Heartache

By Anna Carey

Illustration: Shutterstock

UPLIFTING SHORT STORY WRITTEN BY TRIXIE NISBET

Could this smug alternative medicine practitioner really help Paula where her doctor and best friend had failed?

Are you trying to poison me, Steph?” Paula wrinkled her nose at the dark liquid steaming in her mug. “What is this stuff?”

“The doctors were no help, so this is your alternative treatment,” Steph said. “Chamomile tea. The way Steve treated you, I thought I’d make it extra soothing.” Steph grinned at her own ingenuity. “I used four tea bags.”

Paula treated her friend to a withering stare.

“You really think that this gunk will settle my stomach?”

“It’ll calm you down,” Steph assured her. “Ease your heartache.”

Paula placed a hand on her chest with a faraway look in her eyes.

“I’m not sure if the pain’s in my heart or my head,” she said. “But it hurts, Steph, every time I think of him.”

Steph’s grin melted with sympathy.

“Then it seems to me,” she said, “that you’ve got two choices. Either you take Steve back . . .”

“No!” Paula was adamant. “After what he did, that’s never going to happen!”

“Or – another alternative treatment. I’ve heard of this bloke in town. Apparently, he listens, and there’s some laying-on of hands.”

Paula raised her eyebrows.

“A faith healer? No, Steph, that’s absolutely not for me.” She shook her head firmly. “No, no, no.”

James Peterson, the slightly crooked sign on the door had said, practitioner of alternative medicine.

It sounded confident and impressive. But the door was little more than cardboard, a room rented out at the back of the tanning shop in town.

“Everyone’s got to start somewhere,” James had said when he’d shown Paula into the cramped room.

Paula was not impressed. She sniffed; there was that vague smell of burned hair that tanning lamps seemed to produce. In the centre of the room was what she assumed to be a padded massage bench, a couple of chairs were angled to face each other and a few cupboards lined one of the beige painted walls.

Medical-looking charts had been stuck up here and there. That was all.

James had waved Paula on to one of the chairs, taking the other himself.

“A faith healer?” James seemed amused at Paula’s description.

“People stick strange labels on procedures they aren’t necessarily comfortable with or don’t understand.”

Paula certainly felt uncomfortable. She was already planning the choice words she’d hurl at Steph the instant she got out of there. The room hardly inspired confidence.

And James himself . . . He was too young, probably only mid-twenties, like herself. He was too relaxed, practically slouching into the tatty cushions of the chair. And he was too informal: the way he spoke, the mess of his hair.

Paula glanced at the posters. Hypnosis. Massage. And she tried not to look at the chart of the body’s acupuncture points.

She was suddenly conscious of the young man silently watching her. She stared back.

“How does this work, then?” she asked.

“It’s appallingly simple.” James passed a hand through his hair.

“You talk; I listen. It helps, honestly, to talk through a problem, especially with a sympathetic stranger. If you want to stick a label on what I do, call it medicinal counselling.

“Then I decide on a treatment. Hypnosis is very effective, so is acupuncture. And, yes,” he flicked a hand towards the massage bench, “there is always the laying-on of hands, if I feel it’s appropriate.”

Paula knew this was a stupid idea. If Steve ever found out she’d visited a shrink to get over him, she’d never live it down.

Surely a hypnotist should be middle-aged at least, preferably with a full beard and thick glasses. And there was no way she was letting this weirdo anywhere near her with a needle.

“I take it you’ve been to see your GP?” he asked.

Paula raised her chin.

“Nothing wrong, according to him. My friend Steph says the pains could be ‘psychostomatic’.”

James gave a most unprofessional laugh and slouched further into the chair.

Paula decided then that she was wasting her time.

“I’m certain there is no such word,” James continued. “But your friend could actually be right; the stomach is a gauge of the state of the body.”

“And the heart?” Paula threw the question at him like a challenge. “That’s where the real problem is.”

James tried, with reasonable success, to suppress his grin and pulled himself up on the cushions.

“I find, with most women I help, that the real problem – the true underlying problem – is a concern about a man.”

Paula returned his gaze. If he was expecting a response, she wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

“Can you describe your symptoms?” he asked.

“Stomach pains,” Paula said, quickly. “All around here. It’s like . . .”

“Indigestion?”

Paula glared her fury. Indigestion! That was exactly what her GP had suggested. No help at all.

“Then there’s my heart,” she said, moving her hand up to her chest. “It’s an ache, a physical pain, when I think of how I’ve been treated.”

“And your GP has ruled out anything – serious?” he asked.

“All his tests were normal, apparently.”

James leaned back in his shabby chair again and seemed to be fascinated by
the cracked ceiling.

Paula grew even more annoyed at his prolonged silence.

“So?” she demanded. “Do you think you can help me? How do we start?”

James smiled.

“You’re talking; I’m listening. We’ve already started.” He turned to face Paula and she was annoyed further by how smug he looked. “You ask how this works. An understandable question. We try to dig down to the root of the problem. But to do that, I will require your cooperation.

“I am different to regular doctors. They give you a pill or a lotion to negate the symptoms, if they can. I go straight to the heart of the matter and treat what is causing your symptoms in the first place.”

So, I found myself telling him, this weird, annoying stranger, all about
the holiday and what Steve did,” Paula said, waving her cinnamon bagel in the air for added emphasis.

“And did that help?” Steph asked.

Paula seemed to slump in her chair.

“Hard to say. He’s not like a real doctor at all. Too young, for a start. And he’s too chatty; it’s as if he isn’t taking things seriously enough.”

“Waste of time, then. I take it you won’t be going back?”

“Now, that’s where he’s been really sneaky. He charges a fortune. But the first payment is for two sessions. So, to get my money’s worth, I have to go back. And that’s when he starts the treatment.”

Steph looked wary.

“Hypnosis and massage? Should I come along as – I don’t know – some sort of chaperone?”

Paula bit a chunk out of her bagel.

“Don’t worry,” she mumbled as she chewed. “There’s no way some arrogant con-man will get one over on me.”

Paula lay on her front, her face fitted into a notch at the edge of the massage bench, so she could stare down at the fake-wood laminate floor. Her eyes followed the grey trainers that James wore as he moved around, placing smooth, heated stones in a row along her spine.

“Close your eyes,” he said.

No way, thought Paula. But she did feel relaxed, lying on the bench, and the heat of the stones was soothing. Why not; she closed her eyes.

“You are on holiday.” James’s voice wasn’t the dreamy, lulling tone that Paula had expected of a hypnotist. It was annoyingly confident. “A romantic break. You are on the beach: white sand, palm trees, the rhythmic sound of the sea breathing in, and then out. You can feel the sun on your back.”

“You’ve got some imagination,” Paula muttered.

“Even my fees won’t run to a trip to some exotic island.” Paula could hear the infuriating grin in James’s voice, then his tone changed. “Steve is there with you. Describe him to me.”

That was easy.

“Mid-twenties. He works out a lot – thick neck, muscles on top of muscles.”

“Nothing like me, then,” James said.

“Steve looks like the perfect man,” Paula said with just a hint of relish. “So, yeah, nothing like you.”

He’d walked straight into that one!

“He had, though, a roving eye . . .” James prompted.

Paula took a breath. She could see Steve in her imagination, on that beach, watching all the bikini-clad girls. She described how he had joined in with their beach volleyball games, and how he had danced with groups of them each evening at the hotel’s night club.

“It got to a point where he was spending more time with them than he was with me.”

“So how did that make you feel?” asked James quietly.

“Angry.” Paula was surprised at how quickly the answer sprang to her mind. “This was our holiday, and he was ruining it. We argued about it, and eventually I told him to go, to get out
of our hotel room.”

“And . . .”

“He did. He kept shouting that I was jealous, didn’t know a good thing when I had it.” Paula’s voice became sharper. “Well, of course I was jealous – what did he expect?”

“But the point is,” James’s calm voice floated over her, “that you told him to leave. It was your idea. Do you feel guilty about that at all?”

Paula hesitated, visualising the scene behind her closed eyes. She had done the right thing, she was sure of that.

She hadn’t considered though – not consciously, at least – that she might be feeling guilty.

“Would you have him back?” James asked now.

“No.” Of that, at least, she was certain. She felt James’s slender fingers press into her shoulders, working around her shoulder blades, kneading her like bread dough.

“I can feel your tension,” he said.

“It’s perfectly understandable. Steve was in the wrong, but you feel the break-up was your responsibility. You feel, I imagine, a little insulted. Those bikini-clad girls made you feel second best, less attractive – at least in Steve’s eyes.”

Paula didn’t want to make James any smugger than he already was – but, though his words stung, what he said certainly rang true.

“It helps,” he continued, “to have someone share your pain. Your heart ache is a symptom of your anger, and your perceived guilt.”

His fingers seemed to ease knots from her taut shoulders.

“Let go of those feelings. He’s not worth it.”

Paula suddenly realised how tired she felt, and her breathing calmed almost to sleep. James’s hands moved to the top of her back, slowly working down, removing the warm stones
one by one.

“You are back on the beach,” he said. “Without Steve. You don’t need him.”

And Paula was. She walked the edge of the gleaming sand, the clear sea washing over her feet.

The warm afternoon sun was behind her lighting the way ahead, a paradise of dunes and waving coconut palms.

It was a perfect setting, and she walked it alone, without Steve, and, for the moment, without guilt or anger.

Steph was incredulous.

“So, you actually told him that Steve was your perfect man?”

Paula shrugged.

“Physically, he is.” She gave a malicious grin. “I wish I could have seen his face, though, when I said Steve was nothing like him.”

“Not so muscular, then, is he, this Doctor James?”

“Hardly. And I told you, Steph, he’s not even a doctor.

“He’s tall, and a bit skinny to be honest. I expect he jogs or something to keep trim,” she conceded.

“And the heartache?”

“I have another session on Thursday.”

Paula was lounging on her beach, in a skimpy yellow bikini. She could feel the sun bright on her eyelids, hear the lapping of the waves against the shore and feel the breeze swirl gently around her feet and toes like the gentle motion of a soothing massage. She could hear James’s voice, somewhere above her.

“The heart is the body’s centre of emotional wellbeing,” he said. “There are direct links between emotional health and what you felt as – for want of a better phrase – being broken-hearted.”

Paula reached for a tall, iced glass, sipping at a rum cocktail. That makes sense, she thought, and felt herself relax, as if sinking into her padded lounger.

“There are complex neurological systems within the heart.” James warmed to his subject. “The heart and the brain can sometimes fight for control.”

Paula felt a warm glow in her chest as if her own heart were agreeing with this sentiment.

“You’ve been letting your heart rule your head,” James said. “Let go of Steve, there’s no blame. You are a very attractive woman. You know that you’re better off without him.”

Paula traced a finger idly through the soft white sand. She peered over her shades at the perfect beach. Steve was nowhere in sight, and she was glad of it. She closed her eyes drowsily.

But there was someone here with her, she could hear him talking.

“It is time to leave the beach scenario behind you now,” James said. “You no longer need it.”

Paula felt the cocktail glass transform in her hand to become a tumbler. She eased open her eyes to see not the sun, but the unshaded ceiling light directly above her. She was back in James’s shabby consulting room. His thumbs made circular motions on the balls of her feet as he explained about the various bodily channels to the heart.

Paula took slow, rhythmic breaths and allowed him to finish the massage, then she sat up slightly. The warmth she had felt on her chest turned out to be a heated cloth bag. James retrieved the bag and handed her a towelling dressing gown.

“Moistened herbs for localised healing,” he explained. “Here, drink the rest of this.”

The liquid in the tumbler wasn’t a cocktail after all.

“A distillation of hawthorn, as a heart tonic, and St John’s wort to lift the mood. How are you feeling? I want you to search your body for any pain or tension.”

Paula drew the fluffy robe around her and sighed deeply. She felt calm, relaxed. She thought of Steve, and there was no pain, no anguish or negative thought at all. She smiled.

Cured!” Steph had produced a bottle of rosé to celebrate. “You’re free of Steve, at last.” She poured out two glasses. “You’re sure now? No stomach pains? No aching heart?”

“It’s amazing, Steph,” Paula said. “After just three sessions, I can think of Steve, and yeah, I still know he’s a cheating sleazeball, but the thoughts don’t hurt any more.”

“Alternative treatments can work then.” Steph handed Paula a glass of fizz. “When I left, I looked back. James was standing at the doorway of the tanning shop. Skinny, untidy, scruffy hair. He waved, and watched me, all the way to the corner.”

Steph grinned.

“Clever man. I can see now what he’s done. He’s given you back the confidence in yourself.”

“I guess he has. You know, I do feel quite attractive again.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Steph took a sip.

“James said I should search my body – be aware of any twinges or pains. He’s worked wonders. I feel completely relaxed. Ooooh!”

“What is it?” Steph looked up at her in sudden alarm.

“A twinge, I think. Just here, in my elbow.” Paula reached for her phone. “Now, where’s James’s card? I definitely need another appointment.”