The Soulmate(37)

32


PIPPA

THEN



Dr Ravi, Gabe’s psychiatrist, was a kindly man with a thick grey beard and a pleasantly chaotic office. His vibe, according to the reviews I’d found online, was ‘old school’, but in a good way. After Gabe’s first appointment, he’d echoed the reviewers’ enthusiasm.

He really listened.

I felt understood.

He made me believe I could be helped.

Gabe and I sat across the desk from him expectantly. It was Gabe’s third appointment, but the first time I had joined him. In the lead-up, there’d been a mountain of paperwork to complete, covering everything from Gabe’s family history of mental disorders and long-ago school reports, as well as questionnaires for Gabe and me to complete. There was also a questionnaire to be completed by a boss or work colleague, but we had decided to skip that one to maintain Gabe’s privacy. Now, the psychiatrist was prepared to give us a diagnosis, and I was holding out hope that he might offer a treatment – preferably in pill form – that would fix Gabe.

‘Have you heard of attention deficit hyperactivity disorder?’ Dr Ravi asked.

I had, but only in passing. It conjured up an image of a naughty, fidgety little boy in third grade. ‘You think Gabe has ADHD?’

‘I thought that ADHD only affected children,’ Gabe added.

‘It is commonly diagnosed in children, but about half of children with ADHD will continue to experience symptoms into adulthood. And given what I’ve learned about your childhood, Gabe, it seems likely that your symptoms could have been overlooked due to the lack of close parental involvement while you were young.’

The more Dr Ravi told us, the more sense it made. Gabe had almost every symptom: trouble focusing or hyperfocus; physical restlessness; rapid or impulsive speech; disorganisation; trouble with impulse control; periods of prolonged depression. The psychiatrist recommended a combination of medication and therapy, and he referred Gabe to an ADHD coach.

Gabe started taking the prescribed stimulants immediately. I bought every book I could find on ADHD. Gabe was going to be the poster boy for ADHD management, I decided, and I would be the poster wife.

Gabe threw himself into his new identity as an adult with ADHD. He met with his coach, he followed his new routines, he downloaded the apps. It took a while to get the medication right. At first it seemed to make him even more manic than before, but Dr Ravi adjusted the doses, and eventually he settled down. The change was nothing short of miraculous. He stopped going out all night; in fact, he hardly went out all. He was promoted once, and then again. He was making so much money that we bought a house in a nice neighbourhood with plans to renovate it.

Most evenings were spent on the couch, watching home renovation shows and discussing vaulted ceilings, and weekends were spent at the new house, watching Gabe talk to tradesmen and warning him not to be a pest. He was fascinated by their craftsmanship and peppered the tradies with questions as they worked. Often, after we left the house, we’d wander through the streets of our new neighbourhood with Freya riding on Gabe’s shoulders.

We never talked about the infidelity he’d confessed to. In those moments when I couldn’t help but think about it, I told myself it was a good thing; it had been the catalyst for Gabe getting the help he needed and turning his life – our lives – around. All that mattered was that I had Gabe back. The real Gabe. He was finally fixed, and now we could live in peace.





33


AMANDA

AFTER



‘I‘d like to speak to the investigators in charge of my wife’s suicide . . . Amanda Cameron . . . Yes, I’ll hold.’

Max is in the kitchen. On the counter in front of him, was the article about Gabe saving lives at The Drop. He stares at it as if the answers he’s looking for will suddenly leap from the page. It’s affirming to see that despite our troubles, Max still cares about what happened to me. It’s probably born out of a desire to protect himself, but it heartens me nevertheless.

I can tell the moment the person comes to the phone because Max stands tall again. ‘Yes, hello, it’s Max Cameron here. I have a few questions about my wife’s death. Do you mind telling me from where, exactly, she jumped?’

He glances down at the newspaper.

‘I see.’ His eyes close. ‘Yes. I know the place. And one other question, if I may. You mentioned someone was with her before she . . . yes. Do you happen to have the person’s name?’

He listens a moment. Then the hand not holding the phone clenches into a fist. I wait for him to say something – that the man is a former employee, that Max had fired him. When he doesn’t, I’m not surprised. It makes sense, under the circumstances, that Max would want to deal with this himself.

He ends the call, puts the phone down on the counter and looks out the window. I can practically see his brain ticking. It’s amazing how often people underestimate Max. They take him at face value, seeing a thoughtful, intelligent, considerate gentleman. Don’t get me wrong – he is all these things. But Max didn’t get to where he was by being kind and lovely. When he needs to be, he’s as ruthless as the next guy – with one difference: no one ever sees him coming.





34


AMANDA

BEFORE