What the hell is it? If I’m capable of hitting the woman I loved, am I also capable of murder?
I don’t mind admitting I’m petrified of uncovering the truth, but I don’t want to die without knowing what kind of man I really am.
Maybe it will shed light on that period if I explain how Penny’s attempted suicide affected me. The situation forced me to take my three-year-old son to Dorset to stay with my parents and my month-old daughter to Penny’s parents. I was living alone.
During the weeks she was hospitalised, and before the doctors recommended that she underwent electroconvulsive therapy, the pressure started getting to me. I wasn’t making time to eat properly and was drinking too much. After working all day, I would stop off on my way to the hospital for a couple of large whiskies to help me face what I knew was waiting for me there. When I finally made it home after sitting for hours with Penny, the house seemed horribly silent and I would just flop down on the sofa in the living room, turn on the television and drink more, sometimes a lot more.
You see, Doctor, after Jo’s rejection, and the tough lessons learned from cousin Robert, I was determined to stand on my own two feet, sort my problems in my own way, but without realising it, I was crumbling.
One evening, I overdid the booze on an empty stomach, fell asleep on the sofa and woke during the night with a God-awful headache. I was shaking uncontrollably and couldn’t think straight. I later realised it was a panic attack.
I had never felt so out of control, and it scared me into consulting my GP, who gave me a really hard time over my drinking. He referred me as an urgent case to a psychiatrist in Lewisham Hospital, close to where I was working. You can imagine how that made me feel. Two loonies in the family!
He turned out to be a very good doctor. He encouraged me to express my emotions openly and saw no wrong in a man shedding tears; the complete opposite of my father.
Over a period of months, he taught me how to focus solely on situations within my control. I learned how to accept that if I was unable to change a situation, there was no point worrying or getting anxious over it. There’s little doubt he opened my eyes to a new philosophy for life.
I could do nothing about Penny’s illness, and I couldn’t change the fact that my children were living with their grandparents. But I could get a grip on my performance at work and my drinking.
He prescribed Valium and ordered me to avoid alcohol while taking it. The pills calmed me down, made me less anxious and I stopped drinking for almost a year. His counselling was invaluable although it was complicated by an addiction to Valium, which took me three years and some unpleasant side effects to kick.
Looking back, it’s clear I too, was mentally disturbed during that period but the combination of learning a new life philosophy plus coping with a Valium addiction toughened me. I felt more in charge of my life, although it’s possible it also made me tougher on those around me. I’ve struggled since to feel empathy towards those who are incapable of thinking like me, who cannot deal with life’s problems the way I do.
But the crucial question is, was I violent towards Penny? Do I even want to know?
MEMO ENDS rf
*
From: Robin Farnham
To: Dr Lakmaker
Ref. No: 7
Of course he smacked her around a bit, she gave him little option, and deserved it; but more of that later. First, Doc, I need to fill you in on how I dealt with Jo’s new boyfriend.
Robin left school in July of ’64 and took a summer job with the local accountant before leaving home in late September to live and work in London.
Jo had dumped him the week before he was due to leave and it plunged him into a pathetic, self-pitying melancholy. He couldn’t get that bloody girl out of his head.
Her parents’ house was at the far end of a no-through road on the edge of town and during those final few days before leaving home, he took to hiding in the field beyond her house, crouching behind a tall hedge, like some kind of weirdo stalker.
Hour after endless bloody hour he hid there, hoping for a glimpse of her. God only knows why. On the final Friday, he spotted the new boyfriend arriving in his fancy blue car. He was weirdly fascinated yet at the same time utterly dejected and an hour later, he watched as they drove off together. Every second tortured him.
For the next two days, the stupid lovesick sod wandered aimlessly around the town, up Wincombe Lane to their ‘special’ field and to the coffee bar where they used to meet. On the Sunday afternoon, as he was ambling his way home, he spotted the blue car heading east along the A30.
I worked out later the boyfriend must have been staying at Jo’s that weekend and this was his route to and from her house.
During those first few weeks in London his depression deepened; no money, dull job, no friends and when he wasn’t working, he would sit around all day moping about how much better life would be if he and Jo were still together.
Things improved once he teamed up with Robert and money began flowing, but on the odd occasion he managed to find himself a new woman, no matter how attractive, he was bloody useless. The only one he wanted was Jo.
A week after passing his driving test, he bought his first car and drove to Dorset on that Thursday in October, the evening he found the snake bracelet in the road. He was optimistic he might win her back now he had money in his pocket and drove a smart car.
I was fresh on the scene and had some catching up to do. I watched as he walked the length of the High Street on the Friday afternoon, desperate to see her. As he passed King Alfred’s Kitchen, the café where they’d spent so much time together, he spotted her through the steamed-up front window.
She was sitting at what used to be ‘their’ table with a girlfriend he recognised from her school. He walked into the café and straight to the table. I admired his pluck.
She was surprised to see him and cocked her head to one side as she smiled, the same downward smile she used to give him each time they met. I could feel it shredding him into bits.
‘Hiya, Robin, how are you?’
He spoke too quickly. ‘I’m fine, Jo, fine, thanks. It’s good to see you. How long has it been?’ He knew it was exactly thirteen months and three days.
‘It must be over a year since you left Dorset. How’s life treating you in London?’
‘It was… it was difficult to begin with, it’s expensive living away from home, specially up there. It took a while to settle.’
‘I’m sure it must have but you look as if you’re settled now. Love the trendy clothes.’
He thought he sensed warmth in her voice. I sensed something else, an underlying sadness perhaps, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
‘Yeah, and I’m home for the weekend and wondered if there was a chance we might have a bite to eat together this evening? You know, for old time’s sake. I could pick you up and maybe we could drive to Salisbury?’
Her neck and cheeks flushed crimson, and I could see her struggling for words. ‘I’m sorry, Robin, but… I can’t, I’m not… I’m already committed. You know how it is. But it’s good to see you again and you look like you’re doing ever so well.’ She smiled that same smile, but now it was somehow different. The warmth was gone and the silence that followed told him everything.
‘Yeah, okay. You take care of yourself, Jo. Good seeing you.’
He trudged back to his car and sulked for an hour before it came to me what needed to be done if he was to stand any chance of winning her back.
What he had forgotten but I remembered was the route the boyfriend had taken to Jo’s house and there was a better than even chance he would be arriving later that afternoon.
I took over and drove Robin’s car back to his parents’ house and checked that the old bicycle he used to ride out on his paper round was in the garden shed and still serviceable. The tyres were flat, which was easily sorted, but everything else worked perfectly. I also checked in the saddlebag and found what I was hoping would still be there. At around 5.30pm, I cycled to the end of Jo’s road to see if the blue car was outside her house.
The road was empty, which was what I’d hoped, so I made my way out of town east on the A30 in the direction of Salisbury. After a couple of miles, I dismounted and leaned the bicycle against a hedge at the entrance to a narrow, unmade lane. I reached inside the saddlebag and removed Robin’s old wooden-handled catapult from where he’d left it years before.
In the half-light of an autumn dusk, I selected a small round pebble no larger than a child’s marble from the gravel on the edge of the lane and eased myself, backside first, into the hedge and crouched down facing the oncoming traffic from the east.
In stark contrast to the snaking streams of traffic choking London’s streets, the A30 was like a graveyard that evening. In the ten minutes I squatted in that hedge, one solitary tractor towing a cart dripping with foul-smelling slurry passed by.
It wasn’t difficult to spot the pale-blue car through the gloom as it rounded the bend at speed some 150m ahead of me. I gripped the pebble firmly in the leather pouch, raised the catapult and drew the vulcanised rubber back as far as its tension allowed.
The windscreen on a 1960s Austin A40 was frighteningly vulnerable in comparison with those on modern cars. Projected from a distance of some twenty yards, the stone slammed into the glass like a bullet, fracturing the screen into a spider’s web of opaque, interlaced cracks.
The driver could have seen nothing as his car veered sharply to the right across the oncoming lane. The front wheels mounted the grass verge and the car lifted off the road. A split second later, it slammed head-on into a large oak tree towering over the small triangle of grass by the roadside.
He would have died the instant the tree trunk rammed the engine block through the dashboard and the steering wheel into his chest. Few people wore seat belts in those days.
The only sound breaking the silence was steam hissing from a broken radiator. I remounted the bicycle and took a leisurely ride through the back lanes to Robin’s parents’ house.
I’m not convinced I intended to kill the guy. I just wanted him out of the picture, although maybe it had to be that way if Robin was to win Jo back.
What I hadn’t accounted for was Robin never learning of the fatal accident, so he didn’t call her to offer sympathy or ask her out again.
Now, as I’m in the mood for giving you a few home truths, Doc, I’d better bring you up to speed on what happened with Penny in the days leading up to her attempted suicide.
Robin was working his balls off in his new job, twelve hours a day, and all she did was moan about how difficult her life was.
Bloody hell, only a year before he had agreed to sell their house in the middle of the Kent countryside and move to the suburban jungle of inner Essex so she could be near her parents and siblings. He loathed the bloody place but did it for her, to make her happy. Still she complained about being on her own, and missing the people she used to work with. Day after bloody day.
To my mind, Robin showed the patience of a saint but finally lost it earlier the same week she attempted suicide, although it was a shock to both of us when she tried to kill herself. I was never convinced it was a genuine attempt.
She was an attention seeker who sought to make him feel guilty about working long hours and not spending more time at home.
MEMO ENDS rf
*
Robin slams the laptop shut and rubs tired, scratchy eyes. How long has he been writing this stuff? It seems like days.
A chilling thought flashes through his mind.
What if Lakmaker is doing nothing other than collecting evidence for the police to build a case against him? Wife-beating suggests an aggressive nature, one capable of murder. He never once thought of himself as aggressive. He’s never been aggressive.
He worries Lakmaker is screwing up what little remains of his life. He deserves better, to end his days in peace, with Lucy, Giles and Katie. He sinks back into the chair, his hands resting flat on the arms, and sighs deeply.
Should some chapters in our lives stay hidden forever? Are there some corners in all our lives destined to remain forever dark?
His problem is he’s now desperate to find out what in his past is hidden from him.
Eleven
‘So did you also murder the Brigadier?’ Lakmaker is in the process of settling himself down opposite Robin and his expression is vaguely aggressive although he is speaking softly, his voice barely audible.
‘What d’you mean?’ Robin’s brow furrows.
‘Well, you’ve admitted assaulting Penny and deliberately causing the accident that killed Jo’s lover, so I presume you also took revenge on the man who cheated you at the poker table.’
‘What the hell are you talking about? I did nothing of the sort.’
Lakmaker is clearly startled by the abrupt response and hands Robin two typewritten sheets which he reads. Frantically, he fires up the laptop, his hands shaking visibly as he reads the exact same words on the screen as he has this moment seen on paper.
‘I didn’t write this nonsense. Something’s wrong here.’
‘What time did you sit up writing until last night?’
‘How would I know? My watch is gone and there’s no clock in here. Even the date and time on this computer have been disabled.’
‘You were writing well into the small hours of this morning.’
‘If you bloody well know what time I sat up until, why ask?’ Lakmaker allows the question to hang in the air and sits motionless, staring at his patient.
Robin slumps back in the armchair, squeezes his eyes shut and struggles to retrieve memories of the previous evening. Nothing is clear so he turns back to the computer and flicks the mouse with his index finger to bring the penultimate memo up on screen.
