‘Have they found him yet? The police?’ she asks the doctor.
The doctor shakes his head.
‘As soon as we have any news, I’ll be sure to let you know.’
He waits.
The silence in the room is thick between them and Rebecca senses that the psychiatrist already doubts her claims. His face – deep set with furrowing lines that cover his forehead – unmoving.
He doesn’t need to speak as Rebecca can see it in his eyes.
And that’s what happens, isn’t it?
When the people around you are convinced that you’re going mad, others start to question it too.
‘Do you remember picking up the knife last night, Rebecca?’
‘Yes. I was scared. I used it to protect myself,’ she says vaguely, remembering going to the drawer in the kitchen and looking for a weapon. ‘I was alone with Ella. I was scared.’
The doctor nods, still quiet, encouraging her to continue.
‘But you don’t recall seeing your husband? Not until after you’d attacked him?’
Rebecca shakes her head and takes a deep breath. Knowing full well he was trying to imply that she suffered some kind of psychosis which caused her to see her husband as someone else.
She needed to explain.
‘It was dark,’ she starts, then pauses, looking down to the frayed bandage on her hand. ‘I know that’s not an excuse, but I was so scared. So terrified that the intruder had come back, that maybe for a few minutes I wasn’t thinking straight.’
‘Just for a few minutes?’ the doctor replies, an underlying tone to his question.
Rebecca closes her eyes, recalling the splashes of blood all down her nightdress.
Jamie’s blood.
‘Shall we talk about the security tapes, Rebecca? Why do you think it is that the intruder can’t be seen on any of the footage?’
His question lingers in the air between them and she knows that he’s testing her now. He’s trying to catch her out, just like they all are, because he doesn’t believe her story.
‘I think someone tampered with the tapes, because he would have been on there. It’s impossible for him not to be on there…’ she says with certainty. Convinced of this.
‘Impossible…’ The doctor repeats her words. ‘Yet, there’s no trace of him?’ he reiterates. ‘Your husband has informed us that you’ve been suffering from a lot of stress lately, Rebecca. Severe anxiety and panic attacks. Do you want to tell me about that?’
‘I’ve not really been feeling myself lately. I’ve been a bit down, I guess. A lot down, actually. I’ve been seeing my GP about it and she diagnosed me with postnatal depression. She gave me some antidepressants. She said that it’s very common in new mothers,’ Rebecca says. Wondering if he’s already aware of this. He would have read her notes.
‘And is the medication helping, do you think?’ The doctor gives her an understanding nod and encourages her to continue.
‘I’m not sure?’ she says honestly, before shaking her head. ‘I’ve been having trouble sleeping, and if I finally do manage to drift off for a while, I have horrible nightmares.’
‘And do you remember what the nightmares are about?’
She nods, because she knows that if she lies, he’ll know. That’s his job, isn’t it? To read people.
She takes a deep breath, and swallows, her throat dry. ‘I’m inside a car. It crashes.’ She doesn’t want to divulge any more than that, but the doctor just sits there patiently, waiting for her to elaborate.
And so she does.
‘I’m driving. And it feels as if I’m being chased or I’m desperate to get away from someone? It’s fast. So fast that I’m almost flying. And without warning, I hit something. I’m not sure what it is? A large jagged rock? Or the remnants of an old tree stump?’
She pauses for a moment, trying so hard to concentrate on what it is she hit. Because it feels important. When she wakes up, her conscious mind never holds onto the details of the dream long enough for her to see, and all she’s left with is a vague niggling, suggesting it’s something significant.
‘Then what happens, Rebecca? In your dream…’
‘The car veers off the road. I lose control. Suddenly, it’s darker. I think at first that the sun has gone down and it’s turned to night, but then I realise that I’m in the thick of trees, surrounded by dense woodland. The car starts spinning. And I hear an awful noise. Deafening, like the screeching of metal. Glass smashing. Then everything stops. Dead still. And that’s it. That’s when I wake up.’
‘And you don’t remember anything else?’
Rebecca keeps her gaze resting on the doctor, praying that he doesn’t see her lies.
‘No. Nothing.’ Her words come out too quick. Too abrupt even to her own ears, so Rebecca quickly continues. ‘It’s the same dream every time. And when I wake up, I’m not in my bed. I’m heading for the nearest door or window. As if I’m trying to escape.’
‘Do you think that maybe the dream is perhaps symbolism, Rebecca?’
She frowns. Unsure what he means.
‘You’re inside a car, spinning out of control. The feelings you describe of not being able to escape. Of trying to get away. That everything around you is just too much. You said you sometimes feel overwhelmed?’
‘I guess…’ Rebecca starts tentatively. ‘I mean, I don’t really analyse them for a meaning. They are just bad dreams.’ She shrugs. ‘You think I’m crazy, don’t you? That last night was all just a dream. That I was sleepwalking?’
‘Nobody thinks you’re crazy, Rebecca. But yes, a possible explanation to what’s going on right now, could be that you’re experiencing trauma which is surfacing again in the form of night terrors,’ the doctor concludes, placing down his notebook and pen, before shifting slightly towards her on his chair. ‘Night terrors can be your mind’s way of making sense of a past wound. Essentially, they are panic attacks that you’re experiencing in your sleep. And if you’re not fully awake when you experience them, they can feel very real and often terrifying. In effect, they cause us to act out by sleepwalking and talking about what our subconscious mind is fearing the most. For instance, running away and trying to escape from the room. Because you’re running away from something that you’ve buried in your subconscious mind.’
‘But it felt real!’ Rebecca cried out, aware that the conversation wasn’t going the way she’d intended, that the doctor was making her talk about things she didn’t want to talk about.
Her head was spinning, hands clammy with perspiration, yet she needed to stay calm.
‘What concerns me, Rebecca, is that you believe it’s real, because you were hallucinating. I want to talk to you about something called “Postpartum Psychosis”. Or PPP as it’s sometimes referred to. Has anyone ever mentioned that term to you before? Your GP perhaps?’
‘My GP told me they’ve had trouble locating my medical records. They can only find records from since I had Ella,’ Rebecca said, shaking her head. And pretending that she has no idea why her life pre-Ella is nothing more than a blank space.
The term Postpartum Psychosis was unfamiliar to her. ‘Is that the same as Postnatal Depression?’
‘Yes, it’s very unfortunate that we’ve yet to locate them, but we’re confident they will turn up,’ Doctor Westly says, pursing his mouth. ‘Postpartum Psychosis is something a little less common than Postnatal Depression. It’s a mental illness that can affect new mothers. It only affects about one or two in every thousand women soon after childbirth. So, it’s pretty rare, but it can be very dangerous if it’s not diagnosed and treated as early as possible.’ The doctor is speaking slowly now, allowing all this new information to sink in.