Forget Her Name(97)

‘So reinstate them.’ My father sounds impatient. ‘Make an exception for my daughter.’

The doctor’s smile is thin. ‘I’m afraid we can’t do that, and I wouldn’t make the attempt even if it was permitted. The industry is more tightly regulated now, and quite rightly. What your daughter was forced to undergo as a child was brutal. Little better than brainwashing, in my opinion.’

‘But it worked.’

‘Forgive me, sir, that’s hardly the point.’ Dr Aebischer looks past him at me. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Bates. I don’t see what else we can do for you, other than the therapies already put forward by my colleagues.’

I’m surprised. He’s the first of the senior doctors at this clinic to talk to me directly, except when asking questions aimed at elucidating my condition.

‘Wait,’ I say as he walks to the door.

Dr Aebischer looks round at me, clearly surprised. ‘Yes?’ He pauses, glancing at my father. ‘You have a question, Miss Bates?’

‘Who am I?’

He frowns, clearly puzzled. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘Who am I?’ I take a few steps towards him. The doctor backs away slightly, his face wary, and I stop. ‘Am I Catherine?’ I stare at him, pleading. ‘Or am I Rachel? Can you at least tell me what my name is?’

Dr Aebischer clears his throat. ‘Yes, I see.’ He thinks for a moment, then says carefully, ‘You are both and neither.’

‘Sorry?’

‘You are both Rachel and Catherine now. But that also means you are neither. Not entirely. I wouldn’t want you to see that as an admission of defeat, however, but as a beginning of something new. A different phase in your life.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Since it’s proved impossible to reverse your psychotic relapse into the Rachel persona,’ he says, ‘you should aim instead to manage your condition through acceptance and integration.’

‘Integration,’ I repeat slowly.

‘That’s right. As I’ve discussed with your father, what you need to do is integrate both personae into one new personality.’ Dr Aebischer hesitates, then gestures to the large glossy document folder my father is studying. ‘You can do this via the meds we’ve been able to prescribe you, and the continuing therapy sessions we’ve set up for you back in London. Someone who is basically Catherine but is nonetheless aware of Rachel, and able to manage that part of herself in a controlled way.’ He smiles uneasily. ‘For your own safety as well as that of your family.’

‘The meds aren’t very strong.’

‘Yes, I’m sorry about that.’ Again the awkward look. ‘Maybe later you can increase the dosage. But that’s not advisable right now.’

I say nothing but turn away to gaze out of the window. The mountains are so white and cold.

That’s how I feel inside.

I hear the door click behind me as the doctor leaves. I keep staring out at the snow-capped heights. I feel a hand on my shoulder.

‘Darling?’

Dad has stopped calling me either Cat or Rachel these days. Now it’s always ‘darling’ or ‘sweetheart’. He’s gentler too, more understanding. When Sharon accused me of assault, he didn’t once complain when he had to settle out of court. That darkness I used to sense in him has gone.

It hasn’t gone from inside me though.

I want to be like the snow.

Pure. White. Empty.

But I know it’s going to take a long time before I can return to zero. Perhaps I’ll never be able to get back there.

‘Darling?’ Dad is hesitant now, which is unlike him. ‘I have to go and sort out some paperwork with the doctors. Make sure we have everything in order for your return to London. The address of the clinic, the medications you’ll need. I’ll call your mother, let her know how things stand . . .’

I shrug.

‘Will you be all right on your own for a bit?’

‘I’m not a child.’

He kisses me on the cheek. ‘If you need me, sweetheart, you only have to call. I’ll be in the office at the end of the hall. Stick your head out of the door. I can be back here in seconds, if necessary.’

I look at him. ‘Okay.’

‘I love you,’ he says abruptly. ‘You know that, right?’

‘I love you too, Daddy,’ I say, surprised by his sudden seriousness. His eyes search my own as if he doesn’t believe me. Once it might not have been true, perhaps. But he’s been my anchor these past few months. Someone familiar to cling on to as I’ve battled the darkness and chaos inside. ‘Honestly.’

He nods, then leaves me. But he’s clearly reluctant.

I look at the single bed with its white, turned-down sheets, fit more for a nun than for someone with my history. My suitcase is tucked beneath it, and for a moment I consider pulling it out onto the bed and starting to pack. But I don’t have the energy. Not right now. I need all my strength to deal with what’s happening. With the idea of going home to the noise and chaos of London.

I turn back to look out at the snowy mountains. Then very deliberately place my hand on the window and spread my fingers wide.

The glass is icy, glinting with white.

Suddenly, I seem to see another hand pressing from the other side. A child’s hand, its smaller fingers fitting easily within mine. I stare, holding my breath, but its impression fades as soon as I pull my hand away.