Alphabet Weekends - Elizabeth Noble [33]
What was she going to say?
She tried not to stare at the young mothers. She didn’t want to look like some mad old bag. But when she gazed into the middle distance all she could see was a long washing line of pure white terry nappies. She picked up Homes and Antiques, and tried to concentrate on Victorian sewing boxes.
Then it was her turn.
‘Anna? You can come in now.’
The GP had four children. Blonde, willowy, blue-eyed. Two boys and two girls. There were new pictures this year. The youngest must have started school – there she was, all pigtails and oversized blazer, sitting proudly with her siblings. Anna thought she liked Dr Jackson – not in a doctor-patient way, but if they were seated together at a dinner party, or if they’d had their children at the same time and had met in the playground, she would have liked her. In a person-to-person way. She was blonde, like her children, but less willowy. She always wore black trousers – wool in winter, linen and cotton in summer – that were a little too tight for her and gave her a small roll of flesh above the waistband that Anna found endearing. She was from the West Country, and her slight burr made her sound a little ponderous, but her eyes told you she was as sharp as you like.
‘How are you, Anna?’
To her shock and horror, Anna burst into tears. Real, noisy tears. She didn’t know where they had come from. They sprang into her eyes and ran down her cheeks. She couldn’t stop. She tried to speak, excuse them somehow, but she couldn’t say a word.
Dr Jackson waited for a few minutes. All she did was hand Anna a tissue. Then she looked away from her, at her computer screen, and made herself busy for a moment. ‘Okay?’
Anna blew her nose. ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be. Occupational hazard. Don’t give it a second thought.’
Anna nodded.
‘Want to tell me what it is?’
‘I wish I could.’
‘Have you found another lump?’
Anna shook her head. ‘No. No. Nothing like that. I’m not ill.’
Dr Jackson wheeled her chair out from behind her desk so that she was next to Anna, and waited.
Anna was terrified that she would start crying again. ‘I’m sorry about that. I’ve never done that before. I’m… I’m in a bit of a state, I’m afraid.’ She felt as humiliated as if she had wet herself there in the doctor’s room.
‘Has something happened?’
Dr Jackson was kind and concerned, but she had only seven minutes. Anna was so angry with herself. ‘No. Not really. I – I can’t sleep.’ That was a place to start. And it was true. She fell asleep, all right, but she always woke up at around two or three in the morning and never really went back to sleep.
‘Are you anxious about something? I presume you’ve tried the usual things – warm milk before bed, not watching TV or reading, making sure the room is aired properly, lavender in a bath…’
She hadn’t, but she knew it wouldn’t have made any difference. It was her mind that was waking her up. ‘Yes.’
‘Well, then, my best guess is that there is some underlying stress. Do you think it relates back to what happened last year? It really wouldn’t be uncommon.’
‘I don’t think it’s about the cancer scare.’
‘That suggests to me that you know what it’s about, Anna. You don’t have to tell me, but… I’m not keen to prescribe something long-term to help you sleep…’
‘I do know. I hate my life, Doctor. I feel like I’m finished… Like I outgrew any usefulness years ago when the girls left.’
The doctor nodded sagely. That’s not right, Anna thought, panic rising. She thinks I’ve got empty-nest syndrome. That’s not it! That’s not it! She wrung her hands in her lap, pulling strands off the tissue the doctor had given her.
‘I’m jealous of my children. I’m jealous of them having what I worked so hard to give them, and I almost hate them sometimes for having what I didn’t. I could have had a different life. I could have been something, done something,