Bloodletting (15 page)

Coincidently, a flat I’d lived in before, in the next suburb, had just become available. It was as clean and light as I remembered, and I could afford it. Of course I shouldn’t have taken it, but I somehow couldn’t resist: I was being given another chance. It hadn’t worked last time, but this time it would.While my friends all laughed, they were careful not to say I was mad.

Kelly hadn’t seen this coming and after a flurry of notes, apologised, saying she realised that I was just depressed. If I’d only talk about it, she might understand and be able to help.

And she hadn’t meant that she was going to leave me, but just the flat. She’d thought that we could both look for somewhere else, together.

But it was too late.

Jason had been on holiday overseas while all this was happening. He got back just as I was about to move.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.‘If there’s one thing I don’t do, it’s help people move.’

I was now ‘people’, was I? It didn’t bode well.

A few days later, Jason came to visit, and I suggested we walk up to the local shops for coffee.The weather was warm, and I was feeling relaxed. I was away from Kelly, had a new job and the operation had been successful.The results were clear. I gave Jason a friendly hug— he pulled away. Initially, I said nothing, but while he talked about his trip and about meeting his extended family, I stewed.

By the time we got home I had decided to ask him what was going on. ‘Why did you wait a week to call me when you got back from the UK?’

‘No particular reason, I had a few other things on, I guess.’ He shrugged.

I was furious, and confused. Before he left we’d seen each other regularly, and he constantly told me how gorgeous I was and how funny and clever. He liked being with me, he said, and I’d believed him. Even if I wasn’t Kelly. I’d really looked forward to seeing him again, and, if the situation had been reversed, certainly would have called him straightaway.

I guessed what was going on, but wanted Jason to say it.

He looked around the flat, which was still untidy from the move. I wondered what he was looking for: an excuse? ‘To be honest, you’re a nice girl but, well, how should I put it—I can’t see myself ever introducing you to my parents.’

I hadn’t planned to introduce him to my parents either but then the only boyfriend of mine they’d ever met was Mike.And that hadn’t gone well. Jason clearly wasn’t someone who only went out with people he thought he’d marry, so his explanation was a cop out. It was also insulting. Combined with his refusal to help me move, and, even worse, his lack of interest in my health, it became obvious that his only interest was himself. But he was more than selfish: he’d revealed himself as an old-fashioned cad.

What Kelly had said about Alex was right. I was still seeing him. Not seriously, obviously, but it meant that I wasn’t as upset about Jason’s behaviour as I might have been.Alex,for once,had been behaving well. Emily had been away when I’d had the operation, which had been day surgery,so Alex had collected me from the clinic and cooked me dinner. He’d been unusually kind and considerate, and I realised that he was able to do this precisely because I was seeing Jason. Once the risk of commitment was removed, he could actually be nice to me.

I heard myself saying to Jason, ‘Fine, thanks for clearing that up’. And then I opened the door, adding, as he left, that I wasn’t really attracted to him anyway. I closed it before I could hear his response.

When I told my friends, their reactions varied. Peter had never liked him anyway.Emily said,‘Well,that’s Kelly out of your life’.Alex just laughed.

It might have been the antidepressant that made the difference. Or it might have been the job, the flat and the clean bill of health.Whatever it was, things picked up again.

I had people over to dinner from time to time, even going as far as to produce meals from recipe books. And I started to buy some new clothes, finally shedding my depressed uniform of black and brown, second-hand cardigans, and ripped jeans. Initially, I felt self-conscious about colour but as I looked around at everyone else, it occurred to me that I was just as obvious—if not more—when I was trying to disappear. I bought a few more things, a tight T-shirt printed with a photograph of giraffes and a stripy see-through singlet. I bought some red pants. I even began painting my toenails, though not my finger-nails—that would have been going too far.

In short, I began to enjoy being myself. I took up swimming. I gave up the Luvox, going off it so slowly that I had reduced the half-tablets to quarters again, before stopping altogether.

Things were even going well with Alex, who had taken to coming over and actually cooking.

The new job was working out well. It was interesting, and it was challenging. It was in a slightly different area to where I’d worked before, but it was in publishing.Where I wanted to be.

I looked after politicians and essayists, as well as some well-known international fiction writers when they toured. Employed at a senior level because of my magazine experience, but having little knowledge of the way publicity worked, I made it up as I went along.This suited me, and seemed to suit everyone else.

If there was one thing I could do well, it was pretend.

What I didn’t like was the office politics. Bitchiness was the order of the day, and the department was split in two: those who’d worked for the old boss who’d just retired, and those who’d been employed by the new one. I liked the new one, but even I could see that she wasn’t coping, and was being constantly undermined.

The atmosphere was poisonous.

I could have dealt with this, if there hadn’t been constant demands from every angle— the media, the publishers, the authors. It was a job that was never done, never good enough and it began to wear me down.

I kept reminding myself that I had done the right thing leaving Melbourne.The situation had been impossible and I hadn’t imagined it. I hadn’t.

Gradually, try as hard as I might to stop them, the same old symptoms began to return. I stopped wanting to go out or answer the phone when I was at home.And it was all I could do not to say ‘fuck off’when I answered it at work.Ironing my clothes became too hard.And,worst of all, I began to think about harming myself again.

Constantly.

I’d take a walk around the block at lunchtime, to calm myself, and the images of knives, razors and blood would fill my head.There was no point seeing the doctor. I knew from experience that these thoughts weren’t something he knew how to deal with, and I didn’t want to take more drugs. I couldn’t afford to have my thinking slowed down, or to be groggy. It hadn’t been an issue when I’d been working at the university, as the job wasn’t busy, and it didn’t matter if I was a bit out of it.

In a publicity department, people might notice if I wasn’t switched on.

Initially, I thought that maybe I could move to another position somewhere else within the company, which despite the politics, I liked. I spoke discreetly to a couple of people, but there was nothing permanent going that would suit me.There was part-time and freelance work available but the lack of a steady income worried me, and I didn’t like the thought of being at home by myself too much.

My boss, unhappy herself, confidentially suggested that I’d be better off somewhere else. She too was thinking of leaving.

Reluctantly, I started looking.

Just as I was beginning to feel desperate, I saw a sales and marketing job advertised in a trade magazine. It would involve moving to the other side of the country. It was the perfect solution. Admittedly, I didn’t know much about sales and marketing, but how hard could it be?

It would be a significant promotion, so wouldn’t look as though Iwas running away. I wouldn’t ever have to admit that I hadn’t been coping.

And I wasn’t seeing Alex anymore. One of his closest friends had died and he didn’t want anything to do with me. Again.

When they offered me the job I accepted. There was nothing to keep me in Sydney, and I desperately hoped that leaving would be a good move.

A month later, I was on a plane on my way to the most isolated capital city in the world. My friends and family were excited on my behalf as I’d made Perth sound like a fantastic place: relaxed, great beaches, cheap real estate,bachelors galore.They didn’t know the real reason I was leaving. Only Emily was suspicious. ‘Are you sure about this?’ she’d said when I’d told her the news. Of course, I’d said, sounding more confident that I felt. I wasn’t sure at all. I’d only ever been to Perth once before and hardly knew anyone. It also felt like my last chance. I’d moved so often.

This just had to work.

‘Hello darling, how gorgeous to see you!’ It was my mother’s cousin, Annie, who I barely knew. She rushed out of the house as I pulled up in the taxi and gave me a hug and a kiss. It wasn’t what I’d expected, and, while I was pleased, I was a little embarrassed. My side of the family rationed affection, and I’d done nothing to deserve this.

Annie went on to ask about the flight, my parents, my brothers, her family, and then offered me dinner.

Her house, where I was going to stay until I found somewhere of my own, was large and rambling, filled with a mixture of Persian rugs, antiques and furniture rescued from junk shops.There were paintings everywhere. Large doors opened from the kitchen and the sitting room onto a back terrace and garden. It was already dark but the air was still warm, and faintly perfumed.

Annie put a salad, some fresh bread, and some cold meat on a tray, and her husband Charles poured us some wine.We ate outside.After we’d eaten, Annie showed me my room.

‘We go swimming at around 6.30 am. If you want to join us we’d love you to, otherwise, we’ll see you for breakfast, and then Charles will give you a lift into work.’

I lay in bed that night, tossing and turning. Part of it was jet lag, part of it was excitement and part was fear. What if I couldn’t do the job? How would I meet people? What if I hated Perth? No, I told myself, it would be fine. It was a chance to start again in a small and friendly city. The job would be great and less stressful than my last one. I’d have time to paint, to draw and to explore Western Australia.

I fell asleep feeling confident that I’d made the right decision.

As the very pregnant outgoing manager walked me through the files I began to feel anxious.This wasn’t going to be straightforward. But she was adamant. ‘If you have any questions don’t hesitate to ring.’ She’d read my resumé, and had been on the selection panel at the video interview. She knew that my sales and marketing experience was limited: why should I be embarrassed to call her if I needed to?

I arrived home at 6.30 pm, tired and conscious of what I’d taken on. It was a small office, and though I now had an assistant, I was going to be very busy.

On the upside, I now had a work car—with a V8 engine—and a very cute new pink Macintosh computer.

‘You must be exhausted,’ was the first thing I heard when I walked in.Annie then ordered me to lie down on the daybed in the corner of the kitchen, and rest while Charles made us both gin and tonics.

This is great, I thought, as I sipped my drink. I could really get used to this.

It took a month to find somewhere of my own to live, and during that time I got to know my Perth cousins.Things were different on this side of the Nullarbor.What really struck me was that they were all so friendly and affectionate. And open.

‘That family secrecy,’said Annie one day,as we were driving towards a salvage yard to look for extra furniture. I’d moved into my own house by then and didn’t have quite enough.‘I always hated it.’

Her own mother was infamous—and legendary—as she’d run away to Sydney at eighteen to become a journalist. After getting a job she had her hair bobbed and sent her mother her two long plaits in the post. It was a gesture I’d always admired.

She’d come back the following year and married, but remained outspoken and headstrong. Her daughters were the same.

Annie went on,‘They don’t tell me anything—I didn’t know you’d been sick for instance’.

Charles, a doctor, had noticed that I was on medication, and while not asking what it was for, suggested that if it was something I was taking regularly, then I should at least touch base with a local specialist.