Spider in the Corner of the Room - [27]

‘It is okay, my child. It’s okay.’

I sniff. ‘Prison is very loud, Mama.’

‘Are they helping you?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘How?’

‘There is a psychiatrist. Dr Andersson. She is-’

‘What does she look like?’

I pause. ‘Why do you want to know?’ I look at Patricia. She smiles.

‘Oh, you know me,’ my mother says, ‘I like to know who is looking after my daughter, like to know every single detail. To picture it, if you will. Her hair, for example. What colour hair does she have?’

‘Blonde.’

‘Long?’

‘Yes. She is Swedish.’ Total silence. ‘Mama?’ A crackle echoes then a sharp bang.

‘Maria? Sorry. I dropped the telephone.’

I start to bite my nails. Something is not right. ‘Mama, I have a question that I need to ask you.’

‘Yes?’

‘Something I remembered about Father Reznik.’

She does not reply. Only the rasp of her breath fills the line. ‘Maria, my dear,’ she says finally, ‘he left. I’m so sorry, I know you adored him, but people leave. That’s just the way the world works. It wasn’t your fault, I have told you this. Your therapist from when Papa died told you this.’

I swallow a little. ‘Mama, I remembered something.’

A small sigh. ‘Okay, dear. What did you remember?’

I glance to Patricia then back to the phone. ‘I remember seeing you and Father Reznik…kissing.’

‘Oh, Maria.’

‘What?’

‘It is happening again.’

A flush of anger. ‘What is?’

‘Your mind making things up. Darling, this is what you do. I have been trying to help you for so long now.’

I grip the phone. ‘But I saw the two of you! Kissing near the vestry when I was supposed to be outside waiting for you. And…and you gave him something, some sort of letter or…or package. I know what I saw.’ Patricia steps forward but I ignore her, my fury feverish now, lethal. I cannot believe my mother is saying this again about me. I do not want to believe it. To believe her.

‘Maria, just calm down a little.’

‘No. You are denying it, but you know it is true. You and Father Reznik.’

‘You are still upset that Father Reznik left you.’ I go still. ‘Maria, I am right, no?’

I shake my head, blink. ‘I…What are you trying to…’ And then it steps into my view, an image, a memory, strong this time, all the colours clear, the image crisp. Father Reznik is waving goodbye to me, an aeroplane in the background, me watching, enraged, for some reason, that he is leaving me. My hair is long down to my back, so I am fifteen, perhaps sixteen, and I break free from my mother, her calling out to me that he will be back, but I am running to him, and when I get to him, just as Father Reznik opens his arms to hug me, saying he is leaving for just three months, I kick him hard in the shin.

‘Maria.’ My mother’s voice slices through the memory. It shatters into a thousand pieces. ‘Maria, you were always so angry when he left Spain, angry at the Church. The Catholic Church has been in Spain for hundreds of years, that’s just the way it is, but I know that always frustrated you, that control that you say they had, the lies that you said they told.’ She pauses, a petite cry. ‘You shouldn’t have taken out that anger on someone else, on that poor priest, poor Father O’Donnell at the convent.’

‘But I didn’t. I…’ A slow shriek. It spurts out from me. My mother. She doesn’t believe me.

‘Maria, sssh. There, there. It’s okay. It’s okay.’

Patricia steps over, stands beside me, not touching me, but there, real. I scratch at my scalp, my mind jumbled, exhausted. I let out a long breath and feel my shoulders finally loosen. I simply want to go home.

‘Maria, I’m going to come over to see you, okay?’

I drop my hand. ‘What?’ I sniff. ‘How?’

‘I’ve looked into it. You just need to request a visiting order. Ramon will accompany me. He’s very concerned about you.’

My brother, too? ‘But he has never been concerned about me before.’

Another sigh. ‘Maria, you’re his sister, of course he is concerned about you. We need you to arrange the visiting order. Can you do that?’

Visiting orders. Prison. Iron bars. Loud screams. So much to process, to consider. I feel smothered by it all.

‘Is there anyone that can help you?’ my mother says.

Patricia tilts her head and smiles. ‘Yes,’ I say, after a moment. ‘I have someone who can help me.’

A whoosh of exhalation. ‘Oh, that’s wonderful. Wonderful. Does this mean you are making friends? Actually, no, don’t answer that. Tell me all about it when I see you, okay?’

I nod.

‘Maria? I said, okay?’

‘Okay.’

‘Good.’ There is a tinkle of silver, the coffee pot being poured. ‘Darling, keep your chin up in there, yes?’

‘My chin?’

‘It means stay positive. As much as you can, anyway. At least being in prison means you can get help now, where no one can be hurt.’ She sniffs, lets out another dainty cry. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Ignore me. It all gets a little much for me at times.’ I hear her breathe in. ‘But no matter. We will fly over to see you.’

Pips sounds. The prison phone. ‘I have to go, Mama.’

There is a stillness. ‘I know,’ she says, after a brief moment. ‘You look after yourself.’

‘Yes.’

She goes quiet. The pips patter again. ‘Maria, you’d better go. Take care. And-’

But she is cut off. For a few seconds, I do not move, just stand, staring at the receiver. Have I remembered everything incorrectly? I have just accused my mother of kissing another man. What sort of person does that make me? Slowly, Patricia reaches forward and prises the phone out of my hand. She returns it to its holder and looks at me. ‘How are you?’