Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER
Sydney, Australia – 0653hrs
Ivy arrived at work early. She had slept fitfully after too many joints and too much wine – found it difficult to distract herself from thoughts of Andrew. They had been together for five years – had lived together for most of it – and Ivy had finally found the courage to face what they had become – disconnected and desperate. Andrew had moved out of their Leichhardt terrace over a month ago – but his new apartment in Newtown felt suffocatingly close. Ivy had become fearful of the inner west suburbs, her suburbs, expecting to see Andrew wherever she went. So she stayed at home instead – smoked and drank herself into a stupor – or barricaded herself at work – surrounded by a concerning mix of crime and mental illness. Her own mental state was worrying enough – anxious, cynical and reckless at a resting state. Numb and detached when she had consumed enough of something, anything, to dull her senses. She knew that work was an unhealthy way to avoid what was happening – but focussing on her patients’ problems was an easy way to escape her own existence.
She was trained as a forensic psychologist – something her mother regularly commented on. You? A forensic psychologist? But she was proud of what she’d become and felt a sense of purpose through conceptualising her patients’ issues and trying to make sense of their complicated thoughts and behaviours. Ivy had been obsessed with crime since she could remember – encouraged by her grandmother – a woman she loved fiercely – who had introduced her to Edgar Alan Poe and Alfred Hitchcock well before her seventh birthday. After a chaotic upbringing and an unconventional family, Ivy was not surprised to fall into the world of forensic psychology. On a good day, herpatients could be like little gifts, unwrapped to reveal something special and unique. But over time, they had left a stain on her – a white sheet turned grey.
Ivy parked in front of Bradford Prison – waved to a bunch of officers, out for a quick cigarette. Opening the door of her new Prius, she felt the humid air catch in her throat, as sweat popped off her chest. The city had been in a heat wave for days, the temperature edging 40 on more than a few occasions, hot even at this hour. She closed her eyes and thought of the ocean nearby. Ivy could smell salt and inhaled deeply. Decided to go to Maroubra Beach in her lunch break. She had made this promise before but usually didn’t get time to follow through with it. Ivy walked towards the Forensic Hospital where her office was located. The Hospital was a metal structure built next to the Prison and designed to house mentally disordered offenders and those found not guilty by reason of mental illness – the most depraved and disturbed criminals in New South Wales. The contrast between Bradford Prison and the Forensic Hospital unnerved her. The Prison was old heavy brick – filled with history and hate but honest and predictable. The Hospital was different – cold and stark, brutally modern – it felt unknown – its new shiny windows suggesting a secret that should be kept hidden. She shivered in the morning sun as she walked towards the steel doors.