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?’
