The Other Side of You (19 page)

I had never before addressed even a tenth as many consecutive words to Olivia. Indeed, other than giving an academic paper I doubt I had ever spoken uninterrupted so long to anyone in all my life. I felt as I believe Elizabeth Cruikshank must have felt, when she spoke aloud to me the words she had wanted the courage to say when Thomas told her he was moving to Milan.

Olivia said nothing but continued to look at me and then ducked back under the eiderdown, perhaps, I don’t know, to stop her mouth.

I was as good as my word. I took a clean shirt, socks and underwear and handkerchief from my father’s chest of drawers and packed them into my briefcase. I did not clear away the tea tray, though I felt a strong inclination to clear away my half-drunk cup of tea before I departed. I had a conviction it would be there still on my return. The idea of this irked me, but I let it ride. Before I left, however, I went to the sitting room to look for my fountain pen and something to write in. And perhaps as a result of the frustrated impulse over the teacup, seeing it on the table, I also gathered up the shabby little school Bible.

A
LTHOUGH MY PREDICTION THAT I WOULD SLEEP LITTLE THAT
night proved accurate, once I had accomplished the task I had set myself I must have dozed off because I woke with the sensation that a benign presence was tapping me lightly on the shoulder with two hands. I rolled over and registered the hotel curtain gently brushing against my back in the breeze which was blowing through the opened window.

I sat up and switched on ‘Your Friendly Teasmaid’ and lying on the bed drank the blistering hot, utterly tasteless liquid it produced while listening to
The Lark Ascending
on the bedside radio-alarm. Then I shaved and bathed and went down for a pre-breakfast walk.

It was early still, few people were about, but I could see from the light gilding the line of the horizon that the day was about to come up fine. As the sun mounted higher, it made spangles on the sea’s surface. I skimmed a few stones over the placid waves and threw a stick to an eager young red cocker spaniel, out with his mistress, a grey-haired woman with formidable legs that looked as if they had been put on upside down. It occurred to me that if I didn’t live in a flat I could
have a dog. A dog seemed suddenly a heavenly companion.

Back at the Regency Grand, I went to town on breakfast, a different affair from the Dew Drop’s but no less ambitious: grapefruit juice, stewed prunes, porridge, kippers, brown toast (the white, I surmised, being unlikely to be up to Dew Drop standard) and two large pots of ground coffee. ‘Two, sir?’ The waiter’s face was as incurious as the Dew Drop woman’s had been otherwise. ‘As large as you’ve got,’ I confirmed. I did not, as I sometimes did, feel the need to apologise.

I arrived at work with my face sandpapered by the sea wind. I was early, but I had plenty to catch up on.

The first thing which met me was a room so clean you could have eaten breakfast off the carpet and my pleasure was doubled when there was a rap at the door and a thick voice said, ‘You in, doc?’

‘Lennie!’ It was respect for his pride, and not mine, which kept me from hugging him.

‘Hey there, doc! How you doing?’

‘Good,’ I said. ‘And you?’

‘Your room was in some state.’

‘I know, Lennie. I missed you.’

‘Yeah, well, me and Dr Mack had a ding-dong. But that Hassid, he come found me and told me Dr M was ready to let bygones be bygones. Hassid said I could come back and no hassle, right?’

‘Right, Lennie. Though you must promise not to hit Dr Mackie, or anyone else, again. It’s me who gets it in the neck.’

‘Yeah, doc. Hassid said. He’s a bright one, that.’

‘He is too.’

‘Reckon he’ll be moving on soon.’

‘Probably.’

Lennie looked out of the window at the quince. Remembering how he had called by when Elizabeth Cruikshank was there, I thought how she had said Lennie was fond of me.

‘You know what, doc. If that kid hadn’t come after me I wouldn’t have come back. An’ if you hadn’t taken the kid in…see what I mean?’

‘I think so.’

‘It’s like my Granma says. Everything’s connected. You, me, Hassid an’—’

‘And Dr Mackie,’ I put in swiftly, keen to take advantage of Lennie’s grandma’s spiritual drift.

‘Yeah, right, Dr Mack too. Though I didn’t half give him one in—’

‘Yes, Lennie, I know,’ I said. I felt it best not to dissipate his grandma’s good influence by laughing.

I was due to see Hassid for a session that morning and, as an apology for his reception the day before, I greeted him with some decent coffee. He accepted the hot fresh brew as enthusiastically as he had the cold and sat in his customary position nursing his foot across his knee.

‘Well done,’ I said with emphasis. ‘Very well done indeed about Lennie.’

‘I thought about it, Doctor, and then I thought I knew where to find him.’ Hassid’s voice exuded consciousness of well-merited praise.

‘Where was he?’

‘Under the second pier, you know? He told me once that this was his spiritual home.’

‘Well, well done for finding him. He’s lucky to have you as a friend.’

‘And I am lucky to have him, Doctor,’ said Hassid, with the faintest note of reproof.

‘Exactly,’ I agreed, perfectly content to be put in my place by an admonishing Hassid. ‘By the way, something I wanted to ask. Have I got this right? Electrons have no material reality but are called into existence by us when we measure them?’

‘Yes, that is right.’

‘So in a sense they depend on us for their existence.’

Hassid looked uneasy. ‘Maybe, but—’

‘But they don’t figure, do they, in our reality until we set about looking for them?’

‘I suppose not, yes.’

‘And yet you would say they exist, wouldn’t you?’

‘Certainly they exist, Doctor.’

‘Thank you, Hassid. That’s helped me.’

‘Doctor, I am glad to be of assistance to you.’

‘Hassid, do you think you might be ready to go back to university next term?’

‘I think I would like to, Doctor. Once I have been home to see my family in Karachi.’

‘Good.’

‘Oh, Doctor, Mrs Cruikshank’s book, you know—’

‘Yes, I said I would replace it.’

‘Sister Maguire says there is no need. She says the book is not important. She says that Mrs Cruikshank is welcome to it.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I think we can probably spare Mrs Cruikshank one of our books. I need to sort my own out. I’ve a load of paperbacks I’ll never read again. I’ll bring them in. Maybe you would like to catalogue them for the library before you go?’

‘I would be glad to, Doctor.’

‘Thank you, Hassid.’ I felt that a subtle shift had occurred and that Hassid had taken on the role of my informal assistant. ‘Would you like more coffee?’

‘No thank you, Doctor. In fact, I do not really like coffee so much.’

‘Oh.’

‘But Lennie gave me some of his spirit to drink under the pier.’ Hassid gave me the benefit of his perfect smile.

‘Be careful, Hassid. I don’t know what it was but—’

‘I had only a little. A drop. Whisky. It is good stuff, no?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It is good stuff. As long as you don’t overdo it. Though I expect you will. Most of us do, once we start.’

I worked through to the end of the day deliberately avoiding any thought of Olivia and our meeting. I had no idea what I would say, or what was going to transpire. I wanted to call Bar but Trish had mentioned that Dan wasn’t in today so I felt maybe they were embroiled in their own conversation and she wasn’t ready to talk.

As I was leaving my room the phone rang. It rang twice, stopped and then rang again. I was in half a mind to leave it but something in the pattern of hesitancy made me pick it up. There was a silence at first at the other end and then I blessed my intuition.

‘David?’

‘Elizabeth.’

‘I’m glad I’ve got you.’

‘I’m glad too. I was just leaving as a matter of fact.’

‘I wondered if you might be.’

‘Did you hope I would have gone so that you could have rung without having to speak to me?’ A silence. ‘Elizabeth?’

‘It’s all right. I was just thinking how well you know me.’

‘I’m glad you didn’t miss me,’ I said.

‘I’m glad too, now I’ve got you.’

‘Well then,’ I said, and waited.

‘I would have come to see you before I left but—’

‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘I know. I was called away. Oddly enough, it was the same person I had to see when I missed that session with you whenever it was.’ To my surprise, I realised that it was less than a week ago.

‘I minded that.’

‘Yes?’

‘But if I hadn’t, maybe I wouldn’t have said what I said.’

‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘But I think there were things I needed to say first’.

‘Yes?’

‘I think I needed to say I minded, too. That’s how things work, isn’t it?’

‘I think it probably is.’ I decided not to introduce Lennie’s grandma’s take on things but offered a mental nod of approval in her direction. ‘We catch things from each other.’

‘Yes,’ she conceded. ‘Good and bad.’

There was a pause again but this time it was my turn to
respond. ‘So you’re all right?’

‘As all right as I’ll ever be. There’s always going to be a bit of me that’s not quite right.’

‘Well, for what it’s worth, I would say that’s pretty all right. It’s all right by me, anyway. But then there’s always going to be that bit of me that’s not quite right, too.’

‘Thank you. That’s nice of you.’

‘What?’

‘To say that. And to hear that someone I trust thinks I’m fairly sane.’

‘I mean it. Actually, I think you’re more all right that way than if you were quite right, if you see what I mean. At least from where I stand.’ I was, in fact, standing. I was standing by my desk and I had Jonny’s bell in my hand. Seeing her play with it the night before, I realised how rarely I touched it.

‘Thank you,’ she said again.

‘Elizabeth, where are you? I mean, are you with someone, is someone looking after you?’

‘I’m with Max. He’s been very kind. I told him how I’d come to be unwell. He didn’t seem to mind.’

‘Why would he? He’s your son.’

‘Well, you know…’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I do know. I know how it is not to expect anyone to understand, or be kind. In fact, I know quite a lot about how you feel.’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I think you do. That’s why I could speak to you. Because you knew.’

‘Elizabeth, there’s something I’ve been pondering.’

‘Yes?’

‘I haven’t quite got the words for it but I think when you believe something, I mean really believe it, it becomes real or, rather, it calls what is real into being. It’s entertaining the belief which makes it real. I’m putting this badly, because I’ve not found a way of expressing it for myself yet; it’s something I’ve been thinking about, partly because of what Hassid has been telling me, or trying to, about the nature of reality.’

‘I like Hassid. I’m sorry I wasn’t very chatty with him.’

‘I don’t think he minded. Hassid’s pretty robust underneath.’

‘Which reminds me, I took a library book away with me. I’ll send it back.’

‘Yes, Hassid mentioned it.’

She laughed. ‘Did he think I’d stolen it?’

‘Hassid’s morality is still somewhat rigid, but we’re working on it.’ Or Lennie was. ‘Anyway, look, keep the book, if it’s any use to you. A present from St Christopher’s.’ I meant this as a sort of joke but there was another silence at the other end. ‘Elizabeth?’

‘Yes, I’m here. What were you saying about reality?’

‘Oh, so far as I can understand what Hassid says, reality isn’t material at all—in fact, nothing is—but let’s say, or he seems to be saying, some essence of it depends upon its being perceived for it to exist. We make it exist. Or our consciousness does. Or, anyway, consciousness. Do you follow me?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘I’m putting it badly. We need Hassid.’

‘No, we don’t. You’re doing fine. Go on.’

‘I don’t know if I can say more except, yes, I think, very
often, you, we, need a witness, or a companion, someone else to entertain the belief with because, well, maybe because it’s too hard to believe on our own. Because we don’t want to face other things on our own. I wanted to tell you: I never met Thomas except through you. But I believe what you told me he said was real. I believe he loved you. I believe it not because you were trying to make me believe it but because I felt you believed it while you were telling me. You made me believe it by your telling me.’ There was another silence at the other end again, so I said, ‘Elizabeth? Are you there?’

And the familiar voice said, ‘Yes, I’m here. Thank you. And thank you for saying it was real. You’re right, it became real when I told you. It’s a funny thing. I believed it, but also I didn’t believe it. But it became real when I told you,’ she said again.

‘So, you’ll be all right now, you think? Or as all right as…’

‘I’ll ever be? Maybe, just about.’

‘Well, you know where I am. And this is my home number, in case you need it.’ As I started to give her my number I considered and then added, ‘Look, may I give you Gus Galen’s number too? You can always try me at either the hospital, or home, but it’s possible I may be moving and Gus will always be able to put you in touch with me. You can say you’re the Caravaggio person. That’s how he knows you. I hope you don’t mind.’

‘No, I don’t mind. Thank you for the numbers.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I want you to have them. Have you got something to write on?’

‘I’ll write them in Thomas’s notebook so I won’t lose them.’

‘I’m honoured.’

‘Thomas would like what you said just now.’

‘I like Thomas. He’s real.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think he is. Did you have a hangover?’

‘No, fortunately something happened to distract me. I should have done. Did you?’

‘No. I slept like the dead.’ We both laughed. ‘I shan’t forget our evening, David.’

‘Neither shall I, Elizabeth,’ I said.

But who is that on the other side of you?