The office of Harvey Greene, BPsych

Recently

Even as Thomas took a seat on that brown couch with its colourful throw pillows, with that camera staring at him from the corner of the ceiling and that box of tissues, he remained unsure if he wanted to go through this ordeal for a second time.

Driving here, only a few blocks away from his own home (a fact that didn’t necessarily ensure a sense of comfort in the arrangement), Thomas had waited for his foot to stomp on the brake pedal all of its own accord and make the decision for him. Stupid idea. Go home. Face it like a man.

Problem was, he still had no idea how.

‘How are you feeling today?’ the shrink asked. Harvey wore shirtsleeves this morning, on account of the warm spring weather. Thomas wore one of Elsie’s knitted jumpers and thick socks, and had driven here with the heater on.

‘I’m all right, doc,’ he replied. The shrink went to speak and Thomas added, ‘Sorry, not a doctor. I remember now.’

Harvey smiled. He glanced down at his clipboard and Thomas wondered what the man had written on there, after everything he had disclosed last week. Did he think Thomas a bigamist? Some kind of religious patriarch? Or just a downright dirty old man?

‘Did anything come up for you after our last session?’ Harvey asked.

After the last session, he wanted to say, I didn’t want to come back. He’d left the shrink’s office – or house, or whatever it was – feeling as though he’d been pulled through a mangle. If his recollection of the beginning was tough, how the hell was he going to get through the rest of it? The next five decades?

‘I feel like I need to explain myself more,’ Thomas said. ‘Last week, I got a bit carried away with the beginning. There’s a lot more to explain. Only, I’m having trouble knowing how.’

Harvey appeared to wait for him to go on, but Thomas stopped there. He mulled the next part over in his head.

‘More than fifty years – it’s a lot of time,’ the shrink said. ‘I imagine you have a lot of memories.’

‘That’s not even the half of it.’

‘You said there’s a lot more to explain?’

Thomas glanced at the camera. The codeine hadn’t kicked in yet; he wished it would hurry up. ‘I didn’t come here to tell my whole life story.’

Harvey’s eyebrows lifted a fraction. He waited, and when Thomas didn’t elaborate, he said, ‘You mentioned you have children. Grandchildren.’

Thomas smiled. It was an automatic reaction to the mention of one’s grandkids, wasn’t it? Can’t help but smile at the thought of them. All that noise, that overflowing, guileless innocence. ‘Five grandkids,’ he said. ‘All teenagers now.’

‘Wonderful.’ He paused. ‘So you have kids – you and Elsie?’

‘That’s right.’

‘So after that miscarriage, you and Elsie went on to have children?’

‘Eventually, yes.’

‘That must have been a relief and a joy for you.’

‘Of course it was. For all of us.’

‘Any children with Aida?’

Thomas said, ‘That’s a bit personal, isn’t it?’

Harvey didn’t reply, he simply watched him, his rounded face fixed into that calm expression of non-judgement. Outside, lorikeets were kicking up a ruckus. A car drove past on the street, stereo thudding dully.

‘No,’ Thomas replied. ‘No children with Aida. After what happened, she wouldn’t. Never again, she said.’

‘After her baby was adopted out?’

Thomas’s eyes stung. Bloody hell.

‘What was it like for Aida, then, watching you and Elsie have children? I assume, since you’re still together now, that she was a willing part of your family.’

‘More than willing,’ Thomas said crossly. ‘She was delighted. They’re her children too. Of course it was hard for her at times, especially during Elsie’s pregnancies, but . . .’ Damn him for digging at the subject. Thomas snatched a tissue, mopped his face and closed his mouth, annoyed.

Harvey set the clipboard aside. He clasped his hands together, leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. ‘Just now, you said that you weren’t here to “tell your whole life story”. Do you want to jump forward in time, a little?’

‘I guess I don’t have a lot of time to spare,’ Thomas conceded. ‘Haste might be a smart idea.’

‘I realise this is difficult for you, having lived this life in obscurity for so many years. But I think it may help to consider the origins of your reticence, your feelings of being all clamped up. Did your families know about your relationship? Parents, siblings? And Aida’s parents – you’ve alluded to the fact that her father was someone prominent. Did they know about you and Elsie?’

‘Yes and no.’

The raised eyebrows again. A question.

‘None of us were that close to our own families,’ Thomas told him. ‘We were able to hide it from them. If we visited anyone – my brother, for instance, or Elsie’s mother or sisters – Elsie and I went alone. If they visited us, Aida had her own house to go to. When she was growing up, I think Aida was closer to her parents, but after her baby was taken . . .’ he spread his hands. ‘I can’t blame her for not forgiving them for what they did.’

‘What did they do?’

Thomas ground his teeth. ‘I only know dribs and drabs of what happened. She doesn’t like to talk about it.’ He hesitated, aware that he had ventured into a story that wasn’t his to tell. ‘She says they lied to her – that they made her a promise they never intended to keep, just to keep her quiet.’ He thought about it and gave a long sigh. ‘I suspect Elsie knows more than I do about what happened, with Aida and her baby. They’ve always had each other, like that. There’s more women can say to each other than they can to a man.’

It was true, Thomas understood that now. For years it had needled him that the women shared something with each other that kept him on the periphery, looking in. Trusted, yes, but not quite privy. But he realised that now, this fact was – could be – a source of comfort.

Because even when he was gone, Elsie and Aida would still have each other. His beloved Elsie would still be loved.

Harvey let a long silence fall. When it became clear Thomas wasn’t going to elaborate, he said, ‘Five decades is a long time. You and Elsie weren’t exactly hermits. You ran a successful business, Elsie had her ladies’ groups and so forth. Then there would be the kids’ schools, extra-curricular activities and so on . . . it seems like –’ he paused, thoughtful. ‘So much hiding. How did that make you feel?’

‘What can I say?’ Thomas lifted his shoulders. ‘It was middle-class suburbia in the sixties and seventies. Everyone liked to think they knew everyone else’s business but at the same time, no one really knew anyone on a personal level. It was all –’ Thomas held his hand out at arm’s length from his face, palm facing in. He ran his hand up and down, demonstrating an invisible wall. ‘It was all facades. All fronts, put up to make it look like everyone was the same.’

‘Was it as easy as that for Elsie and Aida, though?’

Thomas stared at him, unsure what to say. He wasn’t answering the man’s questions. He was also one-quarter of the way through his second hour with this therapist – almost fifty dollars down the drain already – and he was still no closer to getting to the damn point. Thomas sighed and rubbed his head, a weariness coming over him.

‘Tell me why you’re here. It’s not just to reconcile your death, is it?’

The sudden directness caught him off guard. ‘I know something,’ Thomas said quietly, his gaze avoiding the box of tissues. ‘I’ve known it for a few years now, but I’ve never said anything. I’ve kept it to myself because to be honest, I had no bloody clue what to do about it.’

‘What do you know?’

The shrink was being frank because up until this point, Thomas hadn’t been. But now that the questions were asked so plainly, Thomas faltered. It didn’t feel right to dump it out without giving the back-story. Context always clarified things, didn’t it? Even those shameful secrets one kept to oneself – the sharp edges could be taken off if there was a frame of information around it. An explanation, a padding to soften the blow. And Thomas knew all about secrets. The way they warp and twist the inside of you, scabs that scar in folds and wrinkles.

Thomas cleared his throat. ‘Okay, let me fast forward the story. There’s a lot to cover.’