It was so obvious, all the things she’d put down to teenage angst or premenstrual mood swings, being highly strung, overly sensitive. It was always there.
The consultant then reinforced his theory with facts Robin knew to be true.
However, factors that seem to increase the risk of developing or triggering depression include certain personality traits, such as low self-esteem and being too dependent, self-critical, or pessimistic, and more recently a traumatic or stressful event and the death of a loved one.
Oh yes, Willow was dependant all right. On everything Edmund had forced down her throat since she was old enough to understand his rules, his ethics. The most critical man on earth, who expected everyone to meet his high standards. Robin and the children included. Willow had strived to impress him, seeking his praise and when she failed it was as though she’d failed in a world that was too dark for her, too hard.
An example sprang to mind of how Edmund’s behaviour hadn’t helped their daughter’s hidden low esteem and over-critical nature. Willow studied theology and the philosophy of religion at Cambridge, coming out with a very decent 2:1 even though Edmund had grumbled that with her background it should have been a first. Robin was astounded and wanted to throttle him, then push him in an empty grave that had been dug for a funeral.
When, after her graduation, Willow announced that instead of teaching she’d set her sights and heart on becoming a priest Robin rejoiced. Although her dreams had been denied, the door to the priesthood was now open to women and Willow had the chance.
Oh, the irony. Of having a daughter so devoted to the church, her beliefs, and her parents only to be lumbered with a father who couldn’t see past his own bigoted ways and ambition; was totally incapable of supporting or allowing Willow to follow her vocation. And hell hath no fury like a vicar scorned.
Edmund was and remained firmly against the ordainment of women into the priesthood, as was the bishop and his cronies. Therefore, Willow’s intention would have placed Edmund in a wholly disagreeable position. How could she do this to him?
Robin had taken Willow’s side, told Edmund to back off. But Willow wasn’t strong enough to stand up to him, to reap the rewards of her hard work and devotion, to follow her vocation.
And Robin had been weak too; should have done more, but what?
In all of it her greatest regret was not realising how fragile Willow actually was. Not until the consultant had laid the past bare, and shown Robin every single sign she’d missed.
And then, what could be worse than the trauma of losing your baby, right there, in front of your eyes?
Erasing that image, Robin decided she needed something to do, to keep her mind and hands busy until Willow woke, so chose ironing, fetching the basket of laundry where on top lay one of Nate’s work shirts.
When Willow was discharged, she and Nate had moved into the vicarage. It was the best solution. Away from Maya’s bedroom where Willow would sit for hours in a trance, holding the little casket of ashes in her arms, or sobbing until her eyes were so swollen she could barely see.
Robin couldn’t bear it. Where had her happy little girl gone? Who embraced each day like the start of a great adventure. She loved the snow, thunderstorms, the seaside, singing hymns, swinging higher and higher at the park. She loved school, her teachers, Gina, all God’s creatures.
Why had Robin not seen the shadows? Because to believe in God, should one not accept that the devil exists. That he lurks in those dark recesses of our souls, in our subconscious, waiting for his chance to strike, to creep in unnoticed and take a prize. And what a prize, a child of God, a wannabe bride of Christ. The devoted, the pure of heart, the daughter of a vicar.
The shadows must have crept in when Robin wasn’t looking, at first, perhaps manifesting themselves in sorrow. When she was eleven, Willow found a dead sparrow in the garden and couldn’t understand the cruelty of the cat who’d mauled it, or the mummy bird who’d thrown it out of the nest, and why God or Jesus hadn’t saved it.
Robin had tried to explain the circle of life, that it was nature’s way but for days Willow sunk into herself, barely eating, staying in her room and being, as her teacher Mrs Turnock said, rather belligerent.
Then Willow emerged, a little sunbeam, as though nothing had happened so Robin moved on, until the next time and the next.
It had been easy to put her mood swings down to growing up. Her intense reaction to a flood in Pakistan or an earthquake in Turkey would render her speechless, sucking it all in then spewing horror at the unfairness of it all.
Willow dealt with her confusion and disappointment in God’s inaction by balancing it with action. Rallying Gina, making cakes, raiding their toys and books to sell on the village green, then donating the money to charity.
She always forgave God though, because of Edmund. Whenever Willow wobbled, Edmund via the power invested in him, would set her straight and because she was fragile, and needed strength, she grasped onto those words and assurances like a life raft. She became dependant on her father’s every word and sought his approval and counsel above others.
While she waited for the iron to warm up, Robin experienced a similar warmth, the heat of her anger towards him reaching boiling point and had she a handy button to press, steam would be released from every pore of her body.
The steam, real not imagined, billowed around the ironing board as Robin set about the pile of laundry, imagining Edmund’s face each time she pressed down really hard on Nate’s shirt. Even he had succumbed to the legacy of tragedy.
He was pulling away from his marriage, closing down his feelings for Willow, and Robin understood why. The wife he knew was no longer there. Then other times she was so angry with him, for giving up because he had. Robin saw it in his eyes. It was so sad. The loss of love, hope, a future, their child.
Wiping her brow, Robin could feel herself descending.
Focus on good things… for pity’s sake.
Okay. She was blessed to have some good friends, people she could rely on. Like Francesca who’d drifted out of their social circle many years ago but had, in her way remained useful as an alibi for when Robin met Arty.
Edmund always thought Francesca trite, and probably never gave her a thought, which was good. Sandra Dee’s sidekick now lived on a residential caravan site in Tenby with her third husband who grew marijuana and did a bit of this and that. At least Francesca was happy, and high, by all accounts. They kept in touch by texts and the odd phone call but hadn’t seen each other in the flesh for many years.
Then there was Gina, who used to visit Willow often. Reading to her, or they’d watch television, an oldFriendsbox set was their favourite. Sometimes they’d go for a drive and a walk around the park if Willow was up to it. Robin adored Gina.
