It’s not like Phoebe to zone out like this, but ever since leaving the flat, her thoughts have been all over the place. As she set off on her motorbike, she told herself that she needed to get it together. She would deal with everything when she got back later. She had to get into work mode. But sometimes it’s not as easy as flicking a switch. Now she’s finding it hard to concentrate. And conversations with Maude are difficult to follow at the best of times.
‘Everyone who lives in me and believes in me will never fucking die!’
Phoebe’s thoughts are jolted back into the room. For someone who believes herself to be Jesus, Maude has always had thefilthiest mouth. It’s one of the things Phoebe’s always secretly loved about her. But if you take out the swearing, most of Maude’s speeches are direct quotes from the Bible, something Phoebe isn’t sure the average person would guess if they heard Maude ranting out loud in the supermarket or on the bus. It’s always struck Phoebe that religious leaders of the past would almost certainly be considered mentally unwell if they walked the streets today. They’d probably be arrested.
‘He who loves his life will lose it, and he who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life.’ Maude stretches her arms out wide and then sits down heavily in her chair as though the sermon has exhausted her. She blinks rapidly and Phoebe allows her a moment’s pause in case there’s anything else she wants to say. It’s a trick she’s picked up over the years. Often, it’s when you think someone’s finished that the real truth comes out. But most people don’t bother waiting. Or listening in the first place, for that matter.
‘And how do you feel, about your life, Maude?’ Phoebe asks once she’s certain she’s finished, pouring them both another cup of tea from the pot.
‘My life?’ Maude replies, her voice quieter now. ‘I don’t have a life.’
Phoebe swallows hard at that. It doesn’t seem fair to get upset when her patients are the ones who have so much to deal with. But it’s not always easy to shove her emotions down inside her. Especially not today. She tucks her bright red hair behind her ears and leans forward slightly to show that she is listening, that Maude has her full attention despite the thoughts whizzing about in her brain.
‘I’m sorry to hear you’re feeling that way, Maude. That’s really tough. Can you tell me a bit more about that?’
The Maude who had stood up and delivered perfect lines from the Bible (well, with some minor alterations) just moments ago has morphed into a very different Maude. She seems shrunken, her shoulders rounded. When she says nothing, Phoebe tries a different tack.
‘How about we talk about some of the things you might like to see change in your life? What would make you happier, do you think?’
Maude looks over her shoulder and nods slightly, as if conferring with someone.
‘Well, if Judas hadn’t been such a bastard, for one.’ Despite everything, a smile tugs at Phoebe’s lips. But then Maude adds, ‘And I’d like to look after bees again.’
Of all the things Maude might have said, this is not what Phoebe was expecting.
‘Bees?’
Maybe it’s one of her visions again. Sometimes it’s hard to tell with Maude.
‘Yes. I used to look after the bees at the convent. None of the others wanted to do it, but I loved it.’
Another thing a stranger might not imagine if they were to encounter Maude in the street is that as a young woman, she used to be a nun. It’s something Phoebe had been surprised to find out too when she read through her notes, although she should have learnt, after years of working with people, that humans always have the capacity to surprise you. Maude had lived in a convent until her increasingly erratic behaviour anddisregard for the rules got her kicked out. From her notes, it seems she never really found her feet after that, her health deteriorating and making it harder – impossible, really – for her to slot back into society.
‘I know nothing about looking after bees. Is there a word for someone who does that?’
‘An apiarist,’ Maude says with a confident nod.
‘Well, I know nothing about what’s involved in being an apiarist. I’d love to hear more about it.’
This seems to ignite something inside Maude and she springs to life, telling Phoebe in detail about queen bees and the honey she used to steal from the convent, breaking her train of conversation only once to quote scripture, which she does standing up again.
‘My son, eat honey, for it is good, and the drippings of the honeycomb are sweet to your taste.’
She sits down heavily once more, seemingly worn out from the mini sermon. It must be pretty exhausting, being Maude.
‘Are you OK if I give you your medication now, Maude?’ Phoebe asks softly.
Luckily, she doesn’t make any fuss this time and Phoebe silently thanks her as she administers the injection as swiftly and smoothly as possible.
As Phoebe climbs back onto her motorbike outside Maude’s house after making sure there’s food in the fridge and electricity in the meter, she thinks about how the hell she might secure regular access to a beehive. There used to be a community mental health gardening group that had a beehive. but it closed down a year ago after another round of cuts. Butthis is the first time that Maude has expressed a real interest in anything in a long time. Phoebe can’t let her down.
Her next appointment takes Phoebe to a row of two-up two down council houses on the outskirts of a neighbouring town. Pulling up outside the neat little houses, a smile spreads across her face. She’s looking forward to this appointment.
Nineteen-year-old Ben has been doing so much better recently. Last time Phoebe saw him, he was bubbly and chatty, telling her all about the latest session of the football club she’d encouraged him to sign up to and even talking about applying for some jobs. She’s been in touch with his social worker since, the two of them agreeing that his future is looking so much brighter than when they first met him.
When Phoebe came to this street for the first time, Ben refused to let her in.
‘I’m just here for a chat and to help you,’ she had said through the letter box.
