They Thought I Was Dead: Sandy’s Story

104 November 2017

‘Tell me, how did you feel in the church, Sandy?’ Dr Eberstark asks.

Bruno and I had flown back yesterday, just managing to get the last two seats on the only afternoon flight to Munich. With my head all over the place, I hadn’t thought to book any return tickets to Munich. Why? What had I thought was going to happen if I stood up and halted the ceremony?

I was still trying to process it all. What I had done — or rather oh so nearly done — scared me, because I realized I still wasn’t right in the head.

‘I felt like an alien. I realized I didn’t know his world any more. And I kept thinking what a mistake I’d made.’

Dr Eberstark said nothing, as if giving me space to continue. After some moments, I did, but my voice was faltering, and I was close to tears again.

Eventually I had to stop and sobbed, feeling so sad. I just couldn’t help thinking, why did I let it all get so far? Why didn’t I tell him I was alive much sooner? I might have had a chance of getting him back. It was going around my head in a loop.

Then, sniffing, trying to keep it together, I said to Eberstark, ‘Such a big bloody mistake. When I realized that, I wanted him back so much, I wanted to be there, I wanted to be that woman.’

‘Yet you left him,’ he said unhelpfully.

‘Yes. I left him. I guess I didn’t know then what I know now. I wanted him back so badly. Really, at that moment when the priest guy — the vicar — asked if anyone knew any reason they should not be joined together in holy matrimony, I nearly shouted out that I did. Really, I so nearly did. That’s what I had gone there intending to do.’

The psychiatrist waited silently.

I was gathering my thoughts. I know I’ve made a total mess of everything. I wouldn’t do it the same way again. I have learned and matured. But I wouldn’t be sitting here if I didn’t care. I told him I feel I’ve screwed up my life. How every day I wake up in the morning and I lie to my son. He asks me about his father and I don’t tell him the truth. I’m scared I’m going to screw him up. That some days I think I should kill myself. He replies by asking me if I’ve thought about the consequences of that on Bruno. Like I haven’t thought about that! Of course I have. But these things are all in my thoughts. Some days are more positive, some not so much. Some days I just feel desperate and want someone to come along, give me a hug, take over and tell me everything is OK again.

I talk for a few minutes before Dr Eberstark glances at the clock on the wall.

‘We’ll have to leave it there,’ he says. ‘I’ll see you on Thursday. Is that OK with you?’

Always.

After I closed the front door of Dr Eberstark’s building, wrapped up in my coat, scarf and gloves, I walked out onto the pavement alongside the four lanes of heavy traffic on Widenmayerstrasse, and stopped, staring at the wide grass bank of the Isar river across the street.

How many sessions with strange — and expensive — Dr Eberstark had I now had? Were they getting me anywhere? Sometimes I left his consulting room feeling strong, but other times, like now, I left feeling more confused than ever.

As the traffic thundered past, I wondered if now was the time, finally, to tell Roy — newly married Roy — about Bruno. Surely he needed to know, in case anything happened to me?

That would sure as hell throw a spanner into his newly wed bliss.

How would Cleo take the news?

How would Roy?

Roy was a kind man at heart. He would take responsibility, because he would have no option. But how much did he care for Cleo, really? He’d kept telling me, during our life together, that he could not live without me. Well, he seemed to be doing pretty well, so far. But maybe she was just a poor substitute. Maybe he was still burning a candle for me?

It was cold, bitterly cold. I felt cold through to my bones and thought for a moment about abandoning my usual constitutional along the riverbank, after my sessions with Eberstark, and just heading for the warmth of home. But I decided the air would do me some good, clear my head.

My sodding confused head.

I looked right then left. For an instant I was back in Brighton, in England. Where the traffic drove on the opposite side. I looked to the right, and the road was clear. Then some kind of clarity returned. I was in Germany, they drive on the right here. Then I stepped out. Look left, then right then—

The roar of an engine.

I fleetingly saw the front of the cream Mercedes, with the yellow and black roof light. It said TAXI.

Then it felt like a brick wall had hit me broadside.