Echoes. Laura Dockrill

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СКАЧАТЬ brickwork of a once elegant home now littered with graffiti and the papery residue of club night posters. The nearby windows boarded up or punctured with gaping holes, split rubbish bins splattered their insides over the pavement.

      ‘Hello,’ she said into the dirty intercom, ‘I’m here to see Doctor Ellie Sage.’

      The door released and Caitlyn, vulnerable, nervous, stepped inside. The hallway was a dismal cave of a place, taken over by mops, brooms and buckets. The carpet on the stairs was boot trodden and spoiled, blotches of blackened gum and brown coca-cola stains had seeped into the fibres. But the most overwhelmingly disturbing aspect was the smell; a brassy smell that was brutal on the nostrils and the back of the throat. As soon as Caitlyn became aware of the stench, it only got worse and she began to imagine all the vile scenarios that might have produced such an odour. Caitlyn was wary about going further; she put her hand on the banister for support and peeked her head round to get a better look upstairs.

      ‘Hello?’ she called up.

      No answer.

      ‘Hel-lo?’ she tried again.

      Nothing.

      She walked up the staircase further, her face red and puffy, tears of perspiration dribbling from her forehead and upper lip. She thought about turning around and going home but what would she tell her sister? That she had failed again? Besides, this diet did let you eat cream cakes.

      She went up another flight of stairs.

      ‘Hello, I called yesterday,’ she said into the darkness. ‘I’m looking for Doctor Ellie Sage. My name is Caitlyn Anderson…?’

      She had got to the top of the stairs. She huffed and looked ahead of her. She had reached the landing of what seemed to be a family home, however there was an odd sense of an unsettling sickness that resonated throughout the atmosphere, like a bad taste in the mouth. The air here was clearer but dust particles still danced like puffs of spilt talcum powder and the air was still foggy with the awkward stench of discomfort. If senses were a dial on a compass, all arrows would point to ‘YOU HAVE GONE THE WRONG WAY.’

      At the top of the landing there was a very small, insignificant door made of cheap wood. The door handle had broken off so a screwdriver hung out of a hole as a makeshift handle. Caitlyn read the lettering:

      

      DR E. SAGE

      

      Caitlyn knocked on the door with her grapefruit-sized fist and awaited a response.

      ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Is anybody there?’

      The smell was quite unbearable as she stood waiting for the door to open, the cocktail of awfulness included sewage, blocked drains, burning hair, chalk and that same overriding smell of metal. Caitlyn decided to leave and started to make her way back down the staircase.

      ‘Miss Anderson?’ a northern voice called after her.

      Caitlyn froze.

      ‘Miss Anderson, are you here for your appointment?’

      Caitlyn was a bit embarrassed. ‘Sorry, I thought you weren’t…perhaps…in. I knocked but…yes…here I am,’ she warbled nervously as blood sneaked up her neck, flooding her large face.

      Dr E. Sage was small and mousey; she had long, dark hair and her parting was owned by a set of orange roots. Her pale, almost vampyric skin lit up the dark corridor like a beacon.

      ‘Would you like to come upstairs?’

      The office was just as grim as the rest of the building. Caitlyn felt disturbed slightly by the yellow-tinged wallpaper, the damp circles that swamped the ceiling and the spiders’ webs that joined the curtains to the beaten-up bookcase.

      ‘Take a seat, Miss Anderson.’ Doctor Sage directed Caitlyn to a battered swivel chair, the cushion was moth eaten, yellow sponge bled out of the holes. ‘I believe you’re here for the diet. Where did you hear about us?’ the doctor asked whilst filling in a form. The biro she wrote with was so badly chewed the end had come off exposing the refill cylinder.

      ‘Erm…on the Internet.’

      The doctor continued to scribble.

      ‘Now for the measuring. Please stand.’

      The doctor was instructive and forward; she pushed back her chair and made her way over to Caitlyn.

      ‘Arms up.’ With a tape measure she began measuring Caitlyn’s clumpy arms. ‘Very good,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘Part your legs now please, Miss Anderson.’ She got onto her knees and measured Caitlyn’s ankles, calves and thighs. ‘They’ve been under a lot of stress, Miss Anderson. Looks like you have come just in time. Your chest please.’ The doctor began behind Caitlyn, vulnerable, sick with embarrassment, and moved round, her left hand still behind Caitlyn’s back and then brought both hands to the front, over Caitlyn’s breasts to measure.

      Caitlyn knew it wasn’t a good idea, but she looked down to check the measurement–she no longer knew what was big and what was gigantic. Her eyes chased the inches until she became distracted by the doctor’s fingernails; rooted in each nail lay a thick heavy slug of grime and dirt, and perfectly embedded in each nail was a frame of what looked like dried blood. Caitlyn swallowed hard and, not wanting to make her discomfort obvious, looked forwards again and locked eyes, accidentally, with Doctor Sage.

      ‘Satisfactory for you, Miss Anderson?’ Doctor Sage asked.

      ‘I think so…yes, quite, thank you.’ Caitlyn forced a smile that made her want to scream. The doctor must have eaten something messy, chocolate cake perhaps? It happened.

      ‘Step onto the scales please, Miss Anderson,’ the doctor demanded.

      ‘I’d rather wait till next time if that’s okay, it’s just that I…’

      ‘Do you take weight loss seriously, Miss Anderson?’ Doctor Sage tensed her square jaw and shook the head of the scales. ‘We must weigh you otherwise we cannot test our progress, and that’s what we want isn’t it? Progress?’ The doctor’s lips pulled in like the opening of a drawstring purse.

      Caitlyn nodded and slid off her flip-flops before stepping onto the scales. She had not been on a set of scales in over a year and knew by the feel of the clothes she could still just about squash in to that she was at her biggest ever. Doctor Sage wrote down some numbers and nodded. Caitlyn watched a moth obsess over a light bulb.

      ‘You must also take these every day, twice a day.’ The doctor handed Caitlyn a box of beautifully made cupcakes, they were like something out of a magazine. They sat proud, oversized, with cake sponge pouring over the paper casing. Each had a shiny, ruby red cherry sitting perfectly on the top of the finely iced topping. They were the most wonderful, delightful cupcakes Caitlyn had ever come across.

      ‘You having a laugh?’ Caitlyn giggled.

      ‘Twice a day, every day,’ Doctor Sage confirmed.

      ‘They are so beautiful, I don’t want to ruin them by eating them,’ Caitlyn laughed.

      ‘Do you take weight loss seriously, Miss Anderson?’ СКАЧАТЬ