Denial (43 page)
“How naive!” Celeste looked at Amy. “The night I knew I loved you,” she offered gently, “was when we were in New York. I held you in my arms and watched you sleep. I had never felt so frightened. I was thirty-three years old. I had seen atrocities that could unhinge the mind. But nothing had prepared me for what I felt for you. My heart, body, mind, everything was yours,” she whispered. Her eyes darkened. “I am yours, Amy. And because of that, I hope you understand that the choice has never been mine.”
Celeste pulled Amy close and rested her forehead on hers for a moment before kissing her.
Amy’s mouth instinctively opened and Celeste kissed her fully. The kiss carried none of the tension and anger between them.
Celeste kissed Amy for a long time, eventually taking it to a light, sweet, lingering kiss. Letting her go, she moved away.
Amy swayed at the loss.
“I’ll give you time to pack and say goodbye to the children.” Sadness filled her voice. “I would like it if you occasionally contacted them. But,” she shrugged heavily, “it’s up to you.”
Celeste looked at Amy for a moment longer, misery pouring from her eyes.
Amy closed her eyes and turned away from her.
After a few moments, Amy heard a car start.
At last! You’ve got what you wanted. Now quickly say goodbye and leave.
But Amy didn’t move. Instead, she watched the children play and gently stroked her lips, still wet from Celeste’s kiss. She bowed her head, realizing that even with everything she had been through, at this moment, she had never felt so alone.
It had been weeks since Amy had come home. Since her return, she had been unable to shake the cocoon of emptiness that surrounded her the moment she had parted from Celeste. Somehow, she had expected to feel a great sense of relief. But instead, to her surprise, everything she had successfully buried for the last few years was being pushed to the surface to such an extent that she was now unable to settle into a routine.
Following the first week of her return, on a whim, Amy had bought canvases, paintbrushes, and oils, and over the last few weeks, when she wasn’t at work, she spent her time painting.
Amy stood back and looked at the painting that was half finished. “It’s not my usual work,” she muttered, before turning full circle to look at all the other canvases. She eyed them. Lifting her T-shirt, she scratched her side and felt her ribs. She fingered each one, aware that she was neglecting herself, but she couldn’t help it, she reconciled. Whatever time she had to spare, she needed it to paint.
Amy’s stomach grumbled. Rubbing it, she told herself that as soon as she got this out of her system, she’d pay attention to herself and get right back on track, but her stomach rumbled loudly this time and Amy realized she couldn’t wait; she needed to eat. She left the living room and walked down the hallway; it was dark. Recently, she liked it that way.
Entering the kitchen with a flourish, Amy threw open the fridge door and bending down, inspected it. To her disappointment, the fridge was bare apart from a half-empty carton of congealed Chinese food. She smelled it, grimaced, then threw it in the bin. Her internal voice rankled, You need to get your act together and get some shopping done.
Over the last month, Amy had been unable to work up any enthusiasm for shopping. Whenever she felt hungry, she ate at the local café or at the hospital canteen. This was her weekend off and looking in the fridge, she tried to remember the last time she’d eaten. She straightened and thought hard. Was it Saturday? She scratched her head and thought. No. It was Friday. I had a bowl of soup at the café on Friday.
Amy cringed when she realized that today was Sunday. She looked at her watch; surprised that it was ten in the evening. She hadn’t eaten properly in more than three days.
“You must remember to eat,” she told herself. “Otherwise, everyone will think you’re losing the plot and—”
Amy stopped and listened. The phone was ringing. Expecting the call to be from her mother, she slowly closed the fridge door and headed toward the living room. Before answering, she wondered how quickly she could get Irene off the phone and get back to work.
“Hello,” she answered distractedly.
When she heard Daniel’s voice, Amy’s focused sharply. He was excited, explaining he had won an art competition. Amy smiled as she listened. She had desperately missed the children.
After a few minutes, she heard Naomi’s voice grow louder. She was impatient to speak to her. After some wrangling, Daniel passed the phone to Naomi. Grinning, Amy took a seat and chatted with Naomi about what the little girl had been doing. She smiled when Naomi told her that her favorite pastime now was horse riding, and that she had recently lost her front tooth and had gotten
five
whole dollars under her pillow when the tooth fairy visited. Now, she couldn’t wait to lose all of her teeth, if that meant she would get five whole dollars every time.
Eventually, after much persuasion, Naomi passed the phone to Colin. “Hi, Amy,” he said as he shooed the kids out into the backyard. “We’ve got them because Celeste is working late tonight.” He hesitated. “They’ve been at me to let them call you, and since Danny won the art competition it’s been the zillionth time, at least, that they’ve asked this week alone.” He muttered in a low voice, “They miss you badly, you know.”
Amy could tell he was anxious. He hadn’t stopped for breath.
“And, well, you know, with kids it’s too hard to explain what’s really happening. I hope you don’t mind. But I promise it’ll be just this one time.”
Amy’s throat constricted and she coughed to clear it. “No,” she replied. “Of course I don’t mind.” She paused. “How are you?”
“Oh, I’m fine. You know, everything’s fine.” His voice held a tinge of pride. “Alex has got travel bug and wants us to go to Australia. He’s convinced that my horizons need broadened.” He laughed.
Amy smiled. To her surprise, she asked, “How’s Celeste?”
Colin breathed in sharply. “Well,” he answered after a moment. “I’d like to say she’s fine, but she’s not. She’s really struggling.” Frustration crept into his tone. “Oh look man…I don’t know if it matters now. Does it?” He didn’t wait for her to respond. “You’ve made it pretty clear where you stand. And anyway I called for the kids’ sake.”
Amy’s heart sank. She could hear the tension in his voice. She was sorry their friendship had ended this way.
Colin said quickly, “I gotta go, Amy. The kids are calling me out back.” He hesitated then lowered his voice, “But if you really want to know, I’ve never seen her look so bad.” To Amy’s surprise, he sounded almost wistful. “I have always admired Celeste for her strength.” He laughed a little. “You know she’s that type with the quiet but strong demeanor. But since you’ve been gone, she’s agitated. She’s thin…too thin.” He breathed. “She’s not herself. She can’t eat, she can’t sleep because she’s missing you. She needs you. But,” he added so harshly that Amy could almost see him squaring his shoulders, “you know that, Amy. Don’t you?” He finished coldly. “You’ve always known that, haven’t you?”
Amy’s jaw dropped.
He whispered into the receiver, “Huh, don’t you?” His tone softened. “I wish I could knock some sense into you, Amy. I want to wake you up. You love her. You don’t hate her. But your anger and resentment is affecting not only you but all of us. And to be honest, it has done for a long time now.” He sighed heavily. “Too long.”
Surprised, Amy struggled, but couldn’t find anything to say.
“Do you know what the cruel part is, Amy?” Colin asked. “It’s that you’ve allowed her to take all the blame. You need to stop blaming her and wake up to the real world, take some of the responsibility on board yourself. It takes two to tango, sweetie.”
Amy still hadn’t uttered a word.
She heard anger in his tone. “Don’t make me believe you’re a lost cause, Amy.”
Again, she said nothing.
Colin sighed. “Good luck with your life, Amy. If you continue like this you’ll need it.”
Amy heard a click, then the dial tone. She stared at the phone, stunned. Her stomach churned as his words replayed in her mind. The familiar anxiety she had been experiencing since she returned rose a notch. Tired and very upset, she slouched and sat for a long time with the phone in her hand. Eventually, she put it down and standing, approached her painting. She stood for a moment, staring at it, before picking up the paintbrush and working on the canvas.
†
Amy looked at her watch. It was seven in the morning and she hadn’t stopped since the phone call last night. She let out a frustrated sigh, realizing that she had less than one hour to get showered and ready for work. She put down her paintbrush and looked at her hands; they were covered in paint. She pulled at her T-shirt and looked at it; it was soaked in paint. Amy moved quickly toward the bathroom. Partway there, she started feeling lightheaded. She stopped to lean against the wall. She thought about sitting down, but knew that if she did she wouldn’t have the energy to get back up. She pressed her head against the wall, aware she was reaching her limit.
After a few minutes, she made it. Weak, she undressed before opening the glass door to turn on the shower. Standing under the cold blast of water, shivering, she waited for the water to heat up. Once the water warmed, she bent forward and put some turpentine on a cloth. Following a ritual that she had been carrying out every workday since she started painting again, she began to remove the paint from her arms before scrubbing the rest of her body.
Methodically, Amy removed all traces of paint. She had gotten into the habit of painting barefoot in Sarasota and preferred to paint barefoot even though it was winter here.
Working on her feet, which were blocks of ice, and too weak to stand, Amy was forced to sit in the bathtub to finish the job.
After she finished dressing for work, Amy sniffed the air. Although the turpentine she used was odorless, she always ensured there was absolutely no evidence of a smell with spray deodorant and perfume.
Her stomach grumbled loudly and Amy decided, as she put her coat on, that she would stop off and order some hot broth and hot bread rolls at Denny’s. At the front door, she bent down to collect the post. It was the usual mail, which recently she hadn’t even bothered opening.
Amy picked up the bundle and put it with the other mail on the dresser in the hall. A large manila envelope, postmarked from Sarasota, caught her attention. Her heart thudded. Opening it, she carefully pulled out its contents. She read the note attached to the sheet of paper.
Hi Amy,
Danny is desperate for you to see his work. Hope you like it.
Drop a note to let us know how you are and what you think.
Hope you’re well.
Love,
Alex
Amy held a copy of Daniel’s painting. It was his home on Lido Beach. She looked at it. His painting was beautiful. There was a huge yellow sun on the rise and big black birds flying across the sky. There were sand dunes that didn’t belong, but at his age, it was a good sign of a fertile imagination. The colors were vibrant.
Amy smiled, acknowledging that he had a real talent. She felt a lump in her throat and squeezed it to relieve the tightness forming. She touched her cheek, expecting tears, but there were none. Surprised, she wiped her hand across her cheekbone just to check before carefully sliding the sheet back in the envelope.
On my next day off, I’ll get it framed.
Arriving at work carrying her hot soup and hot, buttered rolls, Amy pushed open the heavy door leading into the children’s ward with her shoulder and entered the nurse’s room. She smiled when she saw Sandra, who was back for the first time since taking six weeks of unpaid leave to backpack across Indonesia.
Sandra gasped when she saw Amy, unable to believe the transformation. Amy looked terribly thin, her hair tied back in a tight bun, her skin pale with dark circles under her eyes. She looked ghastly. Sandra was surprised. Since Celeste and the children’s visit during the summer, Amy had put on some weight, had looked in good shape and the picture of health. In fact, Sandra had met Celeste and the children many times during their stay, and loved the fact that they were such a good influence on her friend.
Amy hugged Sandra. “Thought you might need this,” she said, handing her a cup of hot soup. “It’s bloody freezing outside.”
Accepting the soup, Sandra said, half-jokingly, “You look like hell. You haven’t missed me that much have you?”
Putting down the cup, Amy smiled and shrugged out of her coat, then took off her gloves and scarf.
Sandra gawked at her friend, shocked at how loose her uniform was.
Sitting down, Amy peeled the lid off her cup and shoved her nose into the steaming smell of the delicious soup. She opened up a bag with the hot buttered rolls and passed one to Sandra.
Transfixed, Sandra watched Amy dunk the roll into her cup and catch the soggy bread in her mouth. Amy moaned and her eyes rolled back. She dunked again and gave the task of eating her full attention. She finished her roll quickly.
Sandra pushed her bread roll toward Amy, offering it to her.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Sandra replied. “I had something to eat this morning.” She tried to hide her concern with a smile.
Amy smiled back, and taking Sandra’s bread roll dunked it into her soup.
Sandra watched, aware by the looks of her that Amy hadn’t eaten a proper meal in a while. She queried gently, “What have you been up to?”
Amy chewed and swallowed. “You know me, busy, busy, busy.”
Yes, Amy, Sandra thought. By the looks of it you’ve been too bloody busy, busy, busy!
Concern showed on Sandra’s face as she watched Amy eat. With sudden insight she thought, sadly, you haven’t been coping since you got back from Florida, have you? She felt a stab of guilt that she hadn’t been there for Amy. Taking her friend’s hand and deciding to keep it light, she said jokingly, “I hope busy, busy, busy involved shagging all weekend because you look absolutely knackered.”
Amy grinned. “If I said yes, would that put a hold on you nagging me?”
“It would certainly explain why you look like you haven’t slept in a week,” she said affectionately. But unable to hide her concern, added, “Amy, you really do look like shit. Has this anything to do with Celeste or the children?”
Lifting her cup to her mouth, Amy paused for a second before draining it. Putting the empty cup down, she stood, and reaching out, touched Sandra’s cheek. Completely ignoring her question she said, “I’m glad you’re back.” Then turning, she headed out the room to begin her shift.
Sandra frowned. Concerned and wanting to know what the hell was going on she said, “Amy, I’m—”
As she turned to look at Sandra, Amy hit the edge of the table near the door. Tumbling forward, she fell to the ground.
Sandra rushed to her. “How are you feeling, honey?” she asked, taking her hand and helping her up.
Amy nodded dazedly. “Fine,” she replied, grimacing as she held her side. “I’m winded, that’s all.”
Sandra helped her over to the nearest chair. “Amy, I think you should go home. You look shattered.”
Amy looked at her in surprise.
“I’ll arrange for a taxi, and I’ll stop by and check on you tonight. Okay? No arguments. I’m not taking no for an answer,” she said forcefully. “You’re going.”
Sandra picked up the phone and dialed a local taxi number. Waiting for the call to be answered, she looked at Amy and said in a worried tone, “You really do look absolutely exhausted.”
Organizing the taxi, Sandra put down the phone and looked at her watch; she really needed to get back to work. She had been off the ward for far too long already.
Sandra sat next to Amy. “Amy, you’re exhausted,” she said. “You need to rest. Why don’t you take the next couple of days off? We’ll cope. It seems pretty quiet, and if there’s any change I promise I’ll get your bony arse in here, pronto.” She took Amy’s hands into her own. “Honey, by the look of you, it’s evident that you’ve been pushing yourself far too hard. Neil mentioned to me on the phone that you were working all sorts of weird and wonderful shifts. You need to stop that. You can’t be here twenty-four-seven. You’ll burn yourself out if you keep this up!”
Amy looked at her.
Sandra looked into Amy’s eyes and whispered with shock, “That’s what you’re trying to do, isn’t it?” She gave her an incredulous look, then said with determination, “But no more, because Sandra’s back to make sure you’re okay. Okay?”
Amy smiled faintly.
Sandra stood up. “Go home and rest. I’ll drop by and see you tonight after I’ve finished my shift.” She pulled Amy up and helped her into her coat, wrapping her scarf around her as if she were a child.
Picking up her gloves, Amy murmured, “You’re right. I’m tired. I need some rest.”
Relieved Amy had come to her senses, Sandra gave her a hug before walking her out of the ward.
†
Sandra parked her car, grabbed the Chinese food and the bottle of wine she had bought, and headed toward Amy’s apartment. Stomping her feet to shift the snow from her shoes, she buzzed for entry. Over the last few years, she had taken to dropping by Amy’s apartment at least a couple of times a month for some Chinese food, a bottle of wine and some gossip. Amy never drank, so Sandra usually had the bottle and stayed over. She knew Amy wasn’t into going out, so it tended to be a girls night in.
When Celeste, the children and the boys were here, Sandra had stopped by often. She really enjoyed their company and picked up pretty quickly that there was a something between Amy and the gorgeous brunette.
When Colin and Alex were here, Sandra had bonded with Colin straightaway. During an evening out with Colin, he filled her in on everything she needed to know including the affair with Celeste and the accident.
She hadn’t been surprised that Amy had a history. It was evident when she treated her in hospital in Australia that Amy had a past by the very fact that she never spoke about it.
Sandra’s heart went out to her friend. She had always felt a sense of protection over her for some reason. When Colin told her the full story, she had actually cried like a baby right there in the pub. Colin too, albeit the couple of bottles of wine they had might have contributed to a large part of their public display.
Desperate to get into the heat, Sandra buzzed Amy’s apartment again. She shivered and thought about how exhausted her friend looked this morning.
What the hell happened over there in Sarasota that’s driving her to work herself to sheer exhaustion
? Even though Amy had never confided in her about her past, other than cursory information, Sandra decided that tonight, whether Amy liked it or not, they were going to have a serious talk.
Shivering, Sandra buzzed again. She had phoned Amy once today, but there had been no answer; she hoped the blonde was catching up on some much-needed shuteye. During her trip, Sandra had phoned Amy lots of times and always got reassurance over the phone that she was fine. Sandra rolled her eyes and thought if only she’d known.
Pulling the lapels of her coat closer Sandra frowned, remembering that before she left for her vacation she had specifically asked Neil to look after Amy. She had even spoken to him several times during her vacation. Never once had he cracked a light that something was up. Sandra shook her head and thought she shouldn’t be surprised that the twit had never noticed the state Amy was in. He only ever paid attention to what he could get his leg over, and recently he’d been dating a girl with a pulse, which meant that he had the attention span of a gnat. Sandra made a mental note to put him on permanent night shift for the next month.
Impatiently, she buzzed several times and sighed with relief when Amy eventually buzzed her in. Shivering, Sandra made her way up the stairs. She sighed, pleased that her shift was over. The first day back was always a killer. She smiled when she saw Amy had left the door ajar. Pushing it fully open, she walked straight in.
Sandra stood for a moment, surprised that the hallway was dark. There were no lights on, apart from the living room. Calling out Amy’s name, she followed the light and entered the room.
Sandra stood stock-still. Her mouth fell open and only her eyes moved, absorbing her surroundings. The place was a mess. There was paint everywhere; over all the furniture, up the walls, on the curtains, even on the ceiling.
Sandra blinked a few times then noticed Amy in the corner. She stared at her and waited for some sort of explanation. She blinked, suddenly aware that Amy was standing in front of a painting, with a paint-splattered sweater on.
Sandra let out her breath and watched it evaporate in the cold air, registering with shock that the temperature in here was as cold. She frowned and looked around.
Not wanting to let Amy know Colin had blabbed her whole life story, Sandra stammered, “I…I didn’t know you painted, Amy…” Her words fell away when she realized the room was dank and depressing, not the bright room she was used to. She caught her breath when she noticed that all of Amy’s paintings were unremittingly dark. There was no life in any of them. They appeared to be variations of the same theme—all filled with women holding their heads and screaming, all crying out in pain. Some of the paintings had just one woman and others had women squashed against each other morphing into one.
The blood drained from Sandra’s face when she realized she was surrounded by what seemed like hundreds of silent voices screaming out in pain. Horror crossed her face as she looked around the room; it was littered with canvases. Some stacked on top of each other. Others leaned against walls. All were painted with detail, and all put aside, obviously never to be looked at again.
Sandra dropped the Chinese food and the bottle of wine. The wine clanged when it hit the wooden floor. Clasping her hands to her chest, she looked agog at the screaming faces, screaming their pain and agony. She covered her ears, positive she could hear them. Her eyes stopped at Amy. She was standing with a paintbrush in her hand, staring at her.
Sandra dropped her hands and walking quickly toward Amy, pulled her out of the room with her. Breathless, she leaned heavily against the closed door. Goose bumps ran up and down the length of her. She shook and then shivered.
“Bloody hell, Amy,” Sandra said, reaching blindly for the light switch. “It’s a psychiatrist’s playground in there. No offense, honey. But your paintings are gruesome.” She sighed with relief when she found the switch. She flicked it up and down a few times.
“Don’t bother,” Amy replied quietly. “I took all the lightbulbs out.”
Sandra squeezed open the door of the living room just enough to allow some light to filter out. She looked at Amy but couldn’t see her properly. After seeing those screaming faces, she didn’t need to ask why she had taken the light bulbs out. She asked slowly, “Amy, have you put them somewhere?”
Amy nodded. “Yes. They’re all in the living room, in a paper bag.”
Sandra shivered and thought that there was no way she was going back in there. “Amy, listen to me,” she said, holding her friend’s arms. “This all adds up to one thing!”
“What?”
“Honey, you are having one serious, fucking meltdown!” She pushed Amy forward. “Right, get your coat. We’re getting the hell out of here!”