Julia chapter 8

It’d been three weeks since Julia visited the hospital and discovered Lilly gone. She’d stopped searching for her friend, but it left her with an empty dissatisfied feeling. She felt intuitively that something was wrong and she would regret her decision. Nevertheless she had no way of knowing where Lilly was living, and despite several visits to the hospital there was still no sign of her.  On the house front the viewers came and went, and sometimes they caught her unawares when the contents of the paper hanging from the fridge magnet were overlooked.  She now called them ‘knicker days’ It always seemed the unexpected viewings took place when she was least ready for them.  Her natural propensity to scatter objects wherever she went had improved slightly but not to the point where it was ever safe to open the door to overlooked viewers.  Michael was getting angry with her, he felt it was her fault the house hadn’t sold and during their last telephone conversation had implied once again she was ‘deliberately sabotaging the whole process.’ In a moment of despair she told him to ‘fuck off’ and that if he wanted to sell the property that badly he could always make arrangements to be there when the viewings took place.  He slammed the phone down on her.   If there was anything positive to come out of her angst, it was that she had begun to paint again in earnest. The work released itself, and even by her self-critical standards, was the best she had ever produced.  Adversity and artistry really did go together. The old adage that poverty and problems stimulated creativity was one she had forgotten in her distracted life, until quite by chance when surfing the Internet she found a quote from Baudelaire ‘domesticity is the enemy of the artist’ and so she wrote it down in large flowing letters on a strip of paper that she placed above the kitchen door.  Each time she entered the kitchen it spurred her on to increased effort.  Her latest project was a series of panels called ‘Loss,’ the work being based upon her experiences of losing family, job, friends, husband etc., etc.  Despite the theme it was not a maudlin piece, it was more to do with the concept of ‘letting go’ following loss, and she felt its meaning more than any other work she had ever produced.  The realization came to her that for years she had expressed her views through her art but only from the perspective of a comfortable life that was chosen by her.  She was now living on benefits that barely covered her minimal expenses, and following an existence that could truly be called hand to mouth; the paint and other materials for her work were being funded by the dwindling redundancy money previously earmarked for the trip to Morocco. No blue bobbing fishing boats, no tagine’s, no camel rides along endless beaches for Julia.  The plan had been doomed from the start and she now realized it was just a way of escaping reality for a couple of weeks.  Unlike her youth, there would have been no staying on and disappearing into the desert to be rescued by her father.

Julia was in the middle of mixing a particularly deep red when the phone rang.  Her inclination was to let it be, but then she thought it might be the estate agent and she had missed a number of calls from them recently.  She put down the pallet knife, and walked to the phone.  ‘Hello?’    ‘Julia, it’s Valerie.’  Julia’s body creased at the sound of her sister’s voice.  ‘What do you want?’  Her response was terse and unforgiving.  Valerie’s deceit still affected her badly and continued to play upon her mind as did the whole Brian, Cove House incident.  ‘How are you?’  As soon as Valerie asked the question Julia knew she wanted something.  It was the phrase she used that really meant ‘ask me how I am.’  ‘I’m fine thanks’ replied Julia.  It was a lie of course but she wasn’t going to let Valerie know how she was feeling.

‘Oh good, I’ve been worried about you.’  ‘So worried that you haven’t been in touch for months, even when I was in hospital?’  Julia wasn’t going to let her get away with anything.  ‘I’m sorry, I know I should have…..’  ‘Well don’t worry, I’m fine.’   ‘Good, good.’  Was Valerie waiting for her to ask about her mother? Why else would she call if not to try to pass the buck. Well it wasn’t going to work.  If she wanted something from Julia then she was going to have to ask.  ‘I was wondering if we could meet up.  Talk a few things over.’  ‘What things?’  Julia was unforgiving.  ‘Well, everything actually. It is the wrong time for us to be fighting.’  ‘We’re not fighting Valerie.  I’ve accepted things the way they are.  You made your choices and I can’t argue with that, but you can’t expect to have everything.  You can’t have a relationship mother and Brian at the same time as me.’  ‘Well Brian’s no longer around so…’  ‘That is irrelevant Valerie. You still don’t see it do you? Just because Brian is out of the picture doesn’t mean I can just forget what happened. He wasn’t the issue, you do understand that don’t you?  I didn’t like him, but it was your behaviour, yours and mothers that was the problem.’

‘I just thought you might like to catch up…’  ‘Sorry Valerie but I’m not interested any more.  You and mother need to understand that, because it isn’t going to change.’  With that she put the phone down. The handset was covered in blood red paint and she looked at the hands of Lady Macbeth.    She returned to her work with a vengeance.  She knifed the paint on in thick slashes, aggressively cut away other areas of paint, releasing her emotions on the picture as if transferring them from soul to canvass. In the end it was too much. Determined not to destroy the integrity of the painting any more she forced herself to step away and despite the wind howling at the window made the decision to go for a walk.  She needed freedom, she needed to be outside her four walls and she needed to feel something outside of her head.  

The rain dropped like stones on glass.  If there were a hundred words for snow there had to be at least twice as many for rain. This rain was hard, thick and fast. It came and went in gusts that bullied their way down the street like stampeding cattle. So strong were they that getting to the gate Julia had to hold on to brickwork to steady herself.  Despite the ferocity of the rain she was determined to walk into town.  Driven by anger and frustration she set off. The rain that ran down her collar, lashed her legs, and stung her face.  She felt she deserved every uncomfortable moment. At least she was beyond the mind sapping walls of her empty house. Here real life was screaming ‘so you thought you could hide away, I’ll always be waiting!’  She had walked into the path of her own anger and she found herself desperately trying to balance, trying to second guess when the next ferocious wave would rip down the road.  Could what was in her head transfer itself to the elements like this?  Could the two be in tune? She almost believed it, as wave upon wave of pent up anger was matched by the elements, that blinded her eyes and dashed her lightweight coat so that it clung to her like a cheap shower curtain.  In the midst of it all she must have lost focus and stepped the wrong way; she barely heard the sound of the car before it struck her sideways.  She spun around and tripped on the kerbstone, falling onto the sodden grass before rolling over and over like a child down a hill. As she stopped she heard the car screech, the skidding tyres in the rain, and she watched the tail lights in the distance as it braked before spinning around the corner at the end of the road. She knew the driver had seen her, there was no way he could have missed her in the headlights.  He hadn’t even wound down his window to check if she was alright.  In her stunned condition she lay for what seemed like an eternity soaking up the mud.

The nurse standing by her bed in the A & E cubicle laughed as he checked the drip.  ‘You had us worried there with all that ‘blood.’  Julia was conscious enough to know that he was referring to the paint that in the rain had run and given the impression of a bad head wound.  ‘Sorry’ said Julia ‘I am a painter, I must have got some in my hair.’  ‘And on your hands’ replied the young man.  Julia looked at her palms which were still crimson.  ‘Don’t worry we’ll clean them up.’  He wrote something on the clipboard and then looked at Julia.  ‘It is good news about the X-Rays, they are clear so it looks as if your head is alright, but you must tell us the minute you have any problems with your vision or you get any headaches.’  ‘It’s not my head that aches, it’s my side and my ankle.’   ‘You twisted it badly when you fell. You won’t be walking on it for at least a week.’  ‘I don’t remember much about it. One minute I was walking down the road and the next I’m here. I wasn’t much use to the Police, I’ve never been very good at cars, they all look the same.’  The young man nodded.  ‘It’s a man thing’ he replied.  Julia accepted the remark gracefully, she was too tired to comment.   ‘I’ll be back in five minutes’ he said, ‘try to get some rest.’

Julia was drowsy from the medication, but fighting against the drugs was the adrenaline of the situation, making her alternatively alert and then distant. The nurse pulled the curtains leaving her listening to the comings and goings of the A&E reception.  For a while it was peaceful during which time her mind drifted in and out of consciousness, then without warning everything seemed to go crazy.  There was shouting in the corridor and the sound of people running, a trolley was rushed past her cubicle and a woman’s voice began ordering staff about, telling them in an urgent way what they needed to do to treat the new arrival. 

‘She’s cut her wrists and needs cleaning and stitching, we’ve been told she’s taken a massive overdose so we need to pump her out. Bind her wrists and we’ll sort them out once we’ve cleared the contents of her stomach.  Joseph I need you to sort the blood out, she’ll need a transfusion.’ A man’s voice replies ‘Got it.’   ‘We are going to have trouble getting to a reasonable vein with these cut arms. Ready to lift ‘one two three.’  There is a moan, it is a deep lost sound that appears to have been dredged from the remains of whoever’s body is on the other side of the curtain. ‘According to the boyfriend she’s overdosed on a cocktail of drugs including cocaine but he doesn’t seem to know what else she’s taken. Can you hear me darling, can you open your eyes?’ It is the nurses voice.  ‘I need you to look at me. She’s not responding, hurry up with that catheter.’  There follows the sounds of choking and vomiting.  ‘Hold her! Hold her!’  Another deep moan is followed by copious coughing and equipment being dropped on the floor.   ‘Hold her down Joseph she’s still got more in her. That’s it darling we’ve got to do this so don’t fight it.’  ‘Get her wrists stop her thrashing about or we’ll have blood all over the place.’  Julia hears a gargled ‘Leave me alone, let me die.’  ‘You don’t want to die darling, believe me you don’t want that.’   Julia is struck by the tragic irony of the situation.  Whose decision should it be when life has reached such a desperate place?  The medics are obliged to bring the patient back, but the girl whoever she was had obviously already made her decision and wasn’t she being denied her rightful choice?  Julia felt so useless listening through the curtain, but she also felt a pang of embarrassment, or was it shame, at being present and uninvited at such a desperately personal stage of someone else’s life. She did not want to be a voyeur and she really wished she were somewhere else.

‘Ok I think that’s it for the stomach.’ The nurse’s voice sounded slightly calmer as she issued further instructions.  Julia heard the swish of the curtain in the next door cubicle. Then she heard the voice of another woman.   ‘I’m Dr. Jaffred, can you hear me?  Can you tell me what it is that you took?  What have you been taking?’  The patient groans and Julia is convinced she says ‘piss off.’  ‘We need to know if we are going to help you, what is it you took.  Your friend says it was Cocaine, but what else?’  This time the patient mumbles an angry ‘go away.’  ‘Get the saline in and we’ll have a look at her wrists.’           

The situation in the next cubicle continued for an unknown length of time. Julia was drifting in and out of sleep.  The painkillers and results of shock had finally taken hold and she could do nothing but give in to them.  In her dreams she found herself trying to read the number plates of passing cars and became more and more frustrated by her inability to do so, then she was pushing a trolley with a patient down a long corridor faster and faster as she tried to find someone to help.  ‘Help me some one help me! She’s dying!’ she screamed.  Someone stops her and says ‘don’t you know this is an art gallery?  You shouldn’t be making this noise.’  Suddenly the world around her turns into the art gallery and she is in a huge room the walls of which are painted white. Hanging on the endlessly long wall facing her is a realist representation of the USS George Washington.  It is so perfect that she cannot believe it has been painted. Her eyes are so absorbed by its overwhelming reality that she can hardly think.  It does occur to her that if she thinks the aircraft carrier is perfect then doesn’t that mean everything else could be perfect if only it were painted in the same way? No sooner has the thought arisen than someone whispers ‘she’s jumped.’ Her mind tries to equate the words to something she can see, but it doesn’t happen.  Another voice says ‘they took her up to the third floor for tests and when no one was looking she climbed out of the window and jumped.’  The vision of the George Washington returns to her mind. On the deck she sees small specks that on closer inspection are sailors or marines standing to attention.  As she looks at them she can see their faces, everything is so perfect they have to be real.  All are smiling except for one, he is scowling, she walks closer to inspect the picture.  It is Brian! She steps back at the shock of seeing him.  A voice intrudes on her thoughts again. ‘They’ve called the police.  This is going to cause a lot of questions.’ The voice whispers  ‘Is there anyone in the next cubicle?’ In her dream Julia hears the curtain swish lightly.  ‘She’s asleep’ says the voice.  The dream goes on, Michael is in the gallery now arm in arm with his new girlfriend.  They are looking at the works of art and Michael is sounding off as if he knew everything about art.  Julia knows he doesn’t and wants to warn the girl that he is a fake, all he knows is what he picked up second hand from their occasional visits to galleries.  She follows them, but they turn a corner and when she gets there, they are gone, vanished into thin air. 

‘Julia, Julia’  someone is calling her. Is it on the beach as a child? Is it under the night sky of the chilled desert? Is it on the cold rain soaked ground where she has been thrown by the car?  ‘Julia’  She comes to, the friendly male nurse looking down at her.  ‘We’re going to move you to another ward where you can get your ankle seen to.  It will need a brace.’ He smiles but this time it’s a resigned half smile as if he is thinking of something else.  Even though she is still drowsy she senses something has changed in the place.  There is a peculiar silence as if a bell has been rung and no one is allowed to talk. 

‘The person in the next cubicle to mine, is she alright?’ she asked.  The nurse looks around as if to check whether anyone is listening.  ‘I guess you will read it in the papers tomorrow, but all the same don’t say I told you.  I’m afraid she’s dead.’ ‘Dead?’  ‘She jumped.’  ‘Jumped?’  ‘Out of a third floor window.  I can’t say anymore.’

They’re leaving the A&E ward and just passing the reception desk when Julia spots some items on a tray that have obviously been collected from a patient.  Julia stops picks up one of the items. The nurse’s demeanor changes, he is upset. ‘Excuse me,’ he says ‘those shouldn’t be there, they belonged to the girl….’  He brusquely takes the item from Julia. It is a bracelet of nails.