Chapter Three The Wrong Road #4
‘Oh,’ is about all I can say in response. I feel like I’ve witnessed a drawing back of the curtain here, and it feels a little weird.
Zitana straightens in her chair again, and the all-knowing expression returns. ‘This must, I forswear, conclude our session. It has tired me beyond measure.’ She passes a hand across her brow as she does this.
I think the freebie is over.
‘Sorry,’ I say, in a very British tone of voice.
Zitana smiles. ‘Do not apologise, Charlie, the work can be tiring, even in very small doses.’
I hope she strings things out a bit more for the people who actually pay to come here and experience her light show. Not sure I’d be too chuffed about forking over seventy quid for fifteen minutes and a small cup of camomile tea.
Having said that, in my specific case, I think Zitana has done what I needed her to do – unbelievably.
I now have a much better idea why I’ve been so tense and disturbed recently.
The very fact I never even thought the crash had anything to do with my woes speaks volumes about how little I thought it had affected me – on the surface at least. I never made the connection.
But maybe I should have? A car crash – no matter the outcome – is a fairly traumatic thing to go through. I clearly didn’t appreciate that at the time, nor subsequently. Not until today.
‘Thank you for your time, Zitana, you’ve been very helpful,’ I say, and actually mean it.
‘Yes, thanks for that,’ Annie echoes, in a very troubled tone. She’s not happy I never told her about the crash. I can tell from the expression on her face.
But there was no need to! Not after we’d only been together for such a short time. I didn’t want her to
think I was weak and stupid
worry about anything to do with me. That wouldn’t have been fair on her.
It was something that happened, no real harm was done, and I moved on. Even the stiff neck wasn’t that much of an issue.
From seemingly nowhere Zitana produces a leaflet. I immediately recognise the design, because it’s an update of the one I commissioned for her. ‘Please do tell your friends and associates about my services.’ She smiles. ‘10 per cent discount if they say they know you.’
‘No problem,’ I tell her, taking the leaflet. I’m surprised to see that my hand is shaking slightly.
Annie and I rise to leave. As we do so, the lighting returns to the state it was in when we entered. I want to compliment Zitana on her stage production, but am worried I might offend her.
‘I’m very impressed by . . . the way you conduct your sessions,’ I say instead.
Zitana arches her eyebrow again briefly, before a knowing smile spreads across her lips. ‘Thank you, Charlie. I still use a lot of what you did for me.’
Zitana then ushers us out of the wigwam and indicates with her hand down the driveway back to the car. She remains at the door, a wistful expression now on her face. ‘Farewell, my friends. Take your many souls with you into brighter days.’
‘We . . . er . . . will,’ I reply, and turn to leave.
‘And see that bloody doctor,’ Zitana says, back in what I can only assume is her real accent, before stepping inside, and shutting the door on the wigwam with one swift movement.
Annie looks from the wigwam to me. ‘Are you going to listen to her more than you’ve listened to me?’ she asks, attempting to do the arched eyebrow thing, but not selling it quite as well. Zitana’s had years of practice to perfect it.
I shrug my shoulders. ‘I don’t know. I’m going to have to think about it. She’s helped a lot just by showing me what the hell has been going on in my head.’
‘And what has been going on in your head?’
I shrug my shoulders again. ‘I’m still not 100 per cent sure, but it clearly has something to do with that silly bloody crash.’
Annie reaches out and takes my hand in hers. ‘Are you sure you’re telling me everything about what happened now? It’s okay if you’re not. Talking about it could help.’
I give her a look of mild disbelief. ‘No. Honestly, it hasn’t bothered me. It could have been far worse, and it ended up being something of an inconvenience, but I promise you I haven’t been walking around all traumatised by it. I’m as surprised as you are.’
Annie nods in acceptance . . . but there’s doubt there. I can see it.
Maybe I’m a little more perceptive at reading her emotions than I give myself credit for. Is it doubt over whether I’m telling her the truth? Or doubt about me, because I kept something like a car crash from her? I don’t know. Maybe I should ask?
Unfortunately, I don’t get the chance right at this moment, as she starts to walk towards the car, leaving me to either follow or stay here with the shagging fairies. I heave a small sigh, and catch up with Annie as she opens the car door and climbs in.
There’s a strange silence that descends between us as we drive back to her place. It’s not an angry silence. Those are sharp things, where you fear that moving a muscle might cut you. Instead, this is a quietness born of – at least on my part – exhaustion and confusion.
It’s only the fourth yawn emanating from my mouth that brings Annie out of her partial reverie. ‘Straight to bed for you.’
I rub my hand over my face. ‘I hope so.’
‘Maybe what’s happened here tonight will make you feel a little more relaxed?’
I nod in hopeful agreement. ‘To be fair, that stupid song has stopped going round in my head for once, which can only be a good thing.’
Annie chuckles at this – but it’s a very small, malnourished thing to hear.
As to the reasons why it’s been going around in my head all this time, I guess I have more of an inkling now – but that’s all I have.
I haven’t thought about the accident in weeks, but I suppose this is probably the time to start. Anything that causes you that kind of panic attack and insomnia must have something more to it than I can currently fathom.
But what?
What am I missing about that day?
As far as I’m aware I came out of it totally