Twinned (7 page)

Joel

We have to cancel the Chile gig because the band agrees with me; I can’t leave the country while mom is so ill. Three days later and there is no change in her condition.

We cancel Rio de Janiero too. The crew has already gone ahead so, with our blessing, they treat it like a holiday, tweeting photos of the beaches and clubs and meeting the fans, giving out autographed postcards by way of an apology. Two more days pass and we are reminded that next week we are due to be in Los Angeles at a big awards ceremony. Our new album is nominated. I tell my manager I will think about it but that it’s probably not possible.

Every day, my two brothers and I visit mom. Every day we lose her a little more. She can’t keep food down now; they have stopped feeding her anything but morphine. She looks gray and frail. I feel a crushing sense of loss, she looks like she’s here but she is getting further away each day. I sit by the bed and sing softly. I sing all her favourite songs. She holds my hand and she asks for my dad, forgetting that he died ten years ago.

Selfishly, I will her to live.

She dies as she would have wished to, surrounded by family; enveloped by love and tears and howls of pain. We kiss her forehead. We thank the medical staff. We pray together. My aunt phones to tell friends and family that mom is finally at peace. As I prepare to leave the hospital, I sit by her one final time. I put my head in my hands, rubbing my forehead as if I can force my mind to make this make sense.

I am a grown man. Yet losing my mom transports me. I am a lost child, no mom and no dad. I am scared of life without her, scared of being alone. She has always been my strength, my support.

Suddenly, through my eyelids and on my skin, I
feel
sunshine fill the room. The brightest light. I open my eyes. The sun is shining on her face, giving an illusion of warmth and life. I get up. It is time to go. I blow her a sweet kiss then I walk away and I don’t look back. A nurse shows me where the staff exit is and I jump into a waiting taxi.

I give the driver my address. Then I pop another two sedatives to keep me even. Georgia is waiting for me at home and Harry, oh Harry. I am struck by the thought that he will never know his Gramma any better than he does today. His memories will fade to nothing. At this thought, the tears come. Every memory of her life, her journey, plays through my mind’s eye. What was it all for, my fame and fortune, just to lose her now? Why must we love people so much that this amount of hurt is possible? I cry like a baby all the way home and all evening.

“It’s called Empathic Communication, Beth,” explains David, showing me the web page he has found just by typing a few of my symptoms into Google. Why didn’t I think of doing that? I take the mouse and click through to see a few of the forum posts. After a few minutes’ reading, I am opened up to a whole new world. My story – that of being subjected to the whim of someone else’s thoughts and the tidal waves of emotions that aren’t my own – is mirrored all over this site. Dozens of people who thought they were crazy, who hear voices, see images and feel feelings that aren’t their own.

Granted, a couple of them sound absolutely BARKING – and there is much talk of unicorns and angels, reincarnation and time portals. But hey, I am not alone.
I am not alone.

These people understand what I’m going through. The advice they give each other; to reaffirm your name and what you like when you feel taken over by others; that sounds sensible to them but silly to an outsider. I wonder, am I an outsider, or one of them?

I think David can see this is an unexpected gift. He is smiling.

“You’re an empath, Beth. Most empaths are creative types,” he explains. “Writers, poets, musicians; dreamers who understand pain and passion, laughter and love. “If you treat yourself better, Beth, you can find this talent will be the making of you, perhaps?”

The explanation tells me that Joel is probably an empath too. That’s how we connect.

I mull over what he has said. The death card is still playing on my mind, despite what David said about transformation. “Do you believe in reincarnation, David?”

He thinks for a minute. “Yes, I think perhaps I do.”

“You’re not sure?”

“I’m not sure about anything, Beth. I don’t even truly believe that time is a line we must follow. Those who believe in reincarnation might suggest that you and your Joel were together in a previous existence. But who’s to say how time works? People see ghosts from a thousand years ago walking among us, which suggests that time may play out quite differently.”

“You mean different times could run alongside themselves, like parallel universes, or something?”

“Well there are theories about parallel universes. I’m familiar with a few. I think there’s one called the Everett ‘Many Worlds’ interpretation; that one’s been around since the 1950s. You should look it up.” He scratches his head as I wrestle my notepad and pen out of my bag to take note of what he is telling me.

“Everett, you say?”

“Yes… I’m sure it’s Everett. And I’ve read articles from a science perspective on the quantum theory of reincarnation and quite recently there was some highly credible scientific research published on things called mirror neurons, which could also be behind what you’ve experienced.”

I write down ‘quantum theory - reincarnation’ and ‘mirror neurons’.

A few more taps on the keyboard and he shows me a number of web pages about something called Twin Flame or Twin Soul reunions.

“Then you have the slightly – err –
less
scientific explanations,” he adds with a wry grin, showing me this:

*****

Have you met your twin?

Signs that you have found your twin
soul include overwhelming attraction, a sense of feeling ‘complete’ in the presence of the other person and the ability to know and feel what the other person is feeling, even when apart. The strength of feeling can be so great upon finding their twin, as to cause a complete breakdown in the person’s previous relationships.

How does this happen?
The soul begins as one but becomes split into two, whole souls. During many incarnations, the separated souls must gather a richness of human experience before being reunited in their final lifetimes, after which they may ascend to heaven, together.

*****

“
So Joel could be my… my
soul twin
?” I hesitate over the silliness of the phrase while secretly feeling like it’s spot-on in terms of what’s been going on with me and Joel.

“It’s a possibility but there is only the flimsiest of circumstantial – well you couldn’t even call it evidence… There’s nothing to prove it.”

My brain is racing with a hundred thoughts. If Joel and I had originally been one soul and somehow we were split at some point, were we doomed to spend multiple lifetimes apart before coming together?

“But aside from the theoretical possibilities, what do you think I should I do about Joel and Richard?” I ask.

He pauses reflectively; glances over at a photo on the wall. It’s of him and someone who I guess is – or was – his wife. He exhales slowly, like it hurts. Then he looks straight at me, all humour gone from his eyes.

“Don’t be rash, Beth. Who makes you feel safe? Who loves you the way you need to be loved? Who is the calm in the storm? Who is true?”

I know the answer is Richard and so does he.

“But Joel is... well I feel he’s my soul mate. What if he is the one I’m meant to be with?”

“Joel sounds like another empath. It is not ideal to have a relationship – even if you could – with another empath. You would be like... like cannibalistic vampires, feeding off each other.” He looks proud of his analogy. “You could never be happy,” he reinforces.

We talk some more and then I notice the time; I need to go. David hands me my coat and scarf. I agree to reschedule the interview for another day.

“We didn’t even get to speak to the spirits,” I say. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” he says, softly. “You’re a great girl, Beth. I hope to see you again soon. Take care.”

“I will. Thanks so much David. Bye.”

I walk back to the tube station overwhelmed but happy. I feel like a weight has been lifted. I am glad Joel hasn’t come back. I’m glad. There is no good that can come out of being with him, we have no future together.

I repeat my mantra. My name is Beth. I like sunshine, holidays, great books and music. I am
me
and I am not crazy.

I get through most of the next day at work. At two pm with no warning I am suddenly floored by a migraine. Waves of nausea threaten to manifest as immediate vomit so I make my excuses and take a steady drive home. For the next 36 hours I am not physically sick but I feel awful. I just cry and cry, there is nothing else I can do. I try to distract myself by watching ‘The Proposal’ because it’s a rom-com and I think it might help. But still the tears come.

It’s not long before I start to wonder if somehow Joel is causing this. It simply doesn’t feel like
my
pain. I check on twitter. The band has cancelled some gigs. I know something bad has happened. A few more clicks on Google and I understand.

It’s his mum. She died on the day I got sick and tomorrow is her funeral.

I am a prisoner. I can’t eat, can’t sleep. We are together in our pain. He doesn’t appear or speak to me directly. I figure this time his 'connection' is involuntary. An accident. Such a strong level of emotion that it came across to me without him intending it. I am merely a passenger to his devastation. The intensity reminds me why I am addicted to this connection. It feels like we belong together.

Eventually it passes. I am free again and it feels good; lonely but good to be myself again. I build up in strength, day by day. Back at work I throw myself into the creation of a new feature proposal and I try to forget about Joel.

I spend time with Richard making final wedding preparations, go for dinner with my sister and eight of our girl friends in lieu of a hen night, then come down with yet another cold and spend a week filling the rubbish bin with used tissues. And still, no Joel in my head. I am kind of too busy to complain about that. My head has no room for him. He doesn’t make contact and neither do I. It’s a psychic standoff.

Despite my previous convictions that the connection with Joel was real I begin to tell myself that the visions could quite plausibly have been some kind of temporary insanity... perhaps it was all a delusion, nothing more. Because my brain knows that it only makes sense to marry Richard if I tell myself he really is
the one
. In my heart I would rather be crazy than stupid.

The wedding approaches.

*****

I get home from work one day in February to find a letter on the doormat. This doesn’t strike me as unusual until I see that it’s addressed to me and it has French stamps on it. I don’t know anyone in France. I place it on the kitchen worktop while I fill the kettle, switch it on to boil and grab a mug. Outside the wind is blowing a gale. The kettle boils and I make myself a cup of tea. It’s six o’ clock – Richard should be home at about midnight. He mentioned he was having dinner with the boys from work and then going on for drinks.

I sit down at the dining table with my cup of tea, looking out of the patio doors. A plastic bag is blowing around the garden and I stand up, thinking I’ll go and retrieve it so I can put it in the bin, when I remember the letter.

Intrigued, I open it. To say that I am shocked would be a massive understatement. Inside the envelope is a sheet of white A4 paper, folded three times. Within the top folded section is a photograph of a little boy. I would guess he is about two years old.

Written on the paper, in elegant script, is the following:

My name is Selina Tiberghien.

This is a photograph of my son, Etienne. While I appreciate the money that
his father sends, I do not appreciate
you
preventing my son from knowing him. Please take a good look at Etienne’s photograph. Please, please reconsider.

It is not my son’s fault that he was born. I feel sure that Richard would wish to know him. He is a wonderful little boy.

Selina

I feel like my head is going to explode with the thoughts racing around it. I can’t catch my
breath;
Richard has a son.

I think I may be sick. Instinctively I call Elisa. I ask if I can come over right now and she says ‘Yes’ and asks if I am OK. I say I will explain when I get there. She lives about an hour’s drive away. I need to get out of my house, immediately. I can’t even contemplate Richard coming home before I have worked out how I feel about this shocking revelation, just a few weeks before our wedding.

I lean against the doorframe between the kitchen and the hallway. I try to compose myself. If what Selina says is true, Richard has lied to me for years. He has ignored his own son, he has told Selina that I am responsible for his decision not to see Etienne, he has given Selina his money… soon to be
our
money. Has he even sought proof that Etienne is his biological child?

I remember the argument between Selina and Richard that I witnessed in Paris.
Now I know why
.

I grab my mobile phone, the letter and photo, my keys, my coat; I leave the house and the steaming hot cup of tea, I don’t dare stop for a second longer. I feel like the lies I have just uncovered have tainted this house – I can’t stay in it for a minute longer – I need to get out.

*****

“It’ll be OK,” says Elisa, stroking my hair as I sob uncontrollably. “I promise you will both be able to get past this.”

“But how can I ever trust him again? How could he lie to me about something like this?”

“You only have Selina’s side of the story,” soothes Elisa, “you don’t know right now what’s real. You need to talk to Richard.”

I am consumed by racing thoughts, from how we will include Etienne in our lives and whether Richard will want children of our own, to what I tell my family.

“I just feel, well, I feel ashamed. I know that sounds dreadful but everyone keeps saying how perfect Richard is… how lucky I am that I found him. I just can’t imagine telling my mum, my dad, telling Katie for goodness’ sake. I’ll have to explain that he has a child, a child he kept hidden.”

“He must have had his reasons, Beth. Maybe he doesn’t think it’s his?”

“But he sends her money each month! Why would he do that if it’s not his child?”

Elisa pauses for a moment. She looks as shocked as I do. I know she’s just trying to help. “OK… well Selina might be lying. You said the money was to pay his parent’s mortgage. Maybe that’s true.”

My head is in my hands. “I don’t know, I just feel like our marriage is ruined before it’s even begun… And the wedding is only in a few weeks.” I start to panic even more, thinking about all the money that’s been spent, the invitations, the expectations… “Should I call it off? We might have to call it off.” I dissolve into another fit of noisy sobs. My face is all red and I’m guessing my eyes will still be bloodshot tomorrow.

Elisa suggests that I take as long as I need before I go home to speak to Richard. I hate confrontation, I really hate it. Richard will be angry with Selina, that’s for sure but I have an idea that he might be angry with me too, just for knowing and asking him about it.

I spend another half hour with Elisa and then I go home. I let myself into the house and it’s empty. Richard is not yet home. It’s eleven o’ clock. So much has happened and yet only a few hours have passed. The house looks the same as it did before but something inside me has changed.

I can’t face Richard tonight. I get undressed, slip into bed and turn out the light. I can’t sleep. I lay there looking at the ceiling, crying a little.

At 12.28, I hear a key turn in the lock downstairs. I hear Richard walk in, shut the door, put down his keys and briefcase and hang up his coat. He climbs the stairs. My heart is pounding, I have a lump in my throat and I feel like I might erupt from anger.

I hear Richard enter the bathroom and the door shuts softly behind him. I imagine Richard brushing his teeth, washing his hands… I can hear the tap running. I turn over onto my side with my back to the empty side of the bed so I am facing the wall with the window on it. I wipe my eyes with a tissue then hide it under my pillow.

The bathroom door opens. The light clicks off. I hear him walk into our room in the dark and begin to undress. I can’t do it. I can’t blow this secret out of the water tonight.
I can’t.

Richard slides into bed next to me, cool air filling the void beneath the duvet as it rises to accommodate his body. I imagine from the way I hear him moving and from the feel of his body through the roll of the mattress springs that he looks at me for a moment, perhaps propped up on one arm, as he wonders if I will stir so he can talk to me.

I stay still and pretend to be fast asleep. He lies down, lifts the top of the duvet a little to cover his shoulder. He clears his throat and then he’s silent.

I open my eyes in the dark and stare at the chink in the curtains, imagining the blustery night outside and listening to the wind in the trees.

I can’t break the silence. I don’t have the energy.

I close my eyes again. I think about Richard and I think about Joel. I think about Selina and Etienne. Tears threaten to fall again so I push my mind back to Joel. I hear Richard’s breathing, it becomes slow and deep.

Yes. I’ll think about Joel.

Against all of my expectations, I fall asleep in minutes.