The Skeleton Cupboard by Tanya Byron Page B

is bigger than the grief of losing her sister.”
    No shit, Sigmund. That’s what I was saying.
    â€œWhat else have you experienced with this child?” he asked.
    I knew what I had to say, but I couldn’t—it felt too clichéd to say while lying on a couch with an analyst.
    â€œThere was a ‘moment’ with her stepfather in the meeting before she ran.”
    I felt beyond foolish. He said nothing.
    â€œOK,” I backpedaled. “That was too much information. Irrelevant. Just tell me, what do I do?”
    And then the pale, self-contained, silent, God-like analyst shocked me.
    â€œJust bloody find out what this is all about, before it’s too late.”
    *   *   *
    Imogen was leaving in a week’s time and I was under pressure. I hated psychoanalysts, but suddenly this one was my best friend at work. My head was a mess. I met with him again, but he’d reverted to mostly silence; I felt stupid for having brought up the moment of frisson with Imogen’s stepfather.
    Imogen’s mother, Mary, and her stepfather, Jake, were happy. Mary was pregnant again and life held hope for Imogen after the freak accident that took her half sister: Here’s a replacement puppy! Everyone be happy!
    And why wouldn’t they be? I was being selfish: I couldn’t let go of a happy, healthy girl ready to move on.
    I decided to stop the self-pity and we all prepared for the unit’s summer fete on the hospital grounds, which was when I found her staring into the pond.
    â€œHey,” I said.
    She didn’t reply.
    â€œImogen, come get some cotton candy.”
    She crouched down.
    Imogen and water. Oh God, should I be scared? No, get a grip—evidence-base this girl’s progress. She knows how to handle herself. Be calm.
    â€œHey, Imogen. What’s up? Come on, cotton candy is beckoning! Race you to the stall.”
    She pulled the rag doll from under her arm, then threw it into the pond. I reached in, lifted the smelly rag doll from the water and handed her back.
    â€œC’mon, sweetheart. Are you angry about leaving the unit? Tell me about it. Don’t take it out on Rag Doll!”
    She threw the rag doll back into the pond at my feet. And then she said, quietly and clearly, “I am sorry, but I am not going to save you.”
    She was staring intently at her dead sister’s doll lying facedown in the pond water. My heart thumped; her face was becoming a mask again, her wrists beginning to rhythmically circle and her mouth twitch with silent counting. Here comes the grief, I thought to myself.
    I knelt next to my little charge and began to try to soothe her back to me.
    â€œImogen, I can see that you are having big feelings at the moment. I think that these are about Maisie drowning and this makes you feel very sad and very anxious.”
    Without taking her eyes off the drowning rag doll, Imogen shook her head.
    â€œImogen, why don’t we pull the rag doll out of the pond and go inside somewhere quiet where we can have a talk?”
    Imogen shook her head again.
    â€œSweetheart, listen to me. I think it would be so sad for you if we leave Maisie’s doll to sink to the bottom of this pond. This is Maisie’s doll, isn’t it? And now that Maisie isn’t here to love her doll, you are doing that really important job for her.”
    Finally Imogen turned to me. “I don’t want to save her.”
    I began to feel very cold. “Why not, darling?” I stooped down to pick up the doll. “Look, we can save her together.”
    â€œNo!” Imogen grabbed my arm. She was shaking and beginning to pant. “No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.”
    She threw herself down on top of me. As I held her, I could feel her heart racing, her entire body shaking. She was sweating.
    â€œOK, sweetheart. Shh, darling. It’s OK. I’m sorry, darling. I’m sorry. We will leave Rag Doll