Читать книгу If Ever I Fall: A gripping, emotional story with a heart-breaking twist - S.D. Robertson, S.D. Robertson - Страница 15

Dear Sam,

Sorry about breaking off so abruptly last time. Ruby had got herself all confused, poor thing. She’d had some sort of nightmare; then she woke up and got into a panic at not being able to move her arm. It’ll take her a while to get used to the plaster cast.

I’m keeping her off school for a couple of days. Yesterday she was shattered after all the time we spent at the hospital. Today it was more about giving her a chance to get used to doing everything one-handed. She should be fine to go back next week, from what the doctors said. As long as she’s not in any pain and keeps her arm rested in a sling. She’ll still be able to do most of her schoolwork, thanks to being left-handed, but there’ll be no PE or Games for a while. She’s mainly excited about all her friends signing the plaster.

I didn’t have a chance last time to tell you about the hospital visit itself. We went to A&E at St Joseph’s and were there for hours. One nice – and somewhat surprising – thing was that Dan turned up.

There, I’ve mentioned him. You probably wondered when I was going to. It had to happen eventually; he’s still in our lives and always will be, despite what happened between us. Forgive me if I’m not as impartial or diplomatic about him as I ought to be. I’m writing to your future self, Sam, not to the person you were. So these letters are making the assumption that you know all about the separation and so on. The whys and wherefores are not something I want to discuss here. I will say, though, that you mustn’t feel bad about any of that – I’m not suggesting you do; there’s absolutely no reason to. But just in case.

I rang him at work after the accident. He said initially that he couldn’t make it, because it was deadline night, but then he turned up after all. That was unexpected and, in light of Rick’s disappointing response, it actually felt refreshing. Dan was really supportive, and I think Ruby and I both appreciated it.

Things between us were really good for once. Dan stayed at the hospital the whole time and followed us home to tuck Ruby up in bed. He even stayed for a glass of wine. But then things turned sour. First he said something derisive after I changed into some casual clothes. Then he picked up on the fact that Rick had been here and got all narky with me. He didn’t actually accuse me of not paying enough attention to Ruby when she had the accident, but I could tell he was thinking it. He put me on a guilt trip about giving up work and, before I knew it, he was asking for a divorce and saying all kinds of hurtful things.

After everything I’d been through that day, it was too much. I burst into tears. Pathetic, I know, but I didn’t have the energy to argue back. Dan went home. I sat there, sobbing my heart out until there were no tears left.

All in all, a pretty dreadful day.

The thing is, Sam, before we had that argument, I was feeling better about our relationship than I have in ages. Dan turning up at the hospital renewed my faith in him. It felt nice the three of us being together again as a family unit. A small part of me even started to wonder …

No, I can’t bring myself to say it. Not after how it all turned out. I guess that was why it hurt so much when he started having a go at me. The irony is I’ve done that to him on loads of occasions; if I’ve not actually used the D word at some point, then I’ve definitely implied it. I’ve shouted and screamed at him; behaved in the bitchiest way possible countless times. I even made him return the present he gave me last Christmas, because we’d agreed not to do gifts. Nasty or what?

That might not sound like how you remember me, Sam. I never used to lose my temper so easily, did I? It’s part of the personal problems I’ve been having: the breakdown I mentioned in my last letter.

The thing about Dan is that he usually takes whatever I say firmly on the chin. As awful as that sounds, it’s true. He’s not the type to shout back, even when I deserve it. He definitely hasn’t asked for a divorce before. He’s never been one to say much at all about his emotions. That’s played a part in the problems between us. So in a way, although it sounds warped, I’m glad he shouted at me. It was good to see him being passionate, but a shame it was so horribly negative.

Gosh, just thinking about the current state of my relationship with Dan has got me welling up, especially since we used to be so good together. The way we met – in a pub with a group of friends – might not have been especially romantic. (I’ve told you the story before about how I knocked over his beer, spilling it all over his shirt.) But everything else about the start of our love affair was perfect. We fell head over heels for each other. I knew I wanted to marry him after we kissed at the end of that first meeting, believe it or not. I’d never got on so well with another person, male or female, before. We just clicked instantly, as if we’d known each other for years, even though I spent the first half an hour or so apologising for my clumsiness. It was like everyone else we were out with that night disappeared. Within a few weeks we were inseparable, and it remained like that for so long.

Relationships change over the years, of course, especially when you start a family. But when you’re married to your best friend and soulmate, as I truly felt I was, you travel through the ups and downs of life confident that your relationship will stand the test of time, no matter what. Unfortunately, as we eventually found out, even the strongest marriages have their breaking points.

Anyway, I digress. Back to the other night. After Dan had left and I’d cried myself out, I got into a bit of a state. I’d better explain. Sorry for the heavy subject matter again, Sam, but I need to do this.

You’ve heard of OCD, right? Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. It’s kind of a trendy mental illness these days. All sorts of people claim to have it: famous sports stars, actors, comedians, you name it. It’s often mentioned in a light-hearted way. They say something like: ‘I’m a bit OCD.’ Then they go on, with a wry grin, to explain how they like to order things in a certain way in their kitchen cupboards or have to check the front door twice before going out.

This winds me up because from my perspective, as someone who definitely does have OCD, it isn’t funny at all. It’s debilitating, humiliating, infuriating; rather than tell people, I do my utmost to hide it, even from those closest to me.

On the other hand, you get films and TV documentaries taking things to the opposite extreme. They tend to portray OCD in its most acute form. You see someone housebound or unable to lead a normal life because of it. They’re some kind of twitching wreck, hopping down the pavement to avoid cracks, or scrubbing all the skin off their palms for fear of germs. I understand why the producers and directors do this, as extremity makes for a more powerful story, but I just wish someone would portray the condition in a way that more closely matches my own experience.

I’m a functional fruitcake, remember, and I think the middle ground – the place where I and many other sufferers live, hiding our craziness from view – gets overlooked.

For a long time, I tried to hide it from myself by denying it was there. Now, finally, I’ve come to terms with it. I’ve sought help and I’m on the road to recovery, but it’s hard enough for people to understand without it being portrayed inaccurately in popular culture.

Wow. I can’t believe I told you all that, Sam. I thought it would be hard, but in fact the opposite was true. The words flowed right out of me. I wonder if this comes as a huge surprise to you, or if it kind of makes sense. With hindsight, you see, I think I’ve probably had a latent form of it for most of my life, which developed into full-blown OCD when I had my breakdown.

I’ve always liked things ‘just so’. I used to keep items on my desk at work in certain positions, for instance, and I’d get annoyed if someone moved them. I suppose I did it at home too, insisting on things being neat and tidy around the house. But it rarely got in the way of my everyday life and I never thought of it as anything more than fussiness or perfectionism. Even at school I remember tearing pages out of my workbooks and starting again because what I’d written the first time wasn’t neat enough. But it was only little things like that, every now and again.

Rosie, my counsellor, has been teaching me how to use cognitive behavioural techniques to overcome my OCD. It’s a self-help method and, although it’s not easy or a quick fix, I’ve been doing my best and I have been seeing good results. It’s not all plain sailing, though. I said earlier that I got myself into a state after Dan left. What I meant was that I had an OCD episode and ended up back at square one.

It’s a condition that affects people differently. For some it’s all about hygiene: obsessive cleaning due to fear of contamination. Others can’t stop themselves hoarding junk. In my case, there are two main obsessions. The first is a fear of harm occurring to me or my family, which leads to me repeatedly checking things like door locks and smoke alarms. The second is an excessive concern with exactness or order. This can emerge in a variety of situations, from tidying the house to writing a letter, but it’s basically a kind of extreme perfectionism. It could mean, for example, taking an hour to do a job that should only take minutes. It’s an obsession with getting small tasks ‘just right’ as if by doing that you’ll make everything else in your life perfect too.

Sounds absurd? No doubt. Even I know it’s ridiculous, but when I’m trapped in the middle of an episode, I just can’t stop. Not without following the steps Rosie’s been teaching me.

I hope I’ve not lost you, Sam, prattling on about all of this. It must be a lot to take in. Believe me when I say that I’m tempted to scrub out this whole page, screw up the paper and start over. It’s like there’s a voice in my head urging me to do so – begging me – with the false promise that I’ll do a better job next time. But I’m fighting it. I’m fighting so hard.

You know how in cartoons a character sometimes has an angel and a devil pop up on each shoulder, one urging them to do good and the other to do evil? It feels a bit like that. The angel, in this case, is the part of me that wants to beat the OCD. But fighting it is always the harder choice. And sometimes the devil won’t stop. He goes on and on and on and on and on and on. His voice bounces around my head like a rubber ball, demanding to be heard.

That’s what happened after Dan left the other night, and I didn’t have the strength to resist. I locked the door after him, but five minutes later I felt the urge to go and check it. Even though I knew it was locked. I tried to resist, to stay put where I was, but eventually I gave in. I checked it once and then dozens of times. I couldn’t tear myself away from that bloody door. And then when I finally did, I found myself at the bottom of the stairs, worrying that the carpet wasn’t properly fixed down; that Ruby could have another fall. I went up and down the stairs, over and over again on my hands and knees, checking every inch. And then I was at the back door, twisting the key in the lock like a mad woman.

It went on for hours. Somehow I managed to pull myself together before Ruby woke up. I had to. I couldn’t let her see me like that, although I’d hardly slept and was shattered. In the cold light of morning, I felt ridiculous. I felt ashamed, as I always do after tearing myself free of its clutches. If only that was enough to stop it happening again.

Gosh, I’m really starting to wonder if I’ve gone too far with this, telling you too much in one go. Maybe I ought to start over.

Maybe.

No!

No starting over!

Move forward.

Keep moving forward.

You see? I’m fighting it right now.

You must think I’m …

Sorry about that, Sam. I needed a few minutes to compose myself. I made a cup of tea.

It’s time to move on and tell you about something else. Lighten things up.

So Rick phoned me yesterday.

‘How are you?’ he asked. ‘How’s Ruby? Anna said she wasn’t at school today. She was worried about her. Me too, of course.’

He sounded nervous. Embarrassed. Not the self-assured, relaxed person I’d first met. No doubt he felt bad about the way he’d reacted to Ruby’s injury. He’d not exactly been supportive. Useless more like.

‘Well, she has a broken arm,’ I replied.

‘Right. Oh dear. Everything went well at the hospital?’

‘Yes. It took a while, but we got there in the end.’

‘Ruby’s arm’s in plaster now?’

‘That’s right.’

There was a long pause. He was waiting for me to expand, but I didn’t feel like making things easy, so I stayed silent; waited for him to say something else.

‘Right. That’s good. The plaster, I mean. Well, not good exactly, but it’ll help it to heal.’

‘Yes,’ I said, enjoying feeling in control for once. I almost mentioned that my husband had joined us at the hospital but thought better of it. Why risk blowing things when they’d reached such an interesting phase?

‘How long is Ruby likely to be off school?’ he asked.

‘Not long. She should be back next week.’

‘Oh, good. I’ll tell Anna that. She’ll be pleased.’

Rick went on to apologise for ‘being a little squeamish’, as he put it, asking for the chance to make it up to us.

‘I’m not a bad cook,’ he said. ‘I wondered if the two of you might like to come over for some food this weekend. Only if Ruby’s up to it, of course.’

I said yes. I’m not a big fan of apologies, as I’m sure you remember, but he is gorgeous and I couldn’t resist.

We’re visiting their place tomorrow afternoon. I’ll let you know how it goes in my next letter, which I promise will be more upbeat.

Love as always,

M

Xx