Chapter 35
Henry
Nine Summers Ago
‘Why don’t you pop out into the waiting room for a moment, Luke, while I speak to your mum and dad?’
Henry dredged up a smile from somewhere and offered it to his son.
‘Go on,’ he said, bending to sift through Violet’s bag until he located Luke’s Nintendo 3DS. ‘See how many levels you can pass on Pokémon.’
The handheld gaming device had been a gift, bought by Henry for Luke to say sorry for the incident on the boat, and it had gone a long way towards improving the way his son treated him. A shameless ploy, he knew, but if it worked then who was he to argue? Violet had not been keen on the idea, worrying that it would distract Luke from his drawing. Now that their son refused to attend school, art was one of the only subjects she could get him to do willingly from home, and lately even that had become a battle. It wasn’t that Luke was disinterested in learning; he was simply scared to try.
The psychiatrist, Dr Mukherjee, waited until Luke had closed the door behind him, then placed his hands flat on the desk. It was a Balmoral style, Henry noted. Dark chestnut and polished to a shine. Given what this man charged by the hour, it was little wonder that his office furniture was high-end.
As she often did in uncomfortably quiet situations, Violet began talking, asking the psychiatrist if he was planning a summer holiday.
‘We’d usually be away in Mallorca by now,’ she told him. ‘But we put it on hold this year to see you.’
‘I’m sorry that it took until now,’ Dr Mukherjee said. ‘I understand that things have been difficult.’
They had told him about the fruitless referrals, the waiting, the threats made by the attendance officer in relation to Luke’s continued absence from school. The latter had made it clear that they needed a doctor’s note if they were to avoid a fine or worse.
‘It’s been horrible,’ said Violet, and hearing the wobble in her voice, Henry reached across and took her hand. ‘Everyone seems to think that all Luke needs is a good telling-off, but that doesn’t do any good at all. We’ve tried being cruel to be kind, and we’ve tried just being kind, but nothing works. He’s so angry all the time.’
Dr Mukherjee nodded. ‘It is fear that’s manifesting, not aggression,’ he said. ‘Luke is suffering from depression and anxiety.’
Violet emitted a sob and Henry, too, found himself suddenly overwhelmed. For years, they had tried to make people understand there was more going on with Luke than just bad behaviour. To have their concerns justified, for a medical professional to confirm it so matter-of-factly, felt revolutionary.
‘He is highly intelligent,’ the psychiatrist continued sagely. ‘But also sensitive, emotional.’
Violet was nodding. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s exactly it. He feels everything so deeply.’
Dr Mukherjee nodded. ‘There is a suggestion, perhaps, of some autistic traits,’ he continued patiently. ‘But not enough for me to say definitively that he has autism.’
Was that a good or bad thing? Henry wasn’t sure.
‘What can we do?’ he asked, needing a practical solution, an action, something he could fix with his hands or tools. ‘I’ve tried to get him into sports, you know, something to help him work off his aggression, but he’s not interested.’
‘Luke’s not the type,’ put in Violet, dropping Henry’s hand, and folding her arms. ‘He’s a quiet boy, he doesn’t like rough and tumble.’
‘Unless it’s with us,’ Henry added. ‘Or the fixtures and fittings of the house.’
Violet shot him a look.
‘Home is a safe space,’ Dr Mukherjee said smoothly. ‘I am afraid we all let down our guards in our homes, and Luke is no exception. For him, normal life, as we would think of it, is very hard. He must pretend that everything is hunky-dory in order to maintain control, but of course, it is not, and so that control is lost. Anxiety of this nature is often very destructive, but what he does, he cannot help. It’s important to understand that. He is not choosing to lose control; it frightens him to do so.’
A silence fell as they took this in.
‘It frightens us, to see him in that state,’ said Henry. Violet, he knew, would have gone a step further and said that Luke himself frightened her, but she was too proud to admit such a thing.
‘We’re worried he’ll end up seriously hurting himself,’ she said.
‘Or someone else,’ put in Henry, then seeing the hurt expression on his wife’s face. ‘It’s true, Vee. When he’s in a furious state, having a full-on meltdown, he doesn’t seem to have any concept of who or what he’s damaging – he just reacts.’
‘I understand,’ said Dr Mukherjee. ‘Nobody wants anybody to be physically hurt.’
‘Exactly,’ agreed Henry, as Violet sighed in exasperation. ‘It’s not a criticism, Vee – I’m just trying to be honest here.’
She ignored him, turning instead to the doctor. ‘My husband spends far less time with Luke than me,’ she said. ‘He works long hours, and since Luke has been learning from home, I’ve had to be there full-time. I see him all day, every day.’
Only by the smallest flicker of a grimace did Dr Mukherjee express his dismay upon hearing this information. Henry wasn’t sure if it was the working he disapproved of, or Violet’s unnaturally intense relationship with their son. Either way, their family dysfunction was undeniable. Again, he asked his question.
‘What can we do?’
The psychiatrist steepled his hands and tapped his fingers together. His fingernails were very neat, his spectacles rimmed in gold, the serious eyes behind them narrowed in concentration.
‘There are some drugs we can try,’ he said, reeling off two long names that Henry immediately forgot. Violet, of course, missed nothing.
‘Isn’t fluoxetine another name for Prozac?’
‘It is one of what we call SSRIs,’ he confirmed. ‘Selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors, and we have found they work well as a combination with CBT, or cognitive behavioural therapy. The medication will have a good influence on mood and emotion, and through the therapy, we can work on teaching Luke how to recognise and manage these periods of crisis.’
Henry was triumphant. At last, they had found someone who was talking sense, providing them with the means by which to make real changes. As far as he was concerned, Dr Mukherjee had just earned every one of the five hundred pounds Henry had paid for his time. When he glanced over at Violet, however, he saw that she was chewing her thumbnail, deep frown lines etched across her brow.
‘What is it?’ he demanded. ‘What’s the matter?’
Violet cringed at the harshness of his tone. ‘I’m just not sure if he’ll agree to take any medication.’
Henry snorted in disbelief. ‘Then we’ll make him.’
‘Mr and Mrs Torres—’ the doctor interrupted, but Henry hadn’t finished.
‘We’ll talk to him, explain all the benefits, beg him to listen, bribe him if necessary.’
‘Henry, stop.’ Violet was shaking her head. ‘We’re not going to bribe him.’
‘Whatever it takes,’ he said, speaking over her. ‘We do whatever it takes to make him better, get him back in school, help him be normal.’
Violet turned beseechingly to Dr Mukherjee. ‘Tell him,’ she pleaded. ‘He always does this. He never listens.’
Henry felt his cheeks grow very hot. They weren’t here for marriage guidance. The psychiatrist, to his credit, did not lose an iota of his inimitable cool. Having regarded each of them for a few quiet moments, he settled his hands in his lap.
‘If Luke is keen to try the treatment,’ he said. ‘And it would never be forced on him – that is not an option. But if he agrees, then it will still be some time before we see a noticeable improvement. Every person is different, and every person responds to therapy differently. With a condition such as this, I cannot simply place a pin along a piece of string and say, that is it, this is how long it will take. Luke will have to learn how to live with his depression and anxiety disorder, how to manage it. We can help; we cannot cure.’
Violet smiled faintly as if this all made sense, as if she’d been expecting it, and her acceptance prodded at Henry, goading him until he was forced to look away from both of them. Pushing back his heavy wooden chair across carpet deep enough to paddle in, he started to pace the room, chuntering to himself.
‘I’m sorry,’ Violet said, apologising not to but on behalf of him, just as she did so often for Luke, whenever he said or did something poisonous. She not only took on the blame for her own perceived shortcomings, but everyone else’s as well. The only real thing she blamed him for was Luke’s accident on the boat, and though she claimed to have forgiven him, Henry knew that her anger still festered. It was like a virus, eating away at their relationship from the inside out, and he didn’t know what more he could do to make it up to her, and to Luke. He was at his wits’ end.
‘Can we please just agree that we’ll try?’ he said, coming to a stop behind where she was sitting. ‘Try our best to do what Dr Mukherjee here suggests and convince Luke that it’s in his best interests.’
Violet turned in her seat, not quite meeting his eye. ‘Of course we can. I never said I wouldn’t try.’
She sounded convincing enough, thought Henry. So why was it that he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe her?