The Gibbons were easy, pleasant company. We were all slightly surprised at how quickly time had passed when the pre-booked taxi honked its horn in irritation an hour later, I think, and their departure was, by necessity, somewhat rushed.
‘Your turn to come to me next time, Eleanor,’ she said, as they struggled out of the door with the walking frame, Raymond shrugging on his jacket at the same time. I nodded. She kissed me quickly on the cheek, the scarred one, and I didn’t even flinch.
‘Come again with Raymond one Sunday, have your tea, stay for a while,’ she whispered. I nodded again.
Raymond lumbered past me, then, before I could do anything about it, leaned in and kissed me on the cheek like his mother had done. ‘See you at work,’ he said, and he was off, manhandling both her and her wheels down the stairs in a very precarious fashion. I put my hand to my face. They were quite a kissy family, the Gibbons – some families were like that.
I washed up the cups and plates, at which point Glen finally decided to make an appearance. ‘That wasn’t very sociable, Glen,’ I said. She stared up at me and let out a short sound, not really a meow, more of a chirp, strangely. The import – namely, that she didn’t give a fig – was abundantly clear. I spooned the special cat food that Raymond had brought into her bowl. This was met with considerable enthusiasm, although, regretfully, her table manners were sadly reminiscent of her benefactor’s.
Raymond had left his tabloid newspaper behind on the chair in the living room – unfortunately, he often carried one rolled up in his back pocket. I leafed through it, just in case it had a halfway decent crossword, and stopped at page nine, my eyes drawn to the headline.
Glasgow Evening Times
Entertainment News
Pilgrim Pioneers discover America:
Glasgow band tipped to be ‘bigger than Biffy’
Scottish band Pilgrim Pioneers are celebrating this week after reaching number five in the American Billboard Top 100.
The Glasgow-based four-piece look set to crack the lucrative US market after years of gigging locally in pubs and clubs.
Their single ‘Don’t Miss You’, written after the acrimonious departure of their previous frontman, was picked up last month by an industry insider via YouTube. Since then, it’s been broadcast nightly across the USA as the soundtrack to a big budget advert for a telecoms company.
The band are set to head Stateside next month on a coast-to-coast tour.
Reading this, I was taken straight back to another place, another person: the person I was trying to be and the changes I was trying and failing to make to myself and in my life. The singer wasn’t ever the point, really; Maria Temple had helped me see that.
In my eagerness to change, to connect with someone, I’d focused on the wrong thing, the wrong person. On the charge of being a catastrophic disaster, a failed human being, I was starting to find myself, with Maria’s help, not guilty.
The story didn’t mention what Johnnie Lomond was doing now. It really didn’t matter. I folded up the newspaper – I could line Glen’s litter tray with it later.
@johnnieLrocks 7h
Massive congrats to the guys – great news and really, really well-deserved. So chuffed for them #usa #bigtime
[no likes]
@johnnieLrocks 44m
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckety fuck fuck.
[later deleted]
33
MARIA SEEMED IN A good mood when I arrived at her office, and I was, too. It was an effort to switch my brain to alert mode when she started talking about the past again.
‘We haven’t spoken much about the fire. I wonder … are you happy to talk a bit about it?’
I nodded, warily.
‘Good. Now, can you try closing your eyes for me, please, Eleanor? Sometimes it’s easier to access memories that way. Take a deep breath in, and then let it all out. Great. And another … good. Now, I want you to think back. You’re at home, and it’s the day before the fire. What do you remember? Anything? Take your time …’
I’d been feeling so light and free earlier, so centred in myself, that I hadn’t had a chance to prepare myself properly for this. As I closed my eyes and exhaled to Maria’s count, I had the worrying realization that, before I was even properly aware of it, my brain was off accessing memories in places I didn’t want it to go, scurrying into rooms before I’d had a chance to block them off. My body felt heavy, in contrast to my mind, which floated, balloon-like, just beyond my reach. Now that it was happening, though, I accepted it with equanimity. There was a certain pleasure in ceding control.
‘Mummy. She’s angry. Mummy was sleeping but we’ve woken her up again. Mummy’s had enough of us now.’ I feel tears on my cheeks as I relate this, but I don’t feel particularly sad. It’s as though I’m describing a film.
‘That’s great, Eleanor, you’re doing really well,’ Maria said. ‘Can you tell me more about Mummy?’
My voice is tiny. ‘I don’t want to,’ I say.
‘You’re doing great, Eleanor. Let’s try to keep going. So, about Mummy …?’
I said nothing for the longest time, allowing my mind to wander where it needed to go in that house, letting the memories out like trapped birds. Finally, I whispered. Two words.
‘Where’s Marianne?’
34
SUNDAY. I HAD TO leave the house at twelve to meet Raymond for lunch. Glen was dozing in her new bed, and I used the camera function on my mobile telephone to take some more shots of her. In the final picture, she had one paw covering her eyes as if to block out the light. I knelt down on the floor beside her and buried my face in the biggest patch of fur. She wriggled slightly, then increased the volume of her purring. I kissed the softness on the top of her head.
‘See you later, Glen,’ I said. ‘I won’t be long.’ She appeared blissfully untroubled by my imminent departure.
When I was ready to leave, I opened the door as quietly as I could and tiptoed into the living room to check if she was still asleep. I found her on top of the giant catnip-stuffed mouse, both she and the rodent facing me, its glazed button eyes staring straight ahead. She had her front paws thrown over its mousy shoulders and was lazily kneading them while she humped it energetically from behind. I left them to it.
Ever since the session, all I could think about was Marianne. Marianne Marianne Marianne; I turned the name over and over in my mind like a coin between my fingers. Dr Temple had asked me to prepare myself to talk about her again in our next session. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Is knowing always better than not knowing? Discuss.
Raymond, untroubled by philosophical questions, was already there when I arrived at the Black Dog, reading the Sunday Mail and sipping a pint.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ I said.
His face was paler than usual, and when he stood up to hug me, I could smell old as well as new beer, in addition to the usual reek of cigarettes.
‘How’s it going?’ he said, his voice sounding scratchy.
‘How are you?’ I said. He didn’t look well.
He groaned. ‘I nearly texted you to cancel, to be honest,’ he said. ‘Had a bit of a late one last night.’
‘Did you and Laura go on a date?’ I said.
He boggled at me. ‘How on earth did you know that?’ he asked, sounding incredulous.
I remembered something I’d seen Billy do in the office, and tapped the side of my nose with my index finger knowingly.
He laughed. ‘I think you might have a bit of witch in you, Eleanor,’ he said.