they’d bought a couple of books – Anneliese paid – the three of them went down to Dorota’s and drank herbal tea, looking out over the bay. There was no fear of meeting Nell or Edward now, Anneliese decided. Nell wouldn’t dream of turning up, and even if Edward did, she could cope with him, thanks to both her little tablet and the presence of Beth and Marcus.
After a while, Marcus went back up to the counter to order more tea.
‘How are you feeling?’ Beth asked, taking her mother’s hand and patting it.
Anneliese smiled at her pregnant daughter.
‘I’ll be fine,’ she lied.
‘Dad says there’s a whale stuck out there in the harbour,’ said Beth idly when her husband came back. ‘Poor thing, how does that happen? Do they get lost or something?’
‘Nobody knows for sure,’ her mother replied, looking out at the sea. It was such a beautiful, clear day, but there were volcanic-looking dark clouds over to the right on the horizon, a summer storm coming in. ‘There’s a marine expert here and apparently he says it’s something to do with the whale’s sonar getting messed up. They get stuck and then they can’t get out again. Quite often they die.’
‘How long has the whale been here?’
‘Nearly two weeks, I don’t think she’s going to last much longer. They say she’s weak.’
‘Oh, poor whale,’ said Beth. ‘Why can’t they just put her to sleep, or does that not work?’
‘I think they can do that if the whale is actually beached, but here, she isn’t and it would cause her even more distress if they tried to get close.’
‘Oh,’ sighed Beth.
‘They tried to coax her out into deeper water with a diving team, but it was a long shot and it didn’t work.’
Anneliese had watched the rescue operation from the high point between the two bays. Lots of people had been there in the harbour, silently watching and willing the plan to work.
Anneliese had brought her binoculars and she’d spotted the marine guy, Mac Petersen, in the middle of it all. Now that she knew who he was, she realised she had seen him before on the beach near Dolphin Cottage. He had a small boat, a corach like the old island fishermen used to use, and he went out to sea in it occasionally. He had a dog too, a woolly scruffy thing that was just the sort of dog he ought to own, and she’d seen him on the beach with it.
When she saw him on the beach, she went the other way. She didn’t have what it took to be polite to strangers any more.
Thanks to her binoculars, she’d seen his head hang low on his chest when the rescue plan had failed, and she felt a pang of sorrow at having been so nasty to him the time they’d met. He did care about the whale, after all.
‘You know, I think I might have another muffin,’ Beth decided. ‘I’ve been reading up on pregnancy food and muffins are really good for giving you your energy back. Milk’s good too, I’m drinking lots of milk. And then maybe we’ll go and see Lily. I don’t want to stay too long,’ Beth confided. ‘I don’t know if I could cope with it. I don’t think it would be good for the baby if I got upset, but I need to say goodbye to her.’
‘OK,’ said Anneliese, feeling her heart break. She didn’t want Lily to go. But everything was changing in her life and it was as if she had no power to prevent it all.
She thought of the whale, lost in the bay, life ebbing out of her every day, and thought that it might be quite nice to dive in and sink to the bottom with the whale.
‘Mrs Kennedy,’ said Dr Whelan, looking up from his writing as she entered the surgery. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘A lobotomy,’ Anneliese said easily. ‘I just need a bit off. A trim, so to speak. It would be nice if you could do that with brains, take out the tricky, difficult bits, like removing split ends.’
The doctor put down his pen. He was younger than she was, which Anneliese liked. Younger doctors were always up to speed on the latest treatment. Old Dr Masterson had been a nightmare when it came to talking about depression. Despite the alphabet of letters after her name, she was one of the ‘pull yourself together’ merchants who felt that depression was entirely controllable by thinking happy thoughts. Anneliese had ended up moving to another doctor in the centre of town rather than visit her, but then Dr Whelan had come along. He’d been in Tamarin for ten years and in that time, Anneliese had visited him twice over her depression. He’d been friendly, helpful and kind. But none of these things made it any easier to discuss her problems with him.
If Anneliese felt like a failure because her head was flattened by this black dog in her mind, then it was hard to convince herself that he would feel any different.
‘Lobotomies aren’t much in demand nowadays,’ he replied, falling into the same light manner she’d used. ‘Certainly not on an out-patient basis,’ he added. ‘What’s wrong, Mrs Kennedy?’
Anneliese closed her eyes. She hated this, hated it. Being the supplicant in the surgery, having to ask for help.
‘I’m depressed,’ she said. The desire to burst into tears was dampened down by the tranquilliser she’d taken before she’d driven there. It was her last one. ‘I need to go back on antidepressants.’
Damn Edward and that bloody bitch for making her have to do this.
‘Is there any particular reason?’ Dr Whelan asked, joking manner gone.
The little white tablet gave up the ghost and the tears came.
Half an hour later, Anneliese had a prescription for the antidepressant that had worked for her before, along with a short-term script for an anti-anxiety drug to tide her over until the big boys began to work.
‘Come and talk to me anytime, please,’ Dr Whelan said kindly as she’d left, trying to mop up her red eyes before she headed back into the reception area.
‘Thank you,’ said Anneliese, knowing that she wouldn’t. She felt as if nothing could help her, even the various tablets he’d prescribed. They were short-term things. She wanted a guarantee of happiness and she didn’t know if that was possible any more.
At home, she made herself some tea, took one of the anti-anxiety drugs, and lay down on her bed. Her head ached from all the crying. Perhaps if she had a little rest, she’d have the energy to get up and cook dinner for herself, Beth and Marcus. They were going home the following morning and had been at the hospital with Lily that afternoon, giving Anneliese a chance to make her secret trip to Dr Whelan. She hadn’t told Beth how she felt and Beth hadn’t asked.
It was understandable: Beth wanted to protect her unborn child from stress. Any mother would do the same. But still, Anneliese felt a part of her ache inside at this evidence of her daughter’s ability to shut out other people’s pain.
Beth didn’t want to deal with her mother crying and alone, so she simply didn’t deal with it.
Lying down with several pillows cushioning her and the duvet loosely over her, Anneliese looked around the room. Maybe she should sell up. It was a beautiful cottage but
