“Hello Adam,” she said.
“Doctor Fleet,” Adam replied, before correcting himself, recalling what she had requested not long after their first introduction. “Iris.”
She stood on the threshold, as Denys had done a short time before. Unlike him, she did not stoop and look pointedly down towards him. Her eyes never drifted from where they locked on his, and she didn’t take the rest of him so openly into account so that he felt uncomfortable.
He said nothing more, taking in the sight of his rehabilitation consultant. About a foot shorter than he when he stood, when he had been able to stand. It made her five foot, or five one at a push. Soft round features, pale hair back in a bun. She wore a light blouse, charcoal suit jacket and skirt that went below her knees. Skin coloured tights, expensive shoes. She clutched her briefcase before her, almost protectively, in which he presumed contained his notes. He liked her well enough, in an inoffensive way, and she certainly seemed to know her job well enough. Apart from that, he didn’t think he had much of an opinion on her.
“Why are you here?”
If she was put off by his brusqueness she didn’t indicate.
“Hmm, well,” she said, looking innocently above and around, her eyes skimming across the door frame, the wall. “I was in the neighbourhood and thought I’d pop up for a coffee seeing as how it has been so long since we last hooked up.” The ghost of a smile crossed her lips. “You going to put the kettle on and invite me in or will we have cake staring at each other in your doorway?
“I don’t even think you brought cake.” Adam replied. Her smile was infectious, it turned out.
Her lips pursed in a mock pout. “You mean you don’t have any?”
“Afraid not. You’ll need to make do with biscuits.”
“I can probably force one or two down.”
Adam rolled his chair back and to the side, nodding towards the living room, motioning her to come in. She brushed past him, only lightly touching his chair as she did so, a well practiced motion. He followed her with his gaze and saw her stop as she entered the living area, glancing around. It could have been his imagination but he thought she exhaled a little too abruptly as she did so. Yet it was probably nothing. He turned back to the door and swung it shut, but not before catching sight of something that seemed to duck back out of sight as soon as he saw it. He swung the door open again and sat there, staring down the hall, trying to ascertain where it was, and what he had seen.
About halfway down, the slight suggestion of a doorway could be seen. Just the frame, out from the wall. A mat on the wooden floor. Coir, the same as his. It had been there. Jutting out from behind the doorway. A face. So brief had his view been but he was certain.
Unconsciously, he began to wheel his chair out of his doorway, into the hall, pushing harder to get over the threshold of the door.
A voice cut through behind him, from somewhere deeper into his flat.
“I can only find one clean mug, do you have any more?”
He paused, before reversing back into his apartment and shutting the door. It had probably been his imagination. There was no way it would look like that if it had been real. His dreams were probably merging with his reality, so out of touch he was with his own bodies needs for rest and regulation. Even so, it took root in his mind, and later that day, hours after Dr Iris Fleet had left, he still fancied that he had seen something. A face, peering out from the doorway. The skin had been crawling. Moving around on the skull. The eyes had been closed, the mouth open.
Then, it was gone.
Imagination. Or a lucid dream. Who knew. He hadn’t been sleeping properly. Those damn nightmares. It was just a by-product of that. He needed some more paroxetine, that would help. He had thought he could do without it. Now these dreams had begun in earnest. Never so regular, so lucid. Like this was. Lucid. Nothing more. There hadn’t really been someone looking out the doorway, and even if there had been, it was probably Yana just being a curious neighbour herself. She heard them talking and stuck her head out to have a peek.
That’s what it was.
Wasn’t it?
“Adam,” the voice came from the kitchen, more insistent, “I’m going to serve your coffee in a measuring jug unless you can find me a mug.”
Adam found her with every cupboard open, fruitlessly attempting to find a second mug as the kettle sputtered beside her on the work surface, one mug ready to be filled with water.
“I’m okay,” he said, slightly amused at the way she jumped slightly as she turned before composing herself, rubbing the palms of her hands down the front of her skirt. It had been so brief that she probably hoped he hadn’t noticed. He was quite impressed at the fact that he had managed to arrive in the kitchen without her hearing him. Her look of surprise was replaced by one of a question mark, her mouth beginning to form a word. Raising a hand, he cut her off before she could articulate anything. “I had one not long ago.”
She nodded and filled her mug before bending down and opening the fridge. A small exasperated groan escaped her, barely audible.
“Sorry, no milk. I have an order from the supermarket,” Adam said by way of explanation, “that should be here this afternoon. Just a few basics.”
She nodded, still with her head in the fridge. Adam could get a demanding view of her posterior. In a former life he might have enjoyed such a sight, but now it barely registered. He sighed and angled his head to see past her in to the fridge. He was down to his last six pack of lager. He tried to recall if he had stuck more on the grocery order and found that he couldn’t. It would be what it would be, he supposed. He could always place another one. He wasn’t up to his limit just yet.
Standing back up and taking the mug of steaming liquid into her hand, she turned to face him as she stirred, and it was then that he felt it. He saw the quick movement in her eyes, and instantly resented her for it. He knew he shouldn’t, this was hardly a social call after all. She was working. Nonetheless, he resented it.
“A delivery? Do you not go out for it yourself? I thought you were quire au fait with going out for your shopping?”
“I don’t go out any more for that kind of thing,” Adam replied, his voice flat.
The kitchen air filled with the sound of the small metal spoon against the porcelain followed by the rattle as she threw it into the sink beside her. She appraised him again before raising the mug to her lips and blowing gently across the surface, taking the most tentative of sips. Seconds became a minute, that became two. Adam was at a loss of what to say, so said nothing, and instead remained where he was in the kitchen as Iris Fleet drank her coffee. He was wrong footed, and needed a little time to compose himself. It was as though she knew that in a preternatural sense, and was giving him time. This was a deliberate silence. She wanted to measure him up, and he had no doubt that it was this that was occurring. She was barely drinking her coffee, and he had seen her as she pursed her lips after the first sip. She hated it, but kept up the illusion that she was drinking it anyway. He decided he wasn’t going to play this by her rules.
“I really need these. That’s why I forgot.”
She answered him without looking up from her mug. “Need what? Forgot what?”
“These appointments. What, every two months? I’m doing fine. I forgot you were coming today.”
The doctor nodded. Finishing her coffee for the moment and placing the mug on the work surface. He couldn’t tell how much she had drank, but suspected little.
“Do you mind if I take a seat?”
“If you want to,” he replied, moving back so she could pull out the chair that sat under the small kitchen table.
“I always prefer kitchens to living rooms or anywhere else, how about you?”
Adam shrugged.
“It reminds me of going to house parties when I was younger. In fact, even as an adult. The kitchen was always the place to be. It was where the best conversation happened and it was also the warmest part of the house typically as well.”
Adam shrugged, unsure of what to say. He realised then something he hadn’t paid much attention to before. Her accent. It was so unremarkable that he had incredible difficulty ascertaining where she was from originally, and it was never offered from her, even when they had been introduced. She had expected a lot from Adam but offered very little in return. It hadn’t really been an issue until now, when he realised that she was nearly a perfect stranger, that had invited herself into his house.
“It’s a nice kitchen this,” she said, looking around. Taking in the peeling paint on the ceiling, the cupboards with the doors not hung quite right, the pile of dirty washing up in the sink, the pile of dirty laundry on the floor.
“Ha,” Adam replied unenthusiastically, thinking that she was surely taking the piss.
“I’m serious,” she replied with a smile, “I mean, I can see it needs a little bit of old fashioned TLC, but the bones of it are good. It has good roots. The whole building does.”
“Perhaps once, not now,”
“I mean, it must be, what, one hundred years old. More? If it had a bit of cash thrown at it. Privately owned and renovated then this apartment could probably fetch quite a price.”
“Mmmhmm,” Adam had already tuned out of the conversation and began wondering where she would be leaving.
“Who is it that owns it, do you know?”
Adam shrugged again. “I don’t know, I rent through a private agency.”
“Of course, sorry, I’ve not spoken to anyone today, I get a little carried away with myself. It’s none of my business.” She looked at him and smiled softly. You know, last time I visited, you walked to the door and let me in.”
“I don’t use them much indoors now, don’t see the point.”
“You had more more then one clean mug in the kitchen,” she added.
“I don’t see what that’s got to do -”
She interrupted him with a brusque hand wave. “It’s got everything to do with everything. You aren’t washing your dishes, you aren’t using your prosthesis, and if I may be frank, you have looked better. Let me be clear Adam. I’m here for your rehabilitation, so I need to know how you are.”
Adam inhaled, considering his response. He could feel her gaze burning in to him.
“I’m doing okay,” he replied. Slow and measured. “I just have the odd day when I’m not doing as okay as I was. Like today. I’ll be better tomorrow.”
“Are you sleeping?”
“Yes, fine.” He could tell by the look on her face that she didn’t believe him. He wouldn’t have believed it himself. He had caught himself in the mirror in the small hall alcove before he had joined her in the kitchen. The sight of him like an apparition. His eyes were sunken, his skin pale and sallow, his cheeks pinched. He looked like an emaciated version of himself.
Nevertheless, she took him at his word.
“Good. How are you feeling. Without the, you know.”
Now it came to it.
“It’s been months,” he said. “I don’t know if it would help.”
“A new course isn’t out of the question. If we need to go down that route. It’s been…” She too out her phone and checked it momentarily. “Ten months. If you feel like you need to, we can look at resuming.”
“I’m okay without it.” He wasn’t sure that was true.
Iris Fleet nodded once more and stood from the table. “Well, it is there as an option Adam, I don’t want you to feel how you were before.”
“I don’t.”
“Okay, that’s good. But there are options.”
He nodded to her and backed himself away from the doorway as she went past him into the living room. She smiled again and walked through towards the table, not quite manoeuvring to the door just yet. She wasn’t finished.
“This is exciting,” she said, turning as she held up the invitation that she had just picked up from the table, where Adam had thrown it earlier. “I take it you’re going? You knew him didn’t you? What’s his name…” She turned the invitation over, scanning the sparse test on the reverse. “Trent d’Marcan, that’s it.”
“No, it’s too short notice unfortunately.” Adam had joined her in the living area, still willing her to put the invitation down - not that it was hers to pick up in the first place - turn around, and get the hell out of his place.
“Busy?” She looked at him again, those piercing eyes seeing right through him.
“It’s just too short notice.”
“I think you should go. Just for an hour. I have no doubt that you’ll meet people there that you know, old acquaintances, work contacts. It will do you good.”
“I don’t need it,” Adam said. His voice raising slightly. He knew it was, despite his efforts to control it. He had always had a bit of a quick temper. Moreso when he was younger, but he was finding that it was flaring up again more and more recently. Apropos to nothing as well. It just seemed to be the default state in which he slipped in to more frequently. “I’m fine here.”
“Okay,” she said, placing the invitation down before inhaling slowly. “This is how it goes. Under my recommendation, Adam, I can have you placed into supervised care whilst you rehabilitate.”
“But I don’t nee -”
The hand went up again. “Yes. Looking at you today, you do. My visits dropped to every two months because you were doing well. Even since the separation. In fact, I would say in spite of the separation. You were thriving. You had a stubbornness that ensured you weren’t going to be cowed by this, or anything else. Four years down the line, and I think that you’re regressing back the way. In fact, from what I’ve seen today, you’re nearly back at square one. Only when you were at square one, you had the tenacity and optimism that you were going to continue to live your life how you wanted to live it. My last visit, and the few before that, were presenting me with some warning signs, some indicators, things I look for. Today’s visit, I don’t even need to see these indicators. The situation is plain to see.”
“What situation?” Anger now. He couldn’t keep it from him. He could feel the heat in his face, his cheeks, his neck. His muscles tensing.
A sigh, possibly of resignation escaped her now. “I can’t help you if you can’t see it yourself Adam. But I can make sure that you are looked after, that there is the appropriate medication to -”
“I don’t need any fucking meds and I’m sure as hell not going back on to that shit again.”
“Okay, okay.” Hands up, placatory. For the first time since she had entered, she glanced at the door, then back to Adam.
“How’s work?”
“It’s going fine.”
GET THE HELL OUT
“Fine?”
“Yeah, it’s fine. I’ve got a fair bit on just now that I could be doing with getting back to. So…” He too now glanced towards the door, pointedly.
“What are you working on? If you don’t mind me asking?”
“It’s just more illustration work. Same agency. A new book. Another Tom Manillo one. He asked for me specifically so I’m just trying to get my head around he preparatory sketches.”
She nodded. Adam struggled to read her expression.
“Well, it’s up to you,” she said slowly, “if you say you’re fine, as you put it. Really fine. Then I’ll see you in another two months. But I want you to know that I am concerned. I apologise for coming on rather strongly, but I’m not going to brush all this under the carpet either. Two months ago you welcomed me in to a beautiful space, on your prosthetics and you were a literal beacon of positivity, despite your setbacks. You’ve been here for, how long now?”
“I don’t know, you tell me.”
A theatrical roll of the eyes, as though she were a teacher and he an unruly child.
“I would guess around two years.”
“Yeah, but who’s counting?” Adam smiled coldly. He had known Iris Fleet since his accident. She had been instrumental in him securing the prosthetics, as well as an endless source of support and encouragement. As of now however, he honestly just wanted her to leave and never return. It was part of the process, these two monthly visits, but he had never agreed to them. Initially they were under the guise of checking that his medication, Paroxetine, was having the desired effect and keeping him on the correct dose. Under other circumstances he would have gone to a clinic himself but she had insisted that they be home visits. He hadn’t objected but now here was the rub, the downside. She kept these visits up indefinitely. After his wife had taken their daughter to another country, after he had lost the house, and now, here she was, after he had lost his work and, hell, the will to continue.
“I’m going to go, but I have one more question for you, and then I’m going to offer some advice. I suggest you follow it to avoid the next visit, because that one won’t involve me and I don’t know when you’ll return here. You know what happens when someone is in the system and they cannot look after themselves.”
“Shoot,” Adam spread his arms out, palms up.
“How much are you drinking?”
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