How to Save a Life

by S. D. Robertson

  That said, we have been messaging each other a lot since then; I’ve also asked her out for dinner on Friday, and she’s accepted, so that bodes well.

  I have the feeling Meg’s about to ask me if there’s anything going on between us, but instead she turns the conversation to Rita and her offer to run the barbershop in my absence.

  ‘Made any decision about that yet?’ she asks. ‘You ought to because, in the meantime, your business is closed.’

  ‘I know that, Meg. I’m working on it.’

  ‘Working on what? What does that even mean, Luke? One way or another, you need to give her an answer – and you need to do so soon. I honestly can’t see why you wouldn’t take her up on the offer. It’s the perfect solution.’

  The truth is I am coming around to the idea. I was thinking that maybe I could turn up just before closing time every day and lock up with her. That way she’s not on her own and I’m not worrying about it. In my current state, I’m not sure how much help I’d be if anyone did try anything, but at least there would be two of us to face it. Plus I’d still be actively involved in the business, which should make it easier to return to cutting once I’m ready.

  So why haven’t I told any of this to Rita yet? In truth, it’s more about me than her at this stage. I haven’t even been back to the barbershop since Moxie forced his way in, held me against my will and robbed me. Since he threatened to kill me with the knife that eventually caused all these injuries to my hands and arms.

  The police have been to gather evidence. I lent them the keys, but I didn’t join them there, because I was still recovering in hospital at the time. Now the idea of returning to the scene of my real-life nightmare fills me with dread. I know it’s something I’ll have to face soon, but I’m putting it off as long as I can.

  ‘I’ll speak to her later this week, Meg. I promise. And, between you and me, I probably will take her up on it. Please could we drop the subject for now, though? I need a break.’

  She replies with a nod and a ‘No problem’, moving on to easier topics like traffic and the weather.

  ‘It’s a lovely sunny day today,’ she says. ‘More like April than late March, even if the temperature still needs to climb a bit before it truly feels like spring has sprung. It’s perfect for where we’re heading.’

  ‘I’ll have to take your word for it,’ I say, ‘since I’m clueless about where that might be. Are we nearly there yet?’

  ‘Not too far now.’

  CHAPTER 33

  We head south out of Manchester and, before long, city and suburbs give way to the open fields and windy lanes of rural Cheshire.

  ‘I’ve got it,’ I say, tongue-in-cheek, as the car takes us deeper into the countryside. ‘We’re off to a petting zoo. Do I get to ride on a donkey?’

  ‘How did you guess?’ Meg replies with a grin.

  Eventually, urban familiarity well and truly left behind, we arrive at our actual destination: a swanky four-star hotel in sprawling, immaculate grounds. According to the sign at the entrance, it boasts a golf course, gym, tennis and squash courts, pool and spa facilities.

  ‘Surprise!’ Meg says as she negotiates the private road that weaves its way through the estate and up to the main building: a grand Georgian-style structure in red brick with white stonework.

  ‘Wow,’ I reply. ‘This looks very fancy. So we’re staying here, are we?’

  ‘That’s right. I thought it would do you good to escape the city for a day or so and enjoy some country air. There are several leisurely walks to be had around the grounds here, apparently. According to reviews I’ve read online, it’s a wonderful place to get away from it all and unwind.’

  As Meg drives the Mini into the block-paved car park, to the side of the imposing main building, I see there’s a large, more modern extension at the rear and, behind that, a luxurious spa annexe. Floor-to-ceiling tinted glass envelops the large indoor pool and whatever other goodies are on offer, which I imagine include a jacuzzi, sauna, etc., plus treatment rooms. Not that I’ll be able to make use of any of these things with my injuries still so fresh.

  We saunter into the hotel through the pillared main entrance. A porter offers to help us with our bags but, since we’re both travelling light, we politely decline.

  Meg instructs me to have a seat while she takes care of checking us in. Ten minutes later, we’re settling into our recently refurbished adjoining bedrooms, which each include a wetroom-style en-suite and all the mod cons.

  ‘This is amazing,’ I call to my cousin. ‘Have you seen the size of the showerhead? It’s like a dinnerplate.’

  Later, after we’ve ordered a spot of lunch in one of the hotel bars, I tell her: ‘I can’t let you pay for all of this. It must be costing you a fortune.’

  Sitting across from me, she shakes her head. ‘You don’t have a choice. It’s my gift to you and I want you to enjoy it without thinking about any of that. I got a good deal, don’t worry.’

  With a sudden catch in her throat, she adds: ‘I nearly lost you – again – the other day, Luke. Let me spoil you a bit, yeah?’

  ‘Fine, but lunch and dinner are on me, no arguments.’

  She reluctantly agrees.

  ‘I’m lucky to have you, Meg,’ I add, struggling with my own feelings now. ‘I love you. I’m so glad we got past our stupid falling-out.’

  ‘Me too. Let’s never do that again.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  This sets her off crying as I also find myself blinking back the tears.

  Gently, I place my damaged right hand on hers, which is resting on the table, and leave it there as we stare at each other in silence, both fighting to contain our emotions in this public place. I’m stuck in a strange no man’s land between wanting to sob my heart out and to laugh at myself for being so soppy.

  By the time the waiter comes along with our food, we’ve both just about managed to pull ourselves together.

  ‘So what did you have in mind for this afternoon?’ I ask. ‘I’d love to jump in the swimming pool or whatever, but I don’t think that’s on the cards for me while I’m still bandaged up.’

  ‘I thought we could go for a nice leisurely stroll through the grounds while the weather is so lovely. And then I have one more surprise for you.’

  I try to get her to tell me more about this surprise as we’re walking, but it’s soon obvious I’m wasting my breath, so I give up and focus on enjoying the moment, which isn’t hard considering the gorgeous surroundings. I wear my usual beanie hat initially, but the weather is so nice, my head starts to get hot, so I whip it off.

  ‘This is lovely,’ I say as we reach a large fish pond and stop for a breather. ‘And I don’t just mean the scenery. I’m talking about the whole visit here. I don’t know what gave you the idea, but it’s perfect. I feel so chilled, like we’re on holiday.’

  ‘We are,’ Meg says with a smile.

  ‘That’s true, I guess. What I meant, though, was that it feels like we’re hundreds of miles away from home, even though we’re not. Everything is different here. The hotel is fantastic, the air is so fresh and, I don’t know, it’s all wonderful. Thank you so much for doing this.’

  I pull her into a hug, feeling myself getting emotional again and hoping she doesn’t notice. I shouldn’t be embarrassed about this, but for some reason I am. Who knows why? Maybe that’s another thing I should query when I eventually get this counselling.

  After a little more walking, blissfully enjoying the sun’s caress on my light-deprived face, Meg looks at her watch: a dainty but striking silver piece that’s one of her own creations. She announces it’s almost time for what she has planned next.

  To my confusion, she leads us towards the glass spa annexe we spotted earlier.

  ‘Time for us to put our feet up for a bit after all that walking,’ she says. ‘When I booked this trip, I realised you wouldn’t be able to use the pool and so on. I’m not going to do so without you, because that would be mean. But I didn’t want us
to miss out on the spa experience altogether.’

  ‘So?’ I ask as we approach the entrance.

  ‘We’re both booked in for a pedicure.’

  I give my cousin a double take. ‘What, seriously?’

  ‘You’re going to love it.’

  The funny thing is that, although I’ve never even considered having a pedicure before in my life, it turns out to be quite pleasant. My feet are ticklish, so that’s a bit awkward at the start. It’s hard not to be on edge with a stranger’s hands delving in between my toes. But once I relax into the experience, aided by the reassuring presence of old-hand Meg being treated alongside me, my tension eases. For the most part, I avoid squealing and giggling like a child.

  It’s a varied mix of sensations, from the soothing, tingling feeling of the initial herbal footbath, to the stinging discomfort of my soles being scrubbed with a pumice stone. There are also moments of actual pain – thankfully brief – when my cuticles are snipped. However, by the time we get to the foot mask and then the final massage, I feel like I’ve earned my pedicure stripes and it’s all rather enjoyable.

  I walk away genuinely light-footed and relaxed, thanking Meg once again for such a thoughtful surprise.

  Later, having chilled in our rooms for a couple of hours, we enjoy some pre-dinner cocktails in the bar next to the restaurant where we’re booked in to eat.

  After a glass of prosecco each with our starters and a bottle of red between us with our mains – a lovely medium rare ribeye steak, in my case – we’re both a bit tipsy when our desserts arrive, which we agree to share. I’ve gone for the peanut butter cheesecake, which is to die for, and Meg has a comparably delicious crème brûlée.

  One minute we’re debating which is the tastier of the two and the next, seemingly out of nowhere, my cousin’s asking about my psychological wellbeing.

  ‘Sorry, Meg, where did this come from?’

  She shrugs. ‘I’m worried about you, that’s all. You’ve been through so much lately; I feel like you don’t talk about it enough. I’ve read several newspaper articles about how men can be reluctant to seek support for their mental health. There’s still a stigma attached to it, for some stupid reason. Did you know that suicide rates are around three times higher among men than women in the UK?’

  ‘Whoa!’ I say, taken aback by the sudden directness of her words. Lowering my voice so I’m not overheard by anyone else, I add: ‘I have no intention of trying to kill myself, Meg. After everything I’ve recently survived, why on earth would I want to do that?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she replies. ‘I’m not saying you necessarily would, but don’t kid yourself that you’re equipped to deal with all the stuff that’s happened to you. I know I wouldn’t be, if I was in your shoes. I’d be a mess. And the fact you’re not, or at least you don’t seem to be, concerns me. I fear you’re bottling things up rather than dealing with them – and that’s not good.’

  I sit back in my seat and let out a long sigh. ‘Fine. What would you like to talk about? Let’s go. I mean, personally I was enjoying escaping my troubles for a couple of days. I thought that’s what this trip was for, but apparently I got it wrong.’

  The moment I see the hurt look in my cousin’s eyes, I regret my kneejerk reaction to what she said, which, let’s face it, was only her demonstrating how much she cares about me. I’m an idiot; I’ve had too much to drink.

  I reach for her hand, glad to find she doesn’t pull it away. ‘Sorry, Meg. Please ignore the thoughtless crap that just came out of my mouth. I don’t mean it, honestly. I feel pissed.’

  Taking a deep breath before answering, she says with a slight slur to her voice: ‘I wasn’t trying to suggest we talk about it in detail now, Luke. I totally get that you’re not in the mood. I’m a little tipsy too, so maybe my choice of words gave you the wrong impression. If so, I’m sorry.

  ‘What I was trying to tell you was that I’m here for you, twenty-four seven, if and when you ever need to talk. Also, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I really think you’d benefit hugely from speaking to a professional.’

  I drain the dregs from my wine glass. ‘I think you’re probably right, Meg, but I’m still waiting for counselling to materialise after they mentioned it to me at the hospital.’

  Meg nods her head, biting on her bottom lip. ‘Fair enough, but you don’t have to wait for them to organise it. Who knows how long that will take? You could also contact someone yourself.’

  ‘Like who?’

  She scratches the back of her head. ‘There’s, um, a woman I could give you a phone number for who’s helped me through a few issues here and there. She’s very nice and not particularly expensive. If she can’t help you herself, I’m sure she’d have a colleague she could refer you to.’

  ‘Really?’ I reply. ‘I didn’t know you—’

  ‘Everyone needs help sometimes, Luke.’

  ‘Wait. What were you saying about men not sharing their issues? And yet you’ve not shared this, whatever it is, with me.’

  ‘Not with you, no, but with someone. And that’s what counts, Luke. You don’t have to talk to me either. It’s entirely up to you who you choose to speak to. And please don’t be offended that I didn’t talk to you. It’s absolutely nothing personal. I have my own way of dealing with things, that’s all.’

  I nod, but I can’t help feeling offended – and guilty. I’ve always thought of Meg as being someone independent, confident and secure in her own skin.

  How many times have I spoken to her about my problems without ever realising she has issues of her own?

  How self-centred and insular does that make me?

  I know her sexuality must have made life tricky for her at times, particularly growing up when there wasn’t the same level of social acceptance as nowadays. But having come out as lesbian in her late teens, she’s always seemed so comfortable with the situation; I’ve never thought of it as being a concern.

  Who says it’s even anything to do with that? It could be totally unrelated.

  I’m in the dark here.

  As if she can read my mind, Meg says: ‘It’s depression, okay? I don’t have it all the time – it comes and goes. I’m not embarrassed about it. Mental illness is like any other sickness; it’s part of who I am and, when it flares up, I deal with it, mainly via counselling and mindfulness. Yoga too, in theory, although I’m not very good at finding time for that. I’m not a fan of taking medication if it can be avoided.’

  I shake my head in disbelief. ‘How am I only hearing about this now?’

  ‘I’ve never deliberately hidden it from you. I guess you’ve just never noticed – and that’s fine with me. Depression has been part of my life, on and off, since my college days. I was living with it long before we became close, like we are again now, thankfully, after our blip. You needed me to be there for you after your parents died and Helen left, and so I was. If anything, helping you has put my own problems into context, particularly after what you’ve been through recently. Life’s dealt you some really bad hands, Luke.’

  ‘I feel awful now,’ I say, pausing as the waiter comes to ask if we’d like any coffee, which we both would. ‘You’ve been way more supportive of me than I ever have of you. I owe you big style, especially after this trip away.’

  ‘You don’t owe me anything, Luke. We’re family and I love you. I’d do it all again in a flash. But if you do want to do something for me, get the professional help you need. Make the phone call.’

  ‘Roger that.’ Still perplexed by Meg’s revelation, I add: ‘Do you mind if I ask what kind of thing makes you depressed? I don’t mean that in a funny way. I’m trying to understand what you’ve told me. I’ve always thought of you as a happy-go-lucky person. That’s the way you come across to me, so I’m feeling pretty foolish.’

  My cousin shakes her head. ‘Please don’t. I’m glad you think of me that way. That is how I feel a lot of the time, only there are lows too. I can’t explain what triggers
them. That’s not really how it works.’

  ‘Well, if you’re ever feeling depressed in future and you do fancy talking to someone other than your counsellor, you know where I am, Meg. I mean that. I want to be there for you too. It’s about time, I reckon.’

  CHAPTER 34

  By the time Friday comes around, Meg’s lovely hotel treat feels like it happened ages ago rather than earlier in the week.

  I wasted yesterday, spending most of my time pacing up and down the flat, worrying about today. Now it’s here, I wish I’d allowed myself to rest – to live in the moment rather than panicky projections of the future. Then I might not feel as wiped out as I do.

  My anxiety is threefold because, in a fit of planning stupidity, I’ve booked myself a triple whammy of things to keep me busy today, none of which I feel comfortable about doing.

  Kicking things off is the first appointment with my counsellor at 11.30 a.m., which mainly bothers me because I have no idea what to expect. I rang the phone number Meg gave me and her counsellor referred me to a man called Charles Stewart, who she assured me was ‘very good’. Next, having finally accepted Rita’s offer to run the barbershop, where I’ve still not returned since that night, I’m due to meet her there after lunch to go over everything and get her set up. And last but not least, it’s my first date with Nora this evening, by which point I fear being so frazzled I’ll either bore her to death over dinner or say something stupid enough to blow my chances.

  What could possibly go wrong?

  I arrive to see my counsellor five minutes early. Neither he nor the location are quite what I was envisaging. I suppose my expectation of such things is coloured by all the New York-set movies I’ve watched, where it’s a given that there’ll be luxurious furnishings, huge windows, a view of Central Park, and a scholarly shrink in an expensive suit.

  Instead, I get an unassuming ground-floor office space near Piccadilly railway station with small opaque windows, carpet tiles and traffic noise. Charles, as he asks to be called, is a scruffy chap in his early fifties with a few days’ beard growth and unkempt, wavy, salt-and-pepper hair. He’s wearing black jeans, tan slip-on shoes and a plaid shirt.