Page 71 of If I Could Say Goodbye
‘Are you taking any drugs?’
Kerry snorts. Ed does the same. ‘As if!’ Kerry states.
‘What’s funny?’ the doctor asks.
‘Nothing really, it’s just that Jen is a bit—’
‘Square?’Kerry butts in, drawing a square shape with both her hands.
‘Square?’ I question Ed with a raised eyebrow.
‘Sensible,’ he corrects, reaching forward and holding my hand.
‘Well, we’ll do the test anyway, so we can cross it off for your referral to a psychiatrist. I’ll book you in for a CT scan too, again to rule out a few other things.’
‘Such as?’ Ed leans forward.
‘Personality changes can be caused by a brain tumour.’ I take a sharp breath in. She holds her hands up defensively. ‘But again, this is just a precaution so that we can rule it out. I would also like you both to keep a record of your behaviour. We might begin to see a pattern, and again, it can help us rule out certain disorders. Bipolar being one.’
‘OK,’ Ed and I say in unison.
‘Um, how long will it take until Jen sees a . . .’ he clears his throat, ‘psychiatrist?’
‘It can vary . . . I will put an urgent referral through, though, which may help to speed things up. But until then, I would like to see you once a week, Mrs Jones, just so I can see if there are any dramatic changes in your behaviour. Does that sound doable?’
‘Sure.’
‘In the meantime, I will write you a prescription for anti-depressants. Mood and anxiety can affect so many things; after a month or so we can reassess if they have helped.’
‘OK.’
‘OK,’ Ed repeats.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Jennifer
I’m finding the weekdays away from my family and the cacophony of the school run strangely full. Now that Kerry is out in the open, so to speak. The doctor has suggested exercise and so we are currently in the gym on a treadmill. It’s been a while since I’ve power-walked but I have to admit that I’m enjoying it, if I ignore the dry heat in the back of my throat and the strange puffs that are being emitted through my nostrils. I cast a glance in her direction: she has ear buds in and her silver plait is bouncing between her shoulder blades as she runs in her lycra without seeming to break a sweat. I, on the other hand, can feel damp patches beneath my arms and under my boobs, which are bouncing up and down like a pair of helium-filled balloons, my fringe is stuck to my eyebrows and I’m quite sure my face resembles a slightly overripe tomato.
‘Do you have to be such a show-off?’ I ask between gasps of air as she increases her speed.
She pulls out her ear bud. ‘Pardon?’
‘I said . . .’ I swallow down another gulp of air, ‘do you have to be such a show-off?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ She grins.
I turn my focus back towards the screen where my mileage is clocking up. ‘It’s no wonder you are so thin,’ I grumble under my breath. ‘I mean look at your bum!’ I bend my neck slightly to wonder at her perfectly round bum cheeks that are more like apples, whereas mine are more like overripe cantaloupes. And they’re as mottled. ‘Have you ever been worried about your weight?’ I carry on, even though the effort of speaking is making my voice sound strangled. ‘No, I don’t suppose you have, you’re one of those women who are perfectly comfortable with their shape and aren’t ashamed to flaunt it in the face of people like me.’
‘Are you trying to get thrown out?’ Kerry’s voice makes me jump. She is standing beside my treadmill with a towel around her neck. She unwraps a chewing gum and pops it in her mouth.
I blink.
On the machine next to me, and in Kerry’s place, is a lady of more generous proportions than Kerry, or, I should add, myself. A feeling of dread crawls through me as I replay the conversation I have just had with Kerry. My parting line of ‘you’re one of those women who are perfectly comfortable with their shape and aren’t ashamed to flaunt it in the face of people like me’ is holding my attention as heat flames into my cheeks. She throws a furious look in my direction; her bottom has more than a touch of the Kardashian and I realise with another flush to my already flaming cheeks that I have just been scrutinising it.
‘I, um . . .’ I begin as Kerry covers her mouth in embarrassment, ‘I wasn’t talking to you.’ The woman’s eyes have a rather feral look about them as she looks me up and down; her perspiring face resembles a colour somewhere between puce and ruby. She continues to pound her lilac trainers along the treadmill deck. ‘I have a . . . that is to say I’m not well, I was talking to my sister.’
From beside me, Kerry grabs my earphones and shakes them. ‘Tell her you were on the phone!’
