Going Up and Going Down (4 page)

The
sight-seeing tour of Havana was an education and I had never realised that Che
Guevara was such a national treasure, (history had never really been my thing,
even though I was fascinated with museums). I was enthralled by their old
American cars and I just had to have a ride in one. Later in the day I found a
tourist market and purchased one of the many oil paintings of those cars. Just
as Mum and Dad predicted, the seats on the tour bus were predominantly occupied
by couples, so the tour guide had paired me (for the short flight, coach
journey, and for the included lunch) with Keith, a single Canadian guy (he
never told me his age, but I suspected he was mid-thirties). He seemed like a
nice guy but he reminded me of a puppy dog by hanging on my every word with his
tongue practically lolling out. He fancied me and I would have been blind not
to notice the fact. I enjoyed our conversations immensely; he was very
intelligent, very amusing, and we shared similar tastes in music and film, but
I
was trying to recover from my broken heart and Keith was just not my type. We
were back at the pick-up point for the coach in plenty of time and I was
looking forward to relaxing for the evening. The busy day’s walking had left me
feeling totally drained. When we arrived at our hotel later in the day, Keith
gave me a peck on the cheek and made his way to his room. At least I didn’t
have to put up with him anymore – it had been a few hours too many, he’d been
in my face and had started to bore me! During our later conversations, I had
deliberately avoided telling him of the plans I had made for the remainder of
my holiday.

I was in for a
shock when the tour bus arrived at the venue for the beach salsa three nights
later. Whilst gathering around for instructions from the tour guide before our
short walk to the beach, I noticed Keith – the last person to get off the bus.
I had been one of the last to board the bus back at the hotel and I’d failed to
notice that he had been at the very back. He came over to me and putting his
arm around my shoulder, and said,

“Looks like we
could be partnering each other again, honey.”

Oh crap! I felt
so irritated and my stomach sank. So much for my plans to find someone
interesting to spend the evening with!

We partnered
for the salsa and as we were learning we laughed at each other when we got the
steps totally wrong. After the salsa finished, Keith entered the men’s limbo
competition and he dared me to enter the one for the ladies. He was an
excellent limbo dancer and managed close second to a very worthy winner. I was
eliminated about half way through my contest when I leaned too far back and
fell flat on my back into the sand. To me, it was just an excellent night, good
company and plenty of laughs. To Keith, it was many steps nearer to getting
into my knickers.

After we left
the bus back at the hotel, his arm went around my shoulder yet again, and he
pushed me towards the wall at the back of the reception building as we were
passing. Before I had chance to protest he planted his lips on mine and kissed
me, hard and urgently. I struggled to get my head from between the wall and his
lips but finally I edged free and pushed him away, seething.

“Stop it,
Keith! You’ve spoilt what had up to now been an enjoyable evening!”

“Honey, don’t
worry, what happens in Cuba, stays in Cuba.” he muttered, as he came towards me
again.

“Look – I
thought you were a nice guy, but I don’t like you in that way. I don’t want a
relationship, sexual or otherwise with anybody right now. I haven’t come on
holiday for that!”

 “Then why
bother coming on holiday at all? You’re the best chick there is around this
resort, surely you realised that every man here would want to fuck you?”

Yes. Sure mate.
And like all those men, like Gavin,
you’d
probably be another one that
ended up fucking Bobbie. I didn’t utter the words, but it was the first thought
that crossed my mind.

“No, Keith,
they don’t. You’re the only one who’s tried – nobody else.”

At that I
turned my back on him and walked away, wondering if I’d ever rid myself of all
the bitter thoughts. I just wanted the whole episode behind me. I joined Mum
and Dad the next morning and after breakfast we each gathered our books and
towels, and claimed our loungers for the day. I was still furious about Keith
spoiling my night out and I was having visions of him turning up on my dolphin
day. I made a real effort to read but I was unable to get beyond the first few
pages of my book.

“Are you
alright, darling?” asked Dad. “I wouldn’t ask but every time you’ve gone for a
dip, I couldn’t help noticing that your book has been open at the same page
each time.”

“I’m fine
thanks. Just going over things in my mind, you know.”

I needn’t have
worried too much. Keith was on the Dolphins tour but he had found another lady
(or ladies), to work his charm on. I was already on speaking terms with them,
having seen them in the swimming pool on a number of occasions. They were
enjoying a girls’ holiday, having left their husbands hard at work in the U.K. I didn’t know whether they had made Keith aware that they were married but if so, it
was not deterring him from giving it the full charm offensive. Good luck to
him. I wasn’t going to let him affect my mind enough to spoil another day.

The dolphins
were marvellous, I swam with them and stroked them and attempted all the
tricks. The day was therapeutic just as promised. I was in awe of those
wonderful creatures - their intelligence, their intuition, and mostly of their
interaction with humans. I had somehow managed to steer clear of Keith and his
lady friends all day until it was time to return to the coach. He had his arm
around the taller of the two women and I noticed the playful slap on her bottom
as she boarded the bus just ahead of him. I saw both of the women the next day
in the pool and we had stopped swimming to have our usual chat. I mentioned
that I’d seen her with the Canadian guy and asked how she’d got along with him.

“Don’t ask.”
she replied, “The story is - he was after a shag. I told him I was married and
that I couldn’t cheat on my husband but he didn’t seem to care. He said ‘honey,
what happens in Cuba, stays in Cuba’.”

I laughed at
that and, seeing the quizzical way in which they looked at me I felt obliged to
tell them of my own experience. They were disgusted, but relieved that I’d
handled the situation fairly well. He had apparently turned rather nasty, when
she (Dawn) had refused to give him a kiss but luckily two couples had been
walking past at the time. The two guys had stepped in to help her and Keith had
run off. Thankfully, none of us saw him again.

I was quite
relieved when we were walking up the driveway, back home again. Unable to sleep
on the plane (as usual) I couldn’t wait to get a shower and go to bed. Despite
being tired I was starting to feel much better. The holiday had been beneficial
to me and Dad was looking fantastic again having been forced into relaxation
with no gardening, no worrying about the business, and no worrying about me –
because I had been where he had been able to keep his eye on me.

We’d been back
from Cuba two weeks. Dad had been going into his office two or three mornings a
week and he was looking much better for his holiday. He had almost managed to
convince Mum and I that he was feeling better than he had done in a long while.
It didn’t stop Mum worrying constantly for every minute that he was away from
home. I managed to persuade her not to be calling the office or his mobile
every five minutes to check up on him, even though I was sorely tempted to do
it myself. With a little encouragement she busied herself with some of her
voluntary work in the local ‘Mind’ shop. She also returned to the Ladies Circle and pottered about in the garden, though what Dad would think to her
re-positioning of the pots of bedding plants and statues I hadn’t a clue. It
kept her busy, kept her off my case it and gave Dad a peaceful time while he
was at the office, so I didn’t think he would have too many objections.

Whilst I was
feeling better after the recent events in my life I couldn’t understand what
was wrong with me since returning from Cuba. When Mum and Dad were out of the
house (and unable to bear witness), my daily routine started to involve
cleaning the house from top to bottom. If their activities kept them away from
home for long enough I would start at the top and work my way down all over
again. What the hell was I doing? Their house was always immaculate, due to the
conscientiousness and thoroughness three times a week, of Anita their cleaner.
I had never done this before and couldn’t understand why I suddenly started
being obsessive about cleanliness when I was a naturally untidy person? I was
picking things up after myself, putting dirty laundry into the washing basket,
scrubbing the bathroom and polishing the bath and sink until they shone. I
plumped up the cushions, washed windows, changed bed linen every day and used
antibacterial cleanser on every square inch of the kitchen. The bookshelves in
Dad’s den became an additional obsession. I sat for hours organising the books
along the shelves. From the tallest books on the left I would arrange them in
size order right along each shelf. I placed ornaments in perfect symmetry as
well as the magazines on the coffee table. I couldn’t stop myself. My other
thing was my hands and arms, right up to my elbows – which I scrubbed with a
nailbrush, twenty or thirty times a day.

The three of us
had been out for a drive one Sunday. We’d stopped for a carvery lunch at a
charming country inn and later had a pleasant walk around a local beauty spot.
After walking for half an hour or so, we sat on a bench for Dad to take a
breather and Mum edged closer to me.

“Sweetheart,
we’ve been getting worried about you and your behaviour since our holiday. You
have certainly not been yourself lately and we think you need some help.”

 She had
certainly caught me off guard this time and my immediate reaction was to go on
the defensive and I snapped at her, “To what behaviour are you referring
exactly? The fact that I am trying to pick myself up after my boyfriend cheated
on me?”

I saw the shock
register on her face. I’d never spoken to her like that before and much as I
didn’t like to see it, it didn’t stop me venting.

“That’s not
behaviour
!
It’s something I will get over, in time. It doesn’t happen overnight Mum!
You’ve no idea what it’s like!” Her face softened and she reached out.

“Look Helen,
see these.” She lifted my hands in hers and shook them gently. “I’ve seen them.
Sweetheart, you’ve scrubbed them until they are almost bleeding. That’s the
behaviour I mean...and the rest!” she nodded knowingly.

I looked away,
avoiding her gaze and Mum took that to be my acknowledgement of her stated
facts. She put her arms around me, not saying another word, and I sighed
heavily over her shoulder, my own acknowledgement of the truth. So they had
known what was going on. I must have been crazy to think that they wouldn’t.
Dad had noticed his books and the meticulous placing of each and every one of
them. Mum had noticed each time she went to bed that the sheets and duvets were
fresh, the persistent smell of bleach in the bathroom - never there before,
after Anita’s days cleaning. Then there had been Anita herself, reporting back
to them on my behaviour during their absences – telling them how tidy my room
was these days, no CD’s or DVD’s to pick up anymore, no clothes to put to the
wash or hang up, no bed to make. She had been creeping around the house
watching me rearrange the books in Dad’s study. Anita had also been the first
to witness the obsessive scrubbing of my hands and arms.

First came the
visit to our G.P. Dad accompanied me (which had been my idea), and he had to
prompt me at times whilst I told the story of the last few months and the
affect that those events were having on me and my life. Despite my resolution I
cried. I tried holding back the tears I really did, but the doctor asked me
such direct questions, I felt like I was backed into a corner. Two ways out of
that corner – cry, or answer the questions. I did both. After listening for
nearly twenty minutes (each appointment was ten minutes only and hadn’t I
grumbled many times before about people taking too long?)

Dr Jack opened
his mouth to speak and Dad cut him off in an instant.

“I know what
you’re about to suggest, Richard, but forget it, she is not starting on
anti-depressants - no way. I know people who have struggled to get off the
bloody things…”

“But it doesn’t
have to be…” he tried to cut in.

“No! She needs
some proper help, not medication. I want her to see a clinical psychologist or
a counsellor. You can do that for her.” Dad laid down the law and Dr Jack
stared back at him, twiddling his pen around with his fingers, deep in thought.

“Okay, I will
write a couple of letters - you should hear something over the next couple of
weeks.” He quickly asked how Dad was coping since he was back at work, and
apparently satisfied, he saw us both back to reception where he shouted the
name of his next patient.

Mum tried her
hardest to organise the next couple of weeks for me. She cut down her charity
shop hours to almost nothing, and the Ladies Circle was forgotten about yet
again. She organised outings for the two of us – a spa day, trips out for
lunch, shopping sprees and a couple of musicals in the West End. Dad did his
little bit too by taking me to his golf club, telling me it would be good for
me and it would give me something to focus on. He enrolled me, and afterwards
stood grinning for half an hour whilst my feeble attempts to hit the ball
managed to get worse with every passing moment. I know they were only trying to
help. It was keeping me busy, entertained, and away from the house, bleach,
vacuum cleaner
and
the soap, water and nailbrush. The spa day with Mum
was excellent. In the morning we ate cream cakes by the swimming pool as we
read our magazines - in the nude. A variety of beauty treatments and holistic
therapies were on offer. I chose a non- surgical face-lift, a set of acrylic
nails with a French manicure, and an hour of reflexology. Mum had an Indian
Head Massage and Hot Stone Therapy and finished with a facial. It was a
wonderful feeling to be utterly pampered and we giggled like a couple of school
girls as we walked back down the street to the tube station. Dad surprised us
both and prepared one of his special stir fries for when we got home - my
favourite chicken and pineapple with some saffron rice and mixed salad leaves.
We ate in the garden and sat out until dark. Mum and Dad drank a bottle of red
whilst I consumed a considerable amount of water (being good for once) as
recommended by the reflexologist. It helped to rid the body of toxins following
my foot massage. With some beautiful classical music playing behind us in the
conservatory, the birds twittering their good-night calls to each other at
dusk, we whiled away the evening. Dad completed his Daily Telegraph crossword,
Mum and I talked about our day at the spa. We all reminisced a little and I was
feeling more relaxed that night than I had for such a long time, and without
one mouthful of alcohol passing my lips.

It was nearly
four weeks after my initial visit to Dr Jack at the surgery, before I received
my appointment through the post to visit clinical psychologist, Mr Gillespie. The
appointment was for a Friday - just over two weeks away. Mum and Dad were
fairly chuffed the appointment had come through. They were thinking that their
little girl was going to get some help with her problem, and that they would
soon have her back to normal again. I didn’t really see that I had a problem,
not a psychological one anyway. What was so wrong about me wanting to be clean
and tidy for once in my life (the tidiness, that is – I’ve always been clean)?
The way I saw it, I was just helping around the house – something I had never
done before I agree, but not before time. Mind you, there was still the
obsessive hand washing and I suppose I had to admit to myself, that yes,
that
was a predicament. I was feeling more than a little apprehensive about the
forthcoming appointment though and truly wondered if there was anything that
could be done to help me. There was also another appointment I needed to make -
and pretty soon.