Page 21 of Never Tear Us Apart
Kathryn is looking at me thoughtfully. ‘You were in Malta during the war?’ she asks me. ‘In your dream?’
‘Yes, and it was so real . . . I can hardly believe that my brain could come up with the details. I woke up in this place in Floriana, and there was this woman there. Her name was Christina Ratcliffe. And she told me my life had been saved by this flying ace called Danny—’
‘Beauchamp,’ Kathryn finishes.
My mouth falls open. ‘How do you know?’ I ask.
‘Because they are real people,’ Kathryn tells me. ‘Famous on the island. You must have read about them or heard about them somehow.’
‘I didn’t read that book, though,’ I protest. ‘So how could I have dreamt about real people I knew nothing about?’
‘It’s very possible that you know about them without knowing about them,’ Dr Gresch tells me. ‘You must have absorbed this information in the time you’ve been on the island, and while you slept, your subconscious brought them to life for you.’
‘And the dust in my hair?’ I ask, running my fingers through it again.
‘You have an abundance of beautiful, long dark hair,’ Dr Gresch says. ‘It was probably already there from when you fainted at the temple.’
‘But the sunburn?’ I ask.
‘Sometimes your body can manifest the physical attributes of a mental . . . event,’ Dr Gresch suggests, somewhat half-heartedly.
‘Well . . . why?’
‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘And I also don’t know that the redness on your arms and faceissunburn. I will need to consult a dermatologist and also, perhaps . . . a psychiatrist.’
‘No, thank you,’ I say firmly. ‘I’ve seen enough of those to last me a lifetime. If I’d been wandering around imagining this world was real, maybe – but it was adream. So I’m fine. Look, my head looks OK to you, right?’
‘Yes,’ she says, ‘but considering your history, we should exercise caution . . .’
‘Yes, I agree, but I’ve been under a lot of stress: coming to this island in the first place; seeing my father, with whom I have had a very difficult, practically non-existent relationship; then the crash; then I looked at the photos in the book Kathryn gave me and my brain went to town on me, right?’ I look at Kathryn. ‘I’ve always had really vivid dreams, and now . . . well, now it’s like all the things added up and created the perfect storm inside my head. It’s hit me hard – delayed, but hard.
‘I needed to sleep, so I slept deeply. But it’s like the physical trauma has sent my immune system into overdrive, which, instead of giving me psoriasis, which is what it usually does, it’s given me this hot, stinging rash. And my past experiences of reporting from war zones all added up to a really, really vivid dream, and now it’s done. And I could stay here and have a load of tests and talk to your psychiatrist, but I am pretty sure they would come up with the same conclusion after a few days and a lot of euros. Aren’t you?’
Dr Gresch sits back in her chair and thinks for a moment. ‘Without you undergoing the appropriate diagnostic tests, I can’t say conclusively that that is the case,’ she says. ‘But I am conducting a sort of sleep study at present. It’s to explore the link between consciousness and . . .’
‘No, thanks.’
‘I understand your reservations, but if you would consider letting me enrol you . . . ?’
‘No. Thank you, but no. Discharge me, please,’ I ask. ‘I’ll stay in Malta until Dad is OK to fly home, but I think all I need is rest and time and space from all this past – his past, my past. I’ve never been very good at thinking about all of that – I’m very much more of a now person.’
‘I see that.’ Dr Gresch smiles softly. ‘Very well – I will get your discharge papers ready. But if, in the next few days, you get any new symptoms, you will come back – agreed?’
‘She will, Doctor,’ Kathryn assures her. ‘I’ll keep an eye on her.’
‘Great,’ I say. ‘I guess I’d better go and see my dad while I’m waiting. I think it will help ground me. He has a way of bringing me down to earth with a bump.’
‘Want me to come?’ Kathryn asks.
‘No,’ I say. ‘Dad telling me what he thinks of me is something I’d prefer not to have an audience for.’
Chapter Fourteen
‘I’m fine – don’t come here,’ my dad is saying to his iPad as I enter the room. ‘You don’t need to come here. I don’t want you here. I will be home soon. Oh.’ He looks up across the top of the screen at me.
‘Oh, what?’ I hear Vanessa’s voice from the other side.
‘Maia.’ He says my name as a single, self-explanatory word.
