tangled sheets. Yes, I’d like to see a doctor: I’d ask if there was a name for the it’s-all-about-me syndrome.
I was in a half-doze, too terrified to fall asleep properly, when I remembered my promise to Miss Wilding about seeing a shrink if the images came again. I spent the rest of the night trying to convince myself that a nightmare was different and therefore my promise didn’t count.
I shouldn’t have wasted the effort. I knew I would have to see somebody about it. A doctor would more or less have to prescribe antipsychotic drugs. Or suggest counselling, and that would involve talking for weeks and years about how I didn’t connect with my mother, about how I’d always held my distance from my stepmother, about how I’d yelled a pack of lies to my departing brother. And according to Iris, none of that had the least relevance to me in this life. There was a certain grim humour to be had at three in the morning from imagining Mum’s response if I told her all the Iris stuff.
The only person who seemed likely to be able to help was Iris’s pet shrink, Gwennie. I wished I’d asked her more about exactly how Gwennie worked, how she’d helped Iris, but all I could remember was something about deep relaxation. I couldn’t see how that would clear the pictures out of my head.
At five I gave up the idea of sleeping, got up and posted three of Eddy’s designs on Facebook. I wrote: A taste of the furniture produced at Charlie Grey and Daughter, makers of quality furniture. I tell you, guys — we rock!
We didn’t, not yet. But we could. We just needed a chance.
FOR ONCE I was glad of Mum’s silent treatment over breakfast and I escaped early to the factory, scooping up the tablet again on the way. As soon as I got there, and before I chickened out, I rang Iris to tell her about burning her up all over again. I took my courage in both hands and asked, ‘Could your shrink make it all go away, do you think?’
‘I’ll ring her right now. I’ll get back to you.’
‘Wait! I’m at work. Don’t ring home.’
‘Bess, darling, I do realise you wouldn’t be ringing me from your mum’s house.’
I put the phone down. With any luck, Gwennie might refuse to see me. ‘Oh, just get it over with!’ I muttered. I couldn’t go on having Iris in flames popping up from wherever. She was tricky enough to deal with in this life. And what about OG boy? Should I mention him too? Oh my god, I couldn’t believe I was going to spill my soul to a shrink. I decided to keep OG boy to myself.
The men arrived. Eddy reported on his day as a rep. Down went the spirits of everyone except Bernie, who didn’t seem to do gloom when there was work waiting for him, and he bustled off to start making the gate.
Eddy asked, ‘What do you want me to do, Bess? Shall I try Auckland?’
I surveyed the four slumped pictures of dejection sitting at the table. ‘No. I will.’
He actually had the gall to laugh. ‘Nobody’s going to take any notice of a kid, Bess. No offence.’
‘Listen. All of you.’ I waited till they straightened their spines enough to look at me. ‘I’ll do a hell of a lot better than some adult who doesn’t believe we’ve got a show of selling what we can offer.’ I kicked Eddy’s chair, although what I longed to do was give him a right royal boot up the backside. ‘You’ll be wasting your time if you droop around Auckland looking like you do right now. I wouldn’t buy a stick from you, let alone put in an order for one of your designs.’
There was a shocked silence, then Clint let out a snort of approval. ‘By hokey, lad — that’s telling you.’ He pointed at me. ‘The girl’s got balls. She’ll do a better job than you ever will.’
In my head I was laughing fit to split, but outwardly I kept up the tough approach. ‘Well, Eddy?’
He stood up, determination in every fibre. ‘For your information, boss, I did not droop around Hamilton yesterday. I believe in these designs. I
I was in a half-doze, too terrified to fall asleep properly, when I remembered my promise to Miss Wilding about seeing a shrink if the images came again. I spent the rest of the night trying to convince myself that a nightmare was different and therefore my promise didn’t count.
I shouldn’t have wasted the effort. I knew I would have to see somebody about it. A doctor would more or less have to prescribe antipsychotic drugs. Or suggest counselling, and that would involve talking for weeks and years about how I didn’t connect with my mother, about how I’d always held my distance from my stepmother, about how I’d yelled a pack of lies to my departing brother. And according to Iris, none of that had the least relevance to me in this life. There was a certain grim humour to be had at three in the morning from imagining Mum’s response if I told her all the Iris stuff.
The only person who seemed likely to be able to help was Iris’s pet shrink, Gwennie. I wished I’d asked her more about exactly how Gwennie worked, how she’d helped Iris, but all I could remember was something about deep relaxation. I couldn’t see how that would clear the pictures out of my head.
At five I gave up the idea of sleeping, got up and posted three of Eddy’s designs on Facebook. I wrote: A taste of the furniture produced at Charlie Grey and Daughter, makers of quality furniture. I tell you, guys — we rock!
We didn’t, not yet. But we could. We just needed a chance.
FOR ONCE I was glad of Mum’s silent treatment over breakfast and I escaped early to the factory, scooping up the tablet again on the way. As soon as I got there, and before I chickened out, I rang Iris to tell her about burning her up all over again. I took my courage in both hands and asked, ‘Could your shrink make it all go away, do you think?’
‘I’ll ring her right now. I’ll get back to you.’
‘Wait! I’m at work. Don’t ring home.’
‘Bess, darling, I do realise you wouldn’t be ringing me from your mum’s house.’
I put the phone down. With any luck, Gwennie might refuse to see me. ‘Oh, just get it over with!’ I muttered. I couldn’t go on having Iris in flames popping up from wherever. She was tricky enough to deal with in this life. And what about OG boy? Should I mention him too? Oh my god, I couldn’t believe I was going to spill my soul to a shrink. I decided to keep OG boy to myself.
The men arrived. Eddy reported on his day as a rep. Down went the spirits of everyone except Bernie, who didn’t seem to do gloom when there was work waiting for him, and he bustled off to start making the gate.
Eddy asked, ‘What do you want me to do, Bess? Shall I try Auckland?’
I surveyed the four slumped pictures of dejection sitting at the table. ‘No. I will.’
He actually had the gall to laugh. ‘Nobody’s going to take any notice of a kid, Bess. No offence.’
‘Listen. All of you.’ I waited till they straightened their spines enough to look at me. ‘I’ll do a hell of a lot better than some adult who doesn’t believe we’ve got a show of selling what we can offer.’ I kicked Eddy’s chair, although what I longed to do was give him a right royal boot up the backside. ‘You’ll be wasting your time if you droop around Auckland looking like you do right now. I wouldn’t buy a stick from you, let alone put in an order for one of your designs.’
There was a shocked silence, then Clint let out a snort of approval. ‘By hokey, lad — that’s telling you.’ He pointed at me. ‘The girl’s got balls. She’ll do a better job than you ever will.’
In my head I was laughing fit to split, but outwardly I kept up the tough approach. ‘Well, Eddy?’
He stood up, determination in every fibre. ‘For your information, boss, I did not droop around Hamilton yesterday. I believe in these designs. I
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