First Light

59 tarte tatin

Her dad starts the conversation when we all sit down to eat, asking me what course I do for university. He sits opposite me, with Faye's mum opposite her.

"Computer science." I answer.

"Ah, très bien, very good. Computer science is very respectable. I only wish our Faye had picked something useful."

The table falls silent for a second and I look across to Faye, whose eyes are trained on her plate, cutting into her quiche quietly.

"Psychology isn't a bad choice to pick," I say in the most respectful tone I can muster, despite the prick of annoyance I feel under the surface of my skin. "There's still a lot of options you can pick from for jobs."

"They're all pretty useless, no, don't you think?" Her mum asks. "Therapy and mental health and all of that. My generation never had any access to any of that and we were fine. Younger generations I think are a little weak, they've lost some of that strength you need to be able to look after yourself. You have too much imagination nowadays and people make a big deal out of nothing. I feel as though there are new made-up problems every day!"

Mr Dubois nods in agreement. "Psychiatrists and all of those people just want to take people's money. And people are foolish enough to let them."

My teeth hurt from how hard I'm pressing them together to appear calm. I force myself to stab a tomato with my fork and bring it to my mouth to stop myself from saying anything I might regret.

Imagine being the parents of a daughter who is so obviously struggling with multiple mental health problems and thinking it is fake, and that any kind of help shouldn't be given. My anger is replaced by a feeling of disgust. Disgust at them for being so close-minded.

"You think mental health is fake?" The steadiness of my voice is unnerving to my ears.

Mr Dubois laughs as if I've asked the stupidest thing ever. "Why, of course. Mad people who were locked up in asylums don't exist nowadays. A lot of those people just did it for attention, you know."

"Right." I'm afraid to say any more in case the volume of my voice raises significantly.

"Or they pretended, remember, Arnaud. Just because they thought that living in society was too difficult." Mrs Dubois tuts as if in disgust.

"You know that a lot of people placed into institutions were done so against their will, though, right? They didn't want to be there. The staff treated them very inhumanely, and then there's the electroshock therapy which is only one of the horrible forms of 'therapy' that they thought would cure them. The actual living conditions were really unsanitary... There was nothing appealing about them. I don't think anyone wanted to be voluntarily placed in one of those."

Her parents are both looking at me like I've just insulted their entire heritage.

"You seem to know a lot about those insane asylums, hmm? They teach you that in computer science?" Mrs Dubois asks.

"No." I answer.

"What are they teaching you, then?"

And the subject is rerouted.

Meanwhile, Faye doesn't speak unless she's asked a question directly, and even then it's a short answer.

I manage to finish my food before anyone else's.

"You can have some more, if you like. There's plenty in the kitchen," Mrs Dubois offers. "Just not too much as you'll need space for pudding."

"Oh, thank you," I get up, my hand reaching towards Faye's plate. "Did you want some?"