Guilt Trip Read Online Free PDF Page B

sure of it. Candy
pink. The inside of its ears white. A tiny strawberry on one paw.
    And its place up on the wire had been an
act of rebellion. Of liberation. I felt it within me, as surely as if I had
been there myself, experiencing it. In my mind’s eye, I saw the teddy bear
being hoisted up on a long pole, and the thin metal hook being looped over the
wire.
    And I felt within me an overpowering surge
of triumph, of victory, to see it hanging there, being marred by the dripping
water.
    But these hugely powerful feelings were,
like lightning, extinguished in an instant. And then my whole body began to
tremble as my mind was plunged into a much deeper, darker emotion: terror.
      “Melissa?” Dad’s arms were suddenly round
me, supporting me. “Are you okay? Your teeth are chattering!”
    I burrowed my face into the folds of his
coat, my eyes screwed shut, trying to force the dark feeling from me by sheer
willpower, until eventually it released its hold on me, and the spell was
broken.
    “Melissa?” Dad looked at me, his expression
serious, concerned.
    But how could I tell him what had happened?
How could I worry him like that? It would only remind him of Mum.
    So, again, with a huge effort, I slapped on
a smile. Pretended it was nothing.
    “Just a bit cold, that’s all,” I said.
    But Dad wasn’t fooled. “No - it’s more than
that.” He looked at me, frowning.
    “Then it’s just this place,” I said,
sighing, as if he’d forced the information out of me. “All this voodoo stuff. It’s
a bit creepy.”
    I had said the right thing this time. His
face cleared instantly, the clouds vanishing, and he started to laugh, patting
me on the head in a deliberately patronising manner. “Is my sweet, little baby
scared of the wicked witch of the well, then?” he said in a stupid voice as if
I were two years old.
    I hit out at him, and he began chasing me
around, pretending to be some kind of ridiculous pantomime hag coming to get
me, while I screamed and laughed, my worries momentarily shelved.
    But all too soon he became grown up and
sensible again, eager to get on with his photos. He suggested I go off and
explore, but I offered to stand right next to him, holding the equipment. I
didn’t want to be alone.
    But being next to Dad didn’t stop me
worrying. As soon as we got back to the pub, I’d try one of Dr Henderson’s new
tablets. See if that helped. See if it blotted out the insanity once and for
all.
    But what if it didn’t? What if this madness
continued? I couldn’t deceive Dad forever. And then he’d march me straight off
to Dr Henderson, demanding more help. Something different. Because, if stronger
medication on top of almost a year’s worth of weekly sessions with the
psychiatrist didn’t work, then perhaps we needed something more extreme.
    And the only thing I could think of was
that they’d put me away. They’d have to, wouldn’t they? In some kind of
hospital. An institution.
    Dad would think it was all for the best. Of
course he would. He’d do it with the best intentions. But the result would be
the same, wouldn’t it. He’d send me away from him. Another parent getting rid
of a child who wasn’t ‘normal’. Like the changeling.
    And I couldn’t bear that.

9
    That evening back at the Fox and Hound, I
took a long, hot shower. My body was aching: the cold wind seemed to have
seeped into my bones, chilling me to the very marrow. I let the steaming water
pummel my shoulders, warming and relaxing me. I’d secretly taken one of Dr
Henderson’s stronger tablets, and could feel it getting to work already, making
me pleasantly lightheaded.
    I still didn’t really understand what was
going on. Not fully. I mean, I was used to the dreams - though why they’d
changed was a mystery - and I could understand hearing Mum’s voice calling out
to me for help. But the teddy bear and the extreme feelings it brought? And the
déjà vu? What was that all about? Dr Henderson had once said that