Poppy had to come with me to the GP surgery. I gave her a piggyback there and she sat on my lap in the waiting room while I read to her. She seemed miraculous to me: the warm weight of her, the shine of her hair and the blue veins under her pale skin, the smell of soap and shampoo and that indefinable fragrance that was hers alone. My daughter, I thought – but she wasn’t mine, she was firmly her own precious self. I was hers, though. I belonged to her.
I didn’t know Dr Leavitt very well. I’d only been to see him twice since moving here, once because Poppy had an ear infection and once because I had a suspicious mole on my stomach. But I instinctively liked him. He was in his sixties, with pouches under his tired eyes and a kind and respectful manner that made you feel listened to.
Tears filled my eyes even before I entered his room, Poppy holding my hand. He gestured me to a chair, and I hauled Poppy onto my lap, where she wriggled round and pushed her face into my neck.
‘Hello, Poppy,’ he said.
She didn’t respond at all. She stared straight ahead at nothing.
‘Poppy,’ I said. ‘Say hello to Dr Leavitt.’
She gave no sign of having heard me at all.
‘That’s all right, Ms Moreau. What can I do for you?’
I didn’t know where to begin and felt horribly self-conscious.
‘It’s probably stupid,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to be wasting your time.’
He waited. I saw that the collar of his jacket was turned in on itself and had an absurd impulse to lean forward and rearrange it.
‘I’m not doing so well,’ I said, speaking softly so Poppy wouldn’t feel disturbed. ‘It’s hard to talk about.’
I made a gesture towards Poppy and he nodded.
‘I have some animals that need looking after,’ he said.
He leaned down towards a tub beside the desk and pulled out a soft rabbit and a panda bear.
‘Here. Sit in that corner there and see if they are ill.’
Poppy climbed off my lap and took the soft toys very carefully.
‘Milly did die,’ she said. ‘I did kill.’
‘Her doll,’ I explained.
‘You tell me if they need bandages,’ said Dr Leavitt to Poppy. ‘To make them all better.’ He turned to me. ‘In what way are you not doing so well?’
I swallowed. My throat felt constricted and my eyes pricked with tears.
‘Poppy started behaving in a strange way.’ I spoke in a whisper so she wouldn’t hear. ‘She drew a disturbing picture and she began swearing and she tore her precious rag doll to pieces.’
‘Milly.’
‘But that’s not why I’m here. I mean, it is, it is in a way, but I took her to see someone and… sorry. I’m not explaining myself and I know you don’t have much time.’
In the corner, Poppy was bent over the rabbit, saying something I couldn’t hear.
‘Go on.’
‘I’m feeling anxious. I mean, so anxious I don’t know what to do with myself. I thought she must have witnessed a crime. That she was in danger. I thought it was her father.’
‘I’m not sure I understand.’
There was a deep furrow between his eyes.
‘I don’t understand either. I began to believe he had done something terrible that she had seen. And then I thought it was his wife’s brother. Then in the middle of this, someone died, a young woman. I didn’t know her exactly, but I think she was the person Poppy was talking about. I think it is all connected to Poppy.’
I stopped abruptly because I saw the expression on his face, a mixture of incomprehension and sympathy.
‘Rabbit is nearly dead now,’ announced Poppy. She sounded quite cheerful about it.
‘I know I’m not making sense,’ I continued quietly, desperately. ‘But I feel she’s in danger. No.’ I pressed a hand against my chest, hearing the thump of my heart. ‘I know she is. I know.’
I heard my voice, the words tumbling out all mixed-up and disconnected: danger, affairs, Milly, detectives, inquest. I saw the doctor’s eyes flick towards the clock over his door. I saw Poppy put her hands round the rabbit’s neck.
‘No one believes me. The police think I’m a crazy woman. But everywhere I look, I see danger. Danger so I can hardly breathe. From Jason or Ben, that’s the brother, or Aidan – he’s my boyfriend. Was my boyfriend. Or from my friend’s husband, or my neighbour, or… oh, I can hear myself,’ I said. ‘When I say it out loud like this it sounds mad, when I look at your face as I say it, I understand what I must seem like.’
There was a long silence. Poppy shook the rabbit.
‘He did die,’ she said triumphantly and turned to the panda.
‘Ms Moreau.’
‘Tess.’
‘Tess.’ Dr Leavitt spoke very gently, as if he was trying to calm me down. ‘I’m not sure I understand everything you’ve said, but I do understand that you are distressed and anxious, and I want to ask you a few simple questions.’
‘Like what?’
‘Do you often have a racing heartbeat?’
‘Yes. Yes, of course. Wouldn’t you if you thought your child was in danger?’
‘Do you sometimes feel faint?’
‘A bit. But that’s maybe because I’m not eating as much as usual.’
‘Nausea?’
‘Yes. Because I’m scared.’
‘Do you have chest pain?’
I put a hand against my chest. ‘I don’t know. There are times I feel my heart is hammering so hard it’s going to burst through and it feels really horrible.’
Poppy wandered over.
‘Home,’ she said.
‘Soon,’ I told her and she climbed back onto my lap and started winding my hair through her fingers.
‘Pins and needles?’ asked Dr Leavitt.
‘Yes. What does that mean?’
Dry mouth? Yes.
Churning stomach: God, yes!
Shaky limbs? Yes.
Choking feeling? Every so often.
A need to go to the toilet? Maybe.
Insomnia? Of course.
Exhausted? How not.
A dread of dying? Haven’t you been listening…?
‘How often do you feel these things?’
‘How often? Almost all the time.’
‘And how long have they been going on.’
‘A couple of weeks.’
‘Mummy, I want to go home.’
‘These are classic symptoms of severe anxiety and of panic attacks. Am I right that you recently separated from Poppy’s father?’
‘Almost a year ago now.’
‘And so most of the time you look after Poppy on your own.’
‘Yes.’
‘And work?’
‘Yes.’
‘And can I ask, are you worried about money?’
‘Of course I am.’ I said it cheerily so that Poppy wouldn’t pick up on it.
‘Tess’ he said carefully, neutrally. ‘Do you have any thoughts of self-harm or suicidal feelings?’
I held Poppy close and rested my chin on her head. It was impossible to know if it was her heart I could feel beating, or my own.
‘No, I don’t.’
He moved back in his chair.
‘You obviously have many stresses in your life and it’s quite natural you should feel anxious. Panic is a severe form of anxiety and while panic attacks are not dangerous in themselves, they are very unpleasant and frightening and can become a vicious cycle. I could prescribe you a type of antidepressant, but I don’t want to do it just now. I’d like to suggest a course of cognitive behavioural therapy. It would just be a few sessions. It can be very helpful. I can give you a list of therapists you can contact directly or, if you want, I can refer you.’
‘I can do it.’
‘I’m also going to print out a set of breathing techniques that can help you through your panic attacks. And there’s a mindfulness app you can download. Some people find it helps them through anxiety. Here.’
He wrote down the app’s name on his pad, tore off the piece of paper and handed it across. I took it.
‘And when you leave, I want you to make an appointment to come back to see me in two weeks’ time, so we can see how you’re doing.’
‘All right.’
‘Are you able to continue working?’
I suddenly saw this was an opportunity. I could take Poppy to school every morning and collect her every afternoon and not let her out of my sight.
‘Maybe I’m not,’ I said. ‘I work with primary school children. I can’t do it half-heartedly.’
He nodded. ‘I’m going to write you a sick note signing you off for the next week. We can see how it goes.’
‘Thank you. Thank you for being nice.’
‘I hope this will help,’ he said. ‘Find a CBT therapist. Meditate and practise the breathing techniques. Go for walks. Rest. Look after yourself. Come back and see me.’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have any questions?’
Yes, I did. I had this question screaming inside me: Everyone thinks this is inside my head, but what if it isn’t? What if I’m right to feel such fear and dread?
But I didn’t ask it. I was too used to the expression of pity that would appear on his face. I lifted Poppy to the floor and held out my hand to shake his.
‘Look after yourself,’ he said.
Pills, I thought as we walked out. Mindfulness. Therapy. Maybe, in the future. But now, I had a sick note. I had a free week.