Epilogue
‘You can’t put the genie back in the bottle,’ Dr Aebischer tells my father, his tone apologetic. ‘We’ve come to the end of our usefulness, I’m afraid. To keep Catherine here any longer would be against her best interests. The best thing you can do is take your daughter back to London, and continue with the therapy sessions we’ve started here.’
I ignore them, staring out of the window at the snow instead. It’s been a poor year for the ski resorts again, one of the warmest springs for a decade, but the mountains are still white-capped. Anyway, what does it matter what these doctors say? I’ve been here for weeks now, locked in this bedroom, only let out for exercise or therapy sessions, and Dr Aebischer is about the fifth specialist to assess me. The others have said the same, but Dad doesn’t want to listen. He won’t give up but I’m beginning to wish he would.
The bedroom is cold, but through choice. I turned down the thermostat deliberately. I wanted to feel the cold.
My dress is white, knee-length, buttoned up to the neck. It’s prim and controlled, the sort of outfit Catherine might wear.
I hate it.
But it’s what I need right now. To be controlled.
‘Medication can only do so much, you see,’ Dr Aebischer continues in that very correct Swiss accent. He’s the clinic director, a large man with a bald head and a kind smile. I like him instinctively. He tends to oversee treatments rather than deal with patients individually. ‘As my colleagues have informed you, it’s a question of therapy now. Therapy and integration.’
‘I thought it was a question of money,’ Dad says coolly.
The clinic director inclines his head. ‘Your donations to our research work have been most generous, and we are very grateful. But whether Catherine stays another month or another year, it will not change our recommendations.’
‘Last time we were here—’
‘Last time your daughter attended this clinic, other doctors were in charge. Doctors whose views are no longer held to be valid by the current team. Also, Catherine was going through adolescence. Highly suggestible, subject to hormonal surges, her personality not quite formed.’ Dr Aebischer shakes his head. ‘She’s an adult now. The same aggressive approach will not work, whatever your Dr Holbern has told you.’
‘I don’t see why we can’t at least try.’
‘I’m going to be frank with you, Mr Bates. I’ve read Catherine’s notes in some detail. All the records we held on file from her last visit, in fact.’ The doctor pauses. ‘I understand why Dr Holbern has recommended you go down the same route as last time. It did work with Catherine, to a certain extent. But we don’t do those particular therapies anymore. They were discredited some years ago. Too many cases of patients regressing after treatment. Even worsening.’
I look round at them, interested at last.
‘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.
I stare at the emptiness outside.
‘Rachel?’ I whisper.
I’m filled with the most intolerable sadness. I’ve wasted so many years of my life. And done the most appalling thing, wantonly destroying the life of another human being. I didn’t know what I was doing, and couldn’t always control myself. And yet what happened to Felicity is part of me. I can’t deny or undo it.
All I can do is live with the aftermath of that horror, and try never to let the madness take hold of me again.
It’s not easy though. Rachel was so real to me, a living, breathing sister who existed in my head for all those years. I may have imagined my interactions with her, constructed all those family scenes and conflicts in my head to help my subconscious mind process her ‘death’, to ensure I never slipped back into being Rachel again. But the pain of her absence is a real thing, too.
Rachel was me, and I was Rachel.
Now I have to accept that my ‘sister’ is gone forever. And I’m alone with the terrible understanding of what I did in her name.
Behind me, someone knocks on the door.
‘Come in.’
The door opens almost silently.
‘Hello, Cat.’
I turn from the snow, staring in disbelief at the man in front of me.
Dominic is leaner than ever, his jeans loose on his hips. He has cut his hair, I realise. It’s almost painfully short now. But I suppose I’ve changed more than he has.
His eyes widen as he takes in my figure, then he shakes his head. ‘I didn’t believe it when I heard,’ he says, still staring. ‘Not until now.’
I move clumsily and he hurries forward, ready to support me.
‘I don’t need your help,’ I snap at him.
He backs off, hands held high. ‘Sorry, of course not. My bad.’ He steps away and looks out of the window instead. At the snow I’ve come to love and hate. Its frozen, ice-locked purity. After another moment, he says, his tone subdued, ‘I’m sorry if I startled you. You must be wondering why I’m here.’
‘Top marks.’
‘Robert rang me a few weeks ago. He thought I should fly out to visit you. I didn’t want to at first. It felt like the wrong thing to do. Disastrous, in fact.’ He comes close again, and this time I don’t push him away. ‘But then he rang again, and told me—’
I interrupt him. ‘You’re too late. We’re on our way back to London soon. As early as tomorrow, maybe.’
‘I know.’ He leans his forehead against the glass, closing his eyes. ‘Robert told me just now.’
I’m silent for a moment. ‘He should have let me know you were here.’
‘I asked him not to.’
‘Why?’ I’m tense, furious with them both. How dare they interfere?
‘You know why.’ Dominic looks round at me, studying me with wary incredulity again. ‘I wanted to be here last week, but . . . Well, I’m here now.’
‘And you can go away again.’
‘I deserve that, I suppose.’
‘You haven’t exactly been in a big hurry to visit.’
‘There was something I had to do first. It wasn’t easy.’ His face is bleak. ‘I spent a few days sitting with Felicity, telling her everything I could think of, holding her hand, letting her know how much I loved her. How much we all loved her. Then I turned off the ventilator myself.’ He’s very pale. ‘She only lived for thirty minutes. I buried her last week.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Are you?’ He searches my face, frowning. ‘Well, I said it was time to let Felicity go. I just didn’t realise how hard it would be, in the end. She was such a huge part of my life.’ He draws an unsteady breath. ‘Like you.’
‘I’m sorry about Felicity.’ I pull out the chair from under the desk. ‘But I’m not part of your life anymore, Dom. And you’re not part of mine.’
‘Understood.’ He closes his eyes as though in pain, then opens them again, meeting my gaze directly. ‘One question though, Rachel, Catherine or whoever you are now . . . Is it mine?’
I sit down and pass a hand over my swollen belly. ‘It’s a she,’ I say. ‘And what kind of stupid question is that?’ I glare at him, angry now. ‘Of course she’s yours. I never played away. You’re the one who couldn’t keep his hands to himself.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Sally?’
‘We never . . . It wasn’t like that. It was a flirtation, that’s all. I only ever had eyes for you.’ Dominic comes towards me and I shake my head. ‘Please, Rachel, Cat . . . don’t do this, don’t push me away. I’ve tried living without you and I can’t do it. And now this.’ He stares at my pregnant bump. ‘Whatever mistakes I made, she’s my baby too. You can’t shut me out.’
‘You only married me to get revenge for your sister.’
He nods, looking almost sick. ‘True.’
‘So why the fuck are you here?’
‘Because I’m in love with you,’ he blurts out, then looks away, staring out at the mountains, his face contorted with agony. ‘I bloody well fell in love with you.’
I stare at him. How can I believe a word he says?
‘I thought I’d get over you eventually,’ he mutters, still not looking at me. ‘But it didn’t happen. After the first month without you, I started walking past your parents’ house, even dropping in sometimes, hoping you’d eventually come home. But it was only ever your mum there, alone.’ He grimaces. ‘I begged Ellen to let me know how you were.’
‘But she refused?’
He nods. ‘I told myself it was for the best. Until Robert called me out of the blue. Told me about the baby. I couldn’t believe it at first. But then I saw it was just another of those cruel tricks life plays on us sometimes. Only this is a trick that doesn’t have to be cruel. Not unless we let it.’ He pauses. ‘Robert also told me some other things about you. That you’re depressed. Badly depressed. That he’s never seen you like this before.’
I close my eyes.
Dominic drops to his knees beside me. ‘Listen, I know you’re deeply unhappy. I know you’re out there on the edge with no one to hold your hand. I know because I feel like that too. And maybe I don’t deserve a second chance, after all the shit I put you through. But you’re no saint either. Are you?’
I look at him warily.
‘My condition could be hereditary,’ I remind him.
‘Then let me be there for you both,’ he says quickly. ‘Whatever the outcome, we can face it together.’
He takes my hand and I don’t pull away this time, though I’m tempted to kick him in the balls instead. But that would be a Rachel response, and I’ve promised myself to be Catherine as much as possible. To keep taking the meds and going to the therapist and put all that horror behind me. For the baby’s sake, if not for myself.
‘I love you.’ He kisses my hand gently. ‘Let me be your husband again. Let’s put the past behind us and try to make a life together.’
‘Because of the baby?’
‘Because it’s what we want. What we both need.’
I almost hate him for that. ‘I don’t need you,’ I tell him hotly. ‘I don’t need anyone. Not even Mum and Dad.’
‘Really?’
He turns my hand over and presses his lips passionately to my palm.
I shiver, trying to pull away, and he reaches up, grabbing hold of my shoulders. ‘No escaping this time, you hear me?’ He’s breathing hard, his eyes intent on my face. ‘You may not need your parents. But you need this. I know I need it. In fact, I think I may be addicted to you.’
I struggle but he’s too strong. He holds my face still while he kisses my mouth. It’s not a gentle kiss. It’s a hard, searching kiss. A let’s-go-to-bed kiss.
It reminds me what I’ve been missing.
Craving, perhaps.
‘Oh God.’
I clutch at his hair and drag him closer, our mouths fused together in heat. Someone must have turned the thermostat up again, I think, because I’m so hot all of a sudden. I can hardly breath, my skin is feverish, and I’m shaking with urgency.
There’s no point pretending I don’t want him.
I may even love him.
He looks round at the narrow bed behind us. ‘Now,’ he says thickly, and kisses my throat, already unbuttoning the front of my white dress. ‘Here.’
‘Say my name first.’
‘Names are for ordinary people. Not us.’
I hold him off, frowning. ‘You don’t even know if I’m Rachel or Cat.’
‘I don’t care who you are. Only what you do to me.’
‘You’re crazy.’
He lifts me easily out of the chair, despite my swollen belly, and I lock my legs about his waist. ‘Then we’re made for each other, aren’t we?’
‘Bastard!’ I growl into his neck as he carries me across the room.
‘Bitch!’
‘Don’t waste time undressing,’ I tell him urgently.
Dominic throws me down on the bed, landing heavily beside me. ‘Who said anything about undressing?’
I keep my eyes wide open as we love each other the way other people hate. Neither of us can help being this rough with each other. It’s pure instinct.
But such wild behaviour is normal for people like me and Dominic. We’re made for each other, he said, and he’s right. This thing between us is elemental, unrestrained by ordinary rules and expectations. It’s natural, not something we need to pick apart in a clinical setting and psychoanalyse. It stems from our personal baggage and how we’ve learnt to deal with it. The violence of our lovemaking is what sweeps everything clean every time and brings us back to ourselves, back to some semblance of sanity. Back to life and out of the darkness.
Just before climaxing, he cries out, ‘Rachel!’
I don’t correct him.
He may be right, after all. Who knows?
Afterwards, cradled in the circle of his strong arms, I gaze out of the window at the white mountains, and my eyelids grow heavy as I listen to the steady drip-drip-drip of thawing snow.