The Middle Child (14 page)

    
"She suffered a stroke."

    
"So, Beth really had no place to go.  She was scarred badly, afraid of the world and how it would treat her and suddenly her mother is now dependant on her.  It was a coping mechanism that helped her deal with a life from which she had no escape."

     Catherine understood Emily's words but she was still unsure. 
"But, even now, after all this time she still talks as if the woman was some kind of saint."

    
"Her mind will let her remember when it thinks she is strong enough."  Emily frowned. 

    
"What?"

    
"After so many years of denial it’s going to be tough for her when she does remember.  Half her life has been spent glorifying a woman that doesn’t exist.  She’s going to need some help when the façade comes crashing down."

     Catherine’s head fell into her hands as she thought about the three of them.  Alex lay in a hospital bed having retreated to god knows where.  Beth was hovering on the precipice of discovering that her whole life was a lie and she herself felt as though she was hanging on to sanity by a thread. 

     "Why?" she asked, wearily.

    
"I can’t answer that, Catherine.  I didn’t know your mother and can’t begin to understand her motivations.  There may have been some form of mental illness involved but I can’t speculate.  We can only deal with the effects of abuse on the people who are left."  Emily took a deep breath.  "There are 4 types of abuse: physical, neglect, sexual and emotional."

    
"Well, three out of four ain’t bad," Catherine muttered, with a weak attempt at humour.

    
"People who have been physically abused may suffer from poor self-image,  aggressive behaviour and often drug or alcohol abuse."

     Catherine’s thoughts drifted right back to Alex.  Although they’d all suffered physically at the hands of their mother, Alex had seemed to get the most beatings.  She was the one that just wouldn't stay down.

     "Neglect is normally categorised as refusal or delay in seeking healthcare, abandonment or expulsion from the home.  Typically people have an inability to trust or love others and become passive and withdrawn.  Of course, there’s also psychological neglect.  Emotional abuse can be psychological, verbal and cause mental injury.  Things like scapegoating, belittling and rejection."

     Catherine shook her head, bewildered. 
"Jeez, it’s complicated."

    
"That’s just a brief overview to help you get a basic understanding of the types of abuse and neglect that you’ve all suffered.  Remember, children are the only people in this society that anybody is allowed to hit.  The rest of us are legally protected."

     Catherine thought about that.  Society sure was fucked up.

     "So, you can see that we have a lot of work to do," Emily said, stifling a yawn.

     Catherine was surprised to find that it was after
midnight and they’d been talking for almost two hours.  One question burned the tip of Catherine’s tongue.  "How much is my mother to blame for the way I feel about my children?"

    
"Phew, that’s a hard one," Emily said, fixing her gaze on a point somewhere above Catherine’s head.  Catherine was starting to realise that Emily did this whilst thinking about her answer.

    
"Every single thing we do leaves a mark on us in some way.  Everything we experience has an effect.  In a reasonably normal childhood, whatever that is," she said with a smile.  "The average positive to negative ratio of comments is 1 to 4, so for every time a child is told "well done" there will be four negative comments.  All that information gets stored in the subconscious part of the mind which is like the typical iceberg.  The conscious part is the bit above the water but the subconscious is much bigger."

    
"I don’t get the difference."

    
"Okay, think about touching a hot cooker.  It’s your conscious, immediate mind that knows that it was hot and that it hurt.  But it’s your subconscious mind that stores the information so that you won’t do it again.  It’s the same with negative comments.  If someone tells you enough times that you’re stupid your subconscious mind will allow you to believe it and your actions will alter accordingly."

     Catherine shook her head, confused. 
"But take Alex and I.  We both got similar treatment as children but I got all the things my mother said that I wouldn’t but Alex didn’t."

     Emily nodded. 
"Absolutely, you used your conscious mind to get those things.  Always, your focus was on proving your mother wrong.  But what we have to find out is whether or not you really believe that you deserve those things.  Do you see the difference?"

     Catherine nodded her understanding, new thoughts clouding her mind. 
"So, you’re saying that Alex has known all along that she didn’t deserve anything better and therefore played into the hands of her subconscious mind?"

    
"Yes.  She never hid from her subconscious thoughts.  They were with her all the time so she rarely tried for anything better whereas you got the things your mother said you would never have but there’s still something that prevents you from enjoying them."

    
"Christ, my mind is spinning."

    
"Is that your conscious or subconscious mind?" Emily asked, with a smile.

    
"Both."

    
"Do you now agree that we have quite a lot of work to do?"

    
"Where do we start?" Catherine asked, daunted by the task ahead.

    
"We start with bite size chunks.  Tonight I’ve given you an overview of different situations to give you something to think about but our sessions will be very different.  The hard work will be coming from you and you’ll begin to answer your own questions with me just guiding you along."

     Catherine sighed with relief.  She felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

     She thanked Emily profusely for agreeing to meet with her at such a late hour and promised to contact her the following day to schedule appointments.  This time Catherine knew that she’d keep that promise.

     Exhausted, she made the journey to the hotel and tried to sleep whilst battling to rid herself of the vision of her battered and torn sister lying motionless in hospital.

***

     Catherine glanced at the clock over Mr Leigh’s shoulder, trying not to be too obvious about it.  It was a safer bet than rolling up her coat sleeve and checking out her watch.  The minute hand was just peeping from behind her boss’s ear making it after
six thirty.  Visiting started at seven and although she hadn’t been late yet, one evening she’d cut it fine and although Alex still hadn’t spoken she had also spent the two hours with her eyes firmly closed.  Catherine didn’t want to be late again.

    
"It’s not that I don’t think you can handle the workload, Catherine.  I just feel that you may be a little distracted at the moment."

    
"My sister is…"

    
"I understand that," he said, holding his hand up.  Catherine knew that he didn’t wish for the finer details.  "But this contract is very important to the company and you assured us that you could see it through.  I know that you have personal problems at the moment but they have to be put aside.  You were placed in a position of trust with this project."

     Catherine fought the urge to place her hands around his sanctimonious throat but clenched her fists to her sides. 
"I accept your point, Mr Leigh and I can promise you that things are going to run smoothly.  I will do whatever it takes to deliver this contract on time."

     The muscles in his face visibly relaxed and Catherine hoped that she’d said enough to get him out of the office before the long hand hit the eight.

     "I have every faith in you, my dear."

     Catherine nodded as he turned and left the room.  How quickly she had changed from Catherine to ‘my dear’ following a few clichéd platitudes.  The second he disappeared into the elevator, Catherine grabbed her overcoat and headed for the stairs.  Three flights and a couple of calls from her mobile phone and she was ready for the journey.

     During the drive Mr Leigh’s comments returned to her and brought with them a surge of anger.  She was receiving an impromptu performance review based on her activities over the last five days.  She’d been seated at her desk every morning by 6.30am to make sure the contract didn’t suffer due to her hospital visits. 

     She’d juggled make-up artists with glamour models, shoot locations, packaging problems and media coverage, not to mention budgets and team management.  She’d worked twelve hour days and still taken work back to the hotel to fill the short hours between the end of visiting and falling into bed exhausted.  The phrase ‘be careful what you wish for’ floated through her mind but she pushed it away as she parked the car and bought a ticket. 

     "Any change?" Catherine asked Linda, the Ward sister, as she passed the nurses station.

     Linda smiled but shook her head.

     Catherine hadn’t really expected anything different and it was beginning to worry her.  The doctor had said that the longer Alex refused to speak the further into her own world she was retreating.  And the harder it would be to get her back.

    
"Hi Alex," Catherine said, with forced cheer.  She didn’t expect any answer and wasn’t disappointed when none came.

    
"The weather’s taken a turn for the worst.  There’s a cold snap coming, apparently."

     Catherine placed the magazines she’d brought on top of the ones she’d brought the previous day.  A whole stack of them remained untouched, as did the fruit that was overflowing from the basket.  Only the flowers still looked in reasonable shape.

     The swelling had reduced considerably since that first night but her skin still bore the colours of a sunset.

     Catherine began to weed out the old fruit and dropped it into the bag beside Alex’s bed.  She kept her back to her sister, not wishing for Alex to see the concern that shaped her features. 

     On day three Alex had opened her eyes.  They didn't look around the room or make contact with anybody.  She didn't register any activity or presence.  She simply stared straight ahead.

     Doctor Thurlow had been waiting for her at the end of her visit the previous evening.  He had explained that physically Alex was healing well and that they had to now consider discharging her.  But, to where, was the problem.  The psychiatrists who had met with Alex had both proposed her transfer to a local institution for further evaluation.  Doctor Thurlow had placed his hand gently on her arm and told her that as the next of kin she would have to consider committing her sister for her own good.

     Come back to me, Alex, Catherine pleaded silently.  How could she give the order for Alex to be thrown into a place like that?  Hadn’t she suffered enough?  But what if the Doctor was right, what if Alex would benefit from specialist attention. 

     Catherine wanted to do what was right for Alex but she didn’t know what was for the best.

     "These plums are growing jackets," she said, lamely, just to fill the room.

     As she wrapped them in paper towels, Catherine felt her mobile vibrate in her pocket.  She knew she should turn it off upon entering the hospital, she could read the signs, but Alex wasn’t hooked up to a heart monitor and she really needed to be contactable for work and the girls.

     Catherine looked at the phone but didn’t recognise the number.  It couldn’t be Tim.

She put the phone back into her pocket and finished sorting through the fruit.

     "I’ve sorted the rent arrears on your flat and paid one month in advance," Catherine said, hoping that it might put Alex’s mind at rest.  Her landlord had turned up at the hospital two days ago demanding back payment or he’d throw Alex’s possessions onto the pavement.  Catherine hadn’t liked him one little bit but she’d settled the debt so that Alex had a home to go back to. 

     Alex moved on the bed and Catherine thought she saw a trace of fiery emotion in the deep hazel eyes but just as soon it was gone and Alex’s gaze maintained its steady concentration on an invisible point beyond her eyeline.

     Catherine took the seat beside her sister’s bed.  She ached to take her hand or touch her arm but she couldn’t.  Somehow she just knew that a faint distaste would pass over her sister’s features.  And that was something she couldn’t bear.  It was an expression she’d experienced enough from her mother.

     As her body settled into the chair, Catherine felt exhaustion seep into every fibre of her being.  The long days and sleepless nights were beginning to take their toll.  She rested her head in her hands.

     "Alex, please come back to me," she whispered.  "I don’t know what to do."

     A silent tear fell from her eye and landed on her hand.  She wiped it away quickly and berated herself.  Displays of emotion were not going to help her sister get well.