A Question Of Sanity: Chapter Four A: Attempted Suicide

Chapter Four

Ellie counted to ten for the third time that morning. Matt was driving her more crazy than than she already felt. She wanted to write, she needed to write, and goddammit if she didn’t get to write somebody was going to suffer.

‘Would you like another cup of tea? Are you sure you’re all right? Why don’t you stop now, you look worn out. Let me take you out for lunch.’ Each of these was preceded by a knock on the study door and his concerned voice saying, ‘I’m sorry to disturb you again but…’

‘George, so help me, I’m going to train you to shoot on sight, and Jake, look at you, lying there snoozing. Shame on you, dog, can’t you bite his ankles or something?’

She’d changed the Humanicon’s database and had updated to the smooth Irish voice of the morning radio DJ, George’s new processing chip wasn’t able to come up with a suitable response to this one. The old George, pre-update, would have said, ‘I believe there may be some very good software available for guidelines on shooting people. Shall I search the ’net for downloads, Ellie?’ New George just came off standby and said, ‘Awaiting instruction, Ellie.’ He did say it ever so well, but it just didn’t have the same giggle value as old George prior to his shiny new download. It was like losing a friend and gaining an acquaintance.

Jake on the other hand, heard his name and knew exactly how to respond. He jumped up, prancing and whining for attention. He didn’t make much noise but it was enough to bring Matt back to the door, the same knock, the same irritation.

‘Is everything all right in there? Only, I heard Jake. Are you okay?’

‘No, I’m bloody-well not okay,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘I can’t get my filleting knife sharpened quickly enough.’ In a normal voice, she answered, ‘Yes, I’m fine, thanks, love. I’m as well as five minutes ago when you asked the same question. I’m still trying to get the last bit of this chapter boxed off before I adopt boyfriendicide as my new career venture.’

‘I’m sorry for being concerned. If you’re going to be like that, I won’t bother next time.’ Please God let that be true, thought Ellie. But he was hurt and she felt guilty for being a bitch. She was damned lucky to have a man as caring as Matt.

‘Tell you what. Why don’t you take Jake for a run on the green and on the way back you can pick up a couple of éclairs from the bakery. I’ll stop work then and we’ll have them with a brew. I have to meet Rob at one and I really need to finish this chapter before I go.’

He agreed, mainly because Jake had heard the words run and green. These two words were exciting by themselves but together they were almost as good as ice cream. There was no way Jake was going to settle again until he’d been taken out. Matt protested that he didn’t want to leave her alone, but finally dog and boyfriend’s retreat was heralded by the soft click of the front door and Ellie felt sanity, at least for the moment, being restored.

The previous evening they’d enjoyed a quiet meal together. Matt wanted to wash up after the meal but Ellie had pulled rank and said that the dishes could wait until this morning. As well as getting fat eating éclairs, another of the luxuries of dying was giving yourself permission to be slovenly. A month earlier, dirty dishes left overnight would have been unacceptable to Ellie, but now she didn’t care. It was only washing up. They’d sat in the lounge, with Jake taking up more than his share of sofa. Matt didn’t approve of dogs being allowed on the furniture but it was a fair trade off because Jake disapproved of the humans having steak while he was given dog food. Ellie and Matt had watched a film with a glass of wine and the topic of illness was banned from all discussion.

Ellie shut down her work after finishing the chapter and walked into the lounge, wrinkling her nose in disgust. The wine glasses stood on the coffee table along with an unfinished bottle of red. The curtains were unopened and the room had the tinge of a vinegary red wine smell to it. Matt had offered to wash up again that morning but Ellie, still irritated about losing work time, decided that it was his fault that things hadn’t been done. ‘Damn him,’ she muttered aloud, ‘he could have taken these through to the kitchen.’ She snatched up the glasses and set about waking the room.

Satisfied with the living room, she moved into the kitchen, filled the sink with hot sudsy water and was about to begin the washing up when the phone rang. The audio connection was distorted in the kitchen so, drying her hands on a tea towel, she went through to the study to answer the phone.

After talking to Rob about the artwork for her book cover, she returned to the sink. Matt would be back any minute, and feeling contrite for being horrible to him, she wanted to have everything cleaned up and the coffee made. She was in a better frame of mind and was humming as she plunged her hands into the hot water.

The hum escalated into a scream as the water turned crimson.

Despite the severity of her injuries, she didn’t feel much pain at all until she took her hands out of the water. Her eyes widened as her wrists emerged and a fountain of deep red, arterial blood gushed from her forearm. Pulling her hands out of the sink caused the plug to come out of its mooring. As the bowl emptied of blood and water, Ellie saw the cruel jagged spikes of broken glass sticking up from the dishes like crystal icebergs. The bleeding was severe; she needed hospital treatment. It was really hurting, but a greater worry was the velocity that her artery sprayed blood in an arc across the kitchen. She grabbed tea towels and roughly swaddled her hands and arms. She had cuts on the fingertips of both hands and there was a gash across her left palm, but what frightened her most was the jagged laceration from the base of her palm that travelled four inches up the inside of her forearm. It was deep and had happened when she’d pulled her hands out of the water during the shock of the first cuts.

Matt came home as she was talking to the hospital on the phone. He assessed the situation quickly. Blood was soaking through the wad of tea towels binding Ellie’s arm. She was pale and shaking. He took control, bundled her into his car and got her to casualty fast.

The cuts to her fingers and hands were superficial and only needed cleaning and dressing. The registrar on duty assured her that after a couple of days, her typing wouldn’t be affected. However, he was concerned about the cut to her inner wrist. He said that she’d been lucky, that no vital nerves or tendons had been severed and that she should retain full use of her left hand. He told her that she’d got off lightly by needing only eleven stitches.

But the wound wasn’t what was concerned him.

While a nurse cleaned Ellie’s wounds, Matt took the doctor to one side. They muttered in whispers outside the cubicle. She couldn’t hear what Matt was saying but he kept motioning towards her and frowning. Dr Fielding was called to see her. As her consultant, the registrar felt it was best to have him take a look. Another doctor arrived on the scene at the same time as Dr Fielding. He introduced himself as Dr Adam Merryweather, the hospital’s medical psychologist.

Dr Fielding spoke gently to Ellie, asking her how she’d been prior to the accident, how she’d been feeling emotionally after everything that she’d had to cope with. She told him about everything that had happened to her and the three doctors looked at each other above her head.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Ellie, alerted to the tension in the room. ‘What’s wrong? Have you found something else wrong with me? What is it?’ Her voice rose to a pitch of hysteria.

‘We’re just a bit concerned about how you’re coping with things, that’s all,’ Dr Fielding said, patting her hand.

Dr Merryweather said, ‘Ellie—may I call you Ellie?’ She nodded and he continued, ‘We know that you’ve had a lot to take on board. We were wondering if perhaps everything has become a bit much for you. We understand—’

Matt cut in before the doctor finished speaking. ‘Ellie, if this was a cry for help, we’re here love, we’re listening. We’ll help you, but this isn’t right. I can understand why you’d think this is a better way. I know—’

‘What?’ Ellie screeched this at him as the implication and impact of what they were saying hit her. ‘You sanctimonious prick. The only help I need right now is to get these bloody bandages off so that I can wring your bloody neck. You think I did this’—she raised her bandaged hands and shook them at the men in front of her— ‘on purpose? You think I was trying to kill myself? And you,’ she accused, glaring at Fielding; ‘you’ve listened to this bullshit and taken it seriously? You’re all bloody mad. Help me up, I’m getting out of here before I really lose my temper and tell you all what I think. For Christ sake, Matt, how can you think that of me, I’ve gone mad but I’m not bloody suicidal.’

‘Ellie,’ Fielding crooned, ‘Matt thinks—well, we all think it would be a good idea if you had a little rest. We think you’re working too hard. We have a facility here in town. It’s a nice place…’

Ellie had an answer for him. She had several, none of them very pretty. She left the hospital fifteen minutes later with a furious Matthew trailing in her wake.

‘You made a complete fool of yourself in there, Ellie. You made a fool of me. Can’t you see that we were only trying to help you? Why did you do it, Ellie? Why?’

‘I didn’t, you idiot. It was an accident. It was just a stupid bloody accident.’ They argued all the way home. Later, while Matt slept Ellie lay awake, troubled and confused. The same few moments of mental cine film ran through her mind.

She’d walked into the kitchen carrying the two dirty wine glasses. She’d put them on the island as she filled the sink with water. The phone rang. She went to answer it. The glasses were still on the island when she went to answer the phone. She came back from talking to Rob and went straight to the sink to wash the dishes. She didn’t think about the two wine glasses, she didn’t know if they were still on the island or not. But, she was sure that she hadn’t moved them from the island to the sink. She was almost sure.

The next morning the news channels and daily papers were full of the ‘Alleged attempted suicide of Eleanor Erikson, the bestselling novelist.’ But word of her illness hadn’t leaked to the press yet and for that she was grateful. Rob had done his best with damage limitation and dulling the press sensationalism and Matt had threatened GBH to more than one pushy journalist when they’d rung the house for information. The accident was reported as a suicide attempt. She tried to put the horrors of the previous week out of her mind. She tried to settle down to a normal day, doing her normal work and had replaced the hospital dressings with light gauze on her fingertips so that she could make some attempt to type. She could have dictated her work to George, but Ellie was Old School and needed to feel the keys beneath her fingers to get the best from her brain, and if ever her old grey stuff needed a leg-up it was now.  She instructed George to divert any calls to the answering machine. She opened her word processor and shut out the world.