Read Online The Truth About Julia: A Chillingly Timely Psychological Novel by Schaffner Anna - Free Book Online
Authors: Schaffner Anna
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sister, and I care so much for you. Can’t you see that? But I have to start living my own life, and you need to start living yours.’
I began to cry. I couldn’t speak. This wasn’t at all what I’d expected. A part of me had still been hoping that I’d become her confidante once again, like in the old days, that she’d finally admit that Jeremy wasn’t that great after all, that he was terrible in bed and really boring company. But Julia wasn’t impressed with my tears. Instead of hugging me, she sighed, rolled her eyes and ordered cake. It was pretty cold, I thought, to be honest.
‘You really need to start eating again, Amy. Mum and Dad are terribly worried about you, and so am I. But I also feel that your little hunger strike is a bit passive-aggressive, as though you’re trying to make me feel guilty. Don’t do that to me, OK? Come on, let’s be friends again. These cakes look delicious, don’t they?’
It was a totally unfair accusation, and really infantilizing, too, and I didn’t like it one bit. Then she started to talk about how wonderfully clever Jeremy and his friends were, what an exciting time she was having, how the two of them went to all kinds of political gatherings, and that their entire group of friends would travel to Cuba over the winter holidays for two weeks. She had long finished her cake – a large slice of Black Forest gateau – and I could tell that she was watching me and expecting me to eat mine, too, but I just couldn’t swallow. I couldn’t. I pushed bits of cake around my plate to give the impression I was engaging with my food, but every time I lifted my fork I felt like my throat was constricting and my mouth was going dry.
The next morning, Mum came up to my room and sat down on my bed again. She took my hand and suggested I see a therapist because she and Dad were extremely concerned about my weight loss – it was totally obvious to me that Julia had instructed her to do so. She was clearly trying to pass on responsibility to someone else once again, so that she could stop worrying about me. Someone who’d get paid for it, like a nanny or something. It was humiliating. But once a week for three years to come – until I, too, left home for university – I visited the consultancy of a woman called Molly Unsworth-Todd, who tried to help me to come to terms with what she called my ‘issues with nurture’. But our sessions didn’t help at all, as you can probably tell. I didn’t like that woman, and I don’t think she liked me much, either. Often, we sat in silence for almost the entire fifty minutes. It was pretty uncomfortable, actually. Most of the time, I just didn’t feel like sharing anything with her. She wore this weirdly shaped small golden medallion on a chain around her neck, and I kept thinking that she’d somehow convince me to join some strange cult if I opened up to her. I also didn’t like the way she folded her plump white little hands in her lap, like she was secretly praying to some obscure divinity. She was getting paid to listen to me, that was her job, and I just never believed her for a second when she said she cared, you know? I mean, obviously she didn’t. She just did it for the money.
Julia did travel to Cuba, and apparently had an amazing time there, and she stayed together with Jeremy for another two months. But shortly before she finished school, she broke up with him – she’d decided quite suddenly that he was a total hypocrite, all words and no action. She seemed to get over the end of her relationship very quickly, in spite of what Mum had told me about the ‘intensity’ and ‘all-consuming nature’ of first love. She delivered a highly politicized speech at our school’s end-of-year ceremony, which enraged some of the parents so much that they hissed and heckled. It was pretty amazing, really. Virtually all the school kids, in contrast, supported her, and we broke into loud ‘Julia’ chants that completely drowned
I began to cry. I couldn’t speak. This wasn’t at all what I’d expected. A part of me had still been hoping that I’d become her confidante once again, like in the old days, that she’d finally admit that Jeremy wasn’t that great after all, that he was terrible in bed and really boring company. But Julia wasn’t impressed with my tears. Instead of hugging me, she sighed, rolled her eyes and ordered cake. It was pretty cold, I thought, to be honest.
‘You really need to start eating again, Amy. Mum and Dad are terribly worried about you, and so am I. But I also feel that your little hunger strike is a bit passive-aggressive, as though you’re trying to make me feel guilty. Don’t do that to me, OK? Come on, let’s be friends again. These cakes look delicious, don’t they?’
It was a totally unfair accusation, and really infantilizing, too, and I didn’t like it one bit. Then she started to talk about how wonderfully clever Jeremy and his friends were, what an exciting time she was having, how the two of them went to all kinds of political gatherings, and that their entire group of friends would travel to Cuba over the winter holidays for two weeks. She had long finished her cake – a large slice of Black Forest gateau – and I could tell that she was watching me and expecting me to eat mine, too, but I just couldn’t swallow. I couldn’t. I pushed bits of cake around my plate to give the impression I was engaging with my food, but every time I lifted my fork I felt like my throat was constricting and my mouth was going dry.
The next morning, Mum came up to my room and sat down on my bed again. She took my hand and suggested I see a therapist because she and Dad were extremely concerned about my weight loss – it was totally obvious to me that Julia had instructed her to do so. She was clearly trying to pass on responsibility to someone else once again, so that she could stop worrying about me. Someone who’d get paid for it, like a nanny or something. It was humiliating. But once a week for three years to come – until I, too, left home for university – I visited the consultancy of a woman called Molly Unsworth-Todd, who tried to help me to come to terms with what she called my ‘issues with nurture’. But our sessions didn’t help at all, as you can probably tell. I didn’t like that woman, and I don’t think she liked me much, either. Often, we sat in silence for almost the entire fifty minutes. It was pretty uncomfortable, actually. Most of the time, I just didn’t feel like sharing anything with her. She wore this weirdly shaped small golden medallion on a chain around her neck, and I kept thinking that she’d somehow convince me to join some strange cult if I opened up to her. I also didn’t like the way she folded her plump white little hands in her lap, like she was secretly praying to some obscure divinity. She was getting paid to listen to me, that was her job, and I just never believed her for a second when she said she cared, you know? I mean, obviously she didn’t. She just did it for the money.
Julia did travel to Cuba, and apparently had an amazing time there, and she stayed together with Jeremy for another two months. But shortly before she finished school, she broke up with him – she’d decided quite suddenly that he was a total hypocrite, all words and no action. She seemed to get over the end of her relationship very quickly, in spite of what Mum had told me about the ‘intensity’ and ‘all-consuming nature’ of first love. She delivered a highly politicized speech at our school’s end-of-year ceremony, which enraged some of the parents so much that they hissed and heckled. It was pretty amazing, really. Virtually all the school kids, in contrast, supported her, and we broke into loud ‘Julia’ chants that completely drowned
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