A Visit to the Healer
Helen squeezed the test in her hand, the white plastic strip showing, as always, a single, merciless line. Bright red and, as ever, alone.
She raised her arm to hurl the test into the bin, but at the last second, her hand just sunk, limp and defeated. Whats the point? Throw it or not, nothing changes. Again, she wasnt pregnant.
Helen and Mark were both thirty. Six years married, for four of which theyd been tryingreally trying. Nothing. Both in perfect health. The doctors just shrugged: You two are far too wound up about this. Relax! Let nature do its thing and all will be well.
Easy for them to say, but Helen lived her months in two-week cycles, swinging from hope to despair. She imagined phantom symptoms, charted everything, made calculations, tried her best. And then the moment of truth would come and her world would fade to drab, exhausted greys.
She worked the counter at the Post Office. The job was tedious but the company was warm, a team of women. Lunch breaks were spent in the small staff room, filled with the smell of fresh magazines and homemade food in Tupperware.
That day there were three at the table: Helen, the keen intern Chloe, and Mrs. Valerie Carter, a woman past fifty and a perpetual seeker of folk remedies. Valerie was always treating her “female ailments” with fervourone day it was a suspicious herbal tea, the next shed driven out to see some gifted healer.
You know, up near Harrogate, Valerie mumbled through a mouthful of sausage roll, nodding Helens way, that’s where the real magic is! Old Agnes. Must be pushing ninety, but her eyessharp and clear as a girls! Its like she sees right through you.
Helen stabbed half-heartedly at her beans on toast. Shed heard these tales a hundred times.
So, she charms away illnesses or something? Chloe asked, barely interested.
Illnesses! Valerie snorted. No, shes a wonder! That Lucy Goodwinsame street as mecouldnt have a baby for years, saw every specialist in Yorkshire. But she went to Agnes, and six months later shes waddling round with a bump! And my cousin Peters baby, his hernia was healedno doctors, no knives. A few whispered words, a bit of a poultice, and gone. Cures drinkers, lifts curses a miracle, that woman!
Normally Helen would have brushed this off. But today, after another failed test, a tiny, persistent voice inside whispered, What if? What if this time? Medicine had nothing more to offer.
How how does one see her? she found herself asking, surprised at the words.
Valeries face brightened and she explained: the bus to the crossroads, then a good two miles walk down the lane to the village itself. And dont bother with a phone. Agnes wouldnt have one in the house if you paid her. You just show up and wait; theres always a crowd.
Helen, for the rest of the day, felt like she was drifting. A seed had been planted. Agnes miracle Harrogate.
***
Mark came home late. It was already dark. Helen heard the latch, his heavy work boots in the hall. He walked into the kitchen, tired but handsome as evertall, athletic, with that serious, thoughtful face that rarely smiled. Mark worked as a design engineer at a big firm, all blueprints, calculations, and deadlines.
Helen adored him. She had done since the day he, the unflappable second-year, helped her find a stray volume of Eliot in the university library. Later there were walks in the rain, kisses in the drafty hall of her old student digs, disastrous attempts at pasta in the shared kitchen. He was her haven, her love. Theyd imagined a family: a little boy with his eyes, a little girl with her curls. They truly believed happiness was just a matter of following the rules: meet, love, marry, have children.
But the plan had gone off the rails.
Why so late? Helen asked, warming up dinner.
Deadlines looming. Its chaos at the office. He rubbed his brow. You all right?
She sat across, watching him eat, heart hammering.
Mark, do you believe in miracles?
He looked up, puzzled.
What, like the boss suddenly giving everyone a raise? Not especially. Im not big on superstition, love.
Well, not quite, Helen fidgeted. You know, some people have gifts. Healers, who can do what doctors cant.
Mark put down his fork.
Whats this, Helen? Been reading too much of that new age rubbish?
No! A woman at work mentioned this old healer in a village near Harrogatereally powerful, apparently. Shes helped loads of people with fertility She blurted it out, desperately, before her courage failed.
Mark burst out laughing.
Youre serious? You, Miss English Lit, my sensible wifefalling for country magic and old wives tales? In this day and age? Sorry, but its nonsense. Please tell me youre joking.
But people say it helps!
People say black cats bring bad luck too. Its all superstition, love. Theres nothing wrong with us. It just isnt the right time yet. We should relax, stop obsessing. Not go chasing frauds down country lanes.
What if she isnt a fraud? her voice was soft, pleading. Please, Mark. Lets go this weekend, just to see. Im begging you.
He looked at her, undisguised disappointment in his eyes.
This weekend? I have to finish those plans. Honestly, Helen, I didnt think youd fall for this superstitious rubbish. Im really disappointed.
He got up, put his plate in the sink.
Dont be childish, Helen. Itll happen when its meant to. Not like this.
He disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Helen sat at the table, fingers digging into the wood. He was disappointed. But her tears every monthwasnt that disappointing? Her desperate hope?
Fine, she thought, suddenly cold inside. If you wont take me, Ill find my own way.
*****
Saturday morning saw Mark posted at his computer in the study. Helen popped her head in.
I think Ill pop round to Mum and Dads today. Mum says theyre doing a barbecue.
Mark, eyes glued to the screen, just nodded.
All right. Say hi for me. Get a cab if youre late, OK?
Will do.
At the coach station, Helen pushed through the usual bustle to the Rural Services counter.
One for Harrowby Village, please, she said.
The ticket ladya stern-looking woman in a navy cardiganjust frowned.
Theres no direct. Only to the crossroads at the A64. Tell the driver, hell let you offthen youve three miles on foot along the lane. Going on your own?
On my own.
Helen bought her ticket, hands shaking. She felt reckless, foolishbut she couldnt stop. The coach was clunky, smelled of diesel. She sat by the window, clutching her bag, watching the outskirts slip by, then bleak fields under a sullen sky.
What am I doing? she thought. Heading to the middle of nowhere, to see some old woman Marks right. Its mad. But the thought of holding her childs hand, of laughter echoing in her flatof filling that emptinesswas stronger than reason.
At the crossroads, the drivera burly bloke in a grubby parkashouted, Harrowbyif thats you, love, this is your stop!
Helen clambered out. The coach rumbled away, leaving only silent fields and a thin line of trees. The lane stretched ahead. She took a deep breath and set out. Fifteen minutes in, rain began to fall, turning to sleet. She stumbled over ruts, tugging her collar up, the bag dragging at her shoulder. Four miles in thisno walk in the park.
Her shoes were soaked, hands numb in wool gloves. Still, she trudged on. No longer from hope, but stubbornnessif nothing else, she owed herself an ending.
Harrowby was half a dozen cottages strung along a single road. Agnes house was easy to spot: battered Vauxhalls parked outside, and even a glossy Land Rover. Two women stood on the step, wrapped in scarves. Helen joined the queue. One went in, then another. Another woman waited in her car with a child. Helen waited, shivering as snow began to fall harder, for more than three hours.
At last, the last woman left, and Helen went in.
The house was simple, timbered, but comfortable. The porch smelt of dried herbs, baking, and something medicinal. In the main room, an old woman sat at a worn table. Not a storybook witchjust a very old lady, in a dark dress and headscarf. But those eyes
Valerie hadnt lied. Agnes eyes were bright grey, sharp and scrutinising. They looked Helen over, missing nothing.
Hello, dear, she said in a low, gravelly voice. Youre frozen. Sit down. Ill get you some herbal tea.
She poured a thick, fragrant cup. Helen sippedhot, a bit bitter, sweetened with honey.
Thank you.
So, whyve you come? Agnes watched her closely.
Helen swallowed.
I I cant seem to get pregnant. My husband and I, we want a baby so much. The doctors say were fine. But it just wont happen.
Agnes gazed at her for a long time and shook her head.
Theres nothing wrongnothing wrong with your body, love. You can have children.
Helens heart dropped. The same old dead end.
Then why why not?
Gods not ready to give yet. Not your time. He knows best. Maybe theres a mistake in your life youve got to fix first. A big one.
What mistake? Helen asked, confused. She ran through possibilitiesshed never had a termination, never really harmed anyone. Her parents? She got on fine with them. Mark? She loved him!
Agnes just shrugged bony shoulders.
Thats for you to figure out. If you see it and sort ittherell be a child. If not there wont.
Helen fought the urge to cry, anger and disappointment tightening her throat. Useless. The old woman said nothing concretejust the kind of vague advice anyone could give. Helen shoved some twenty pound notes into the tin on the table, not caring how much.
Thank you, she muttered, getting up.
Only then did she realise night had completely fallen. Snow battered the window.
Oh but how the bus
What bus? Agnes raised her brows. Last one went at six. Didnt you drive?
Panic hit her like a bucket of cold water.
I I didnt think.
Well, you can stay the night. Spare bed in the box room. Tomorrow, walk back to the road, youll catch the first coach.
The thought of stayinghere, with the old woman, at the end of her dashed hopesmade Helen nauseous. But ringing Mark, admitting shed lied and landed up at some healers miles away never.
All right, she said softly. Thank you.
Agnes led her to a little room. A metal bed with a lumpy mattress and towering pillows. Helen sat on the edge, feeling like shed hit rock bottom.
She couldnt stay herenot another minute! Tossing on her coat, she slipped out.
Snow was falling thick, swirling over the sleeping village. Helen stood, lost. Then, up the lane, headlights flareda large car crawling closer. A 4×4. Without thinking, Helen dashed into the road, waving frantically.
The car stopped, window sliding down.
Whats happened? asked a male voice.
Helen ran up, breathless.
Sorry are you heading to York? Could you give me a lift? I missed the last coach.
The drivera man about her age in a dark jacketlooked her over.
Hop in. Im going that way.
She climbed into the warm cabin, full of leather and clean cologne. Instantly, she realised the madness of it all: dark, deserted village, strange mans car. Shed never dared anything like this before.
They set off down the snow-bitten road.
Visiting family in Harrowby? the man asked, out of politeness.
Not really just something I had to do. And you?
Went to see my mum. She lives here. Names Ben, by the way.
Helen.
Nice to meet you, Helen, even if it is underer, dramatic circumstances. He smiled, kind and open.
She managed a glance at him. Strong profile, gentle brown eyes, looked trustworthy.
Thank you. I I really didnt know what else to do.
No problem. Easy to see youre not a local, frozen and all alone out there.
They drove in comfortable silence, tyres hissing on wet snow. Helen relaxed bit by bit. He seemed safe.
You go to see your mum often? Helen asked.
Every weekend if I can. Dads gone, she wont leave the village. Loves it, in her bones.
Thats nice.
And you? Family? Kids?
The question cut deep.
No children, she said, quickly. I do have a husband.
Fair enough, he caught the tone and moved on. Me, Ive neither now. Divorced half a year ago.
Im sorry.
It happens. Just werent on the same page. She wanted the city life, parties, travel, career. The thought of kids terrified her. She said it would be the end of freedom. I waitedhoped shed change her mind, but she never did. By the time we parted, I was wanting a family more than ever.
Helen stared into the dark. How was it some people longed for children, while others saw them as the end? The world turned upside down.
Thats sad, she said. Children arent the end. Theyre a beginning.
I agree, Ben said, quietly.
The rest of the drive they chatted about nothing in particularthe weather, the city, books. Conversation was easy, no pressure. For a moment, Helen forgot her sadness, the failed trip. There was safety here, and warmth.
He dropped her right at her building, a flat block in the city centre.
Thank you so much, Helen said, getting out. You really did save me.
No worries. Take care, Helen.
He drove away. It was nearly midnight. Now for the hardest partwhat to tell Mark? Shed just say shed missed her parents so much she took a taxino big deal.
Up to the fourth floor, key in the lock. The hallway light was on. But she froze.
By the door, an unfamiliar pair of womens bootshigh heels, real leather. On the hook, beside Marks coat, a mink jacket. Short, expensive.
Helens blood turned to ice. She moved, one, two steps, legs numb. The door to the bedroom was ajar; laughter and murmurs drifted out.
She pushed it open.
It was as ugly as a soap opera. Mark, hair mussed, in nothing but boxers, slumped on the edge of the bed. Next to him, enveloped in a sheet, was a womanyoung, striking, with tousled dark hair. Her black blouse carelessly tossed on the floor.
Three pairs of eyes met in cold horror. Then, chaos.
Helen?! Mark blurted, whitening. I thought you were at your parents
The woman squealed, shielding herself as she scrambled for her dress.
Yes, Helens voice was hoarse. At my parents. Meanwhile, you took your chance. How convenient.
Helen, wait, I can explain, its not what you think Mark leapt up, reaching out.
Not what I think? her own shout stunned her. Everything cellar-deepthe despair, bitterness, months of emptinesspoured out now. What am I, blind? Who is she? How longs this been going on? While I ran from doctor to doctor, praying every month, you found yourself a replacement?!
Shes shes a colleague, Mark mumbled, uselessly. It just happened once
Once?! Helen grabbed the nearest thinga bottle of his aftershaveand hurled it at the wall. Glass exploded, the chemical reek filling the room. The girl, covering herself, slipped away. Helen didnt want to stay with the cheat either.
She ran. Out the flat, down the stairs, outside into the biting snow. She ran, sobbing, not seeing the street. Marks stunned face, that strangers mink, their crumpled bed replayed in her head.
She staggered, nearly tripping. A car horn hummed softly next to her. Headlights lit up the pavements.
A black 4×4 was easing up beside her.
The window dropped.
Helen? Whats the matter?
She couldnt speak, just stood sobbing. Ben got out, approached.
You forgot your gloves, he said, holding out her blue woollen pair. I came back round to return them, but youd gone. I was parked here ages, trying to decide what to dothen saw you running Are you OK?
Helen shook her head, mouthing nothing. Then she pressed her forehead into his shoulder and burst out crying. Ben asked nothing. He simply opened the passenger door.
Hop in. You shouldnt be on your own right now.
She obeyed, moving in a dream. He drove her awayfrom that home, that world she no longer belonged in.
*****
Everything unravelled quickly. Helen packed her things and moved in with her parents. Mark came round every day. At first defensive, then begging, then bitter.
Helen, it was one mistake! Just once! You were never really with mealways chasing the baby dream! I needed something, some attention! She came onto me! I love you!
She stared at him: the handsome, lost, now-foreign man she no longer knewand felt nothing but disgust.
Stop it, Mark. Thats enough. If you could betray us so easily, then the mistake was our marriage. Im filing for divorce.
He thought she was bluffingbut Helen was resolute.
While the legal process dragged on, Ben called from time to time, politely checking in. How are you? Okay? Then he suggested coffee, a film. Helen accepted. With Ben, everything was easy. No pressure, no demandsjust company, laughter, and gentle encouragement. The wound inside gradually filled with something warm.
They took their time, both wary. But being together was effortless. With Mark, there had been passion and habit, but with Ben she breathed, was herself. No need to be perfect, no need to anxiously hopea comfort shed never known.
The divorce was hard, but Helen survived. The day she picked up her decree absolute from the registry, Ben was waiting on the steps.
So, free woman? he grinned.
Free, she beamed, grinning properly for the first time in forever.
He took her to a cosy little bistro for dinner. Wine, light conversationno declarations, no promises. Just simple, present happiness.
Then months later, Helen noticed the signs. First she blamed stress, then shrugged it off as a late period. She bought a test, expecting nothing. But this timethere it was: two strong, unmistakable lines.
She sat on the edge of the bathtub, staring in disbelief, then burst into happy tears. She phoned Ben straight away. He was there in twenty minutes.
Im pregnant, she said simply at the door.
He halted, stunned, then his face broke into joy and relief. Helen cried again as he hugged her tight.
There, see? he whispered in her ear. See? It happened on its own. No healers, no clinics, no stress. Just because it was meant to.
Yes, she said, pressing her face to his shoulder.
Now will you marry me? He tipped her chin, eyes shining. I wont let you go. Our baby needs me.
She laughed through tears and nodded.
That night, lying in the dark with his hand on her still-flat but suddenly precious stomach, Helen thought of Agnes gruff voice: Youve got to fix your mistake. The big mistake.
She understood at last. The mistake wasnt her desperate actions, nor chasing a miracle. The mistake was the dead marriage, living beside someone only out of habit and longing for something that wasnt theirs.
It took letting goof the past, of the broken, pointless dreamingfor something new to grow.
She turned to Ben, who was dozing off, and whispered:
Thank you.
He didnt hear. But she was sure, in his sleep, he smiled.
