‘Do you want to give me a hand with this?’
Harry showed no surprise when Flynn returned to the kitchen nearly an hour later, showered and changed, wearing a sheepish smile.
‘OK. What shall I do?’
‘You can do the carrots.’
‘Ooh, such responsibility.’
Flynn started chopping and was silently grateful to Harry for not probing. While he had been sitting on his bed in a pool of late-afternoon sunlight, a new emotion had suddenly thrust itself over him – fear. The sudden realization that all that lay between life and death was the catch on his bedroom window, the sudden realization that following his thoughts to their logical conclusions would lead him to jump, the sudden realization that it would be so easy to smash himself down onto the concrete four storeys below. The phrase He is a danger to himself suddenly held new meaning. How easy it would be to turn into a murderer, his murderer. And suddenly he was scared. Scared of his own company. Scared of himself.
Harry threw open the window to let out the cooking smells, and the cool touch of blue-grey dusk floated in on a blanket of birdsong. It was almost summer, supposedly a time of such hope and promise, bringing with it every reason to be happy. He was going to have dinner with friends and then tomorrow he would do a final run-through. In the evening he would play in a concert and he would be all right, everything would be all right, he would will himself to be all right. He wasn’t going to think of his bedroom window, he wasn’t going to think of his smashed-up body lying in the morgue, he wasn’t going to think how unbelievably quick and easy it would be to die . . . A cold sweat broke out across his arms and back from the effort. He was mad, he knew that now. He was so mad that he was frightening even himself. Normal people didn’t go to pieces about playing in a concert, normal people didn’t start screaming because their friends were coming to dinner, normal people didn’t think about hurling themselves out of a window at four o’clock on a sunny spring afternoon.
At the stove, Harry was humming, a beer can in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. Harry was thinking about his curry, about Jen and Kate coming over for dinner, about a chilled weekend of football and practice lying ahead. Flynn wanted to be like Harry. He wanted be normal and cheerful and relaxed. If he couldn’t be normal then he could pretend to be normal. Perhaps it might work . . . It had to work . . .
Flynn grabbed the four-pack from the fridge. ‘D’you want a beer?’
‘Please. Have you finished with those carrots?’
‘These carrots?’ He flicked a piece at Harry’s head.
Harry grinned. ‘Now don’t get childish, Flynn.’
Flynn flicked another piece over.
‘You want a fight? If I send this curry in your direction, things could get nasty!’
‘Ooh, I’m scared!’
Flynn set the table at lightning speed. ‘OK, done. Give me something to do – carrots really aren’t challenging enough.’
‘It’s more or less ready. You can taste it if you want and tell me if it’s OK.’ Harry pulled himself up onto the counter and picked up his beer. Flynn went over to the stove.
‘Is Rami coming tomorrow?’ Harry asked.
‘Yeah, and so are my parents but, you know what, I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care!’ He took a deep swig of beer and laughed. ‘I’ve actually got to the point where I don’t care about a single thing! I’d recommend it, it’s utterly liberating!’ He sang along to Justin Timberlake, and Harry gave him an uncertain smile.
‘Surely it’s a good thing that your parents are coming?’
‘I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care!’ Flynn sang.
Harry laughed. ‘OK, point taken. Perhaps you should stop stirring that curry now before you pulverize it into soup.’
‘Curry soup, we can have curry soup! Hey, aren’t you meant to put beer in curry? Liven it up a bit?’ He lifted his can over the pot.
‘Hey!’ Harry’s laughter held a hint of alarm. ‘Don’t you dare.’
Flynn began to tip his can threateningly. ‘Do I . . . ? Do I . . . ?’
‘Flynn, put it down—’
Flynn started to laugh at Harry’s growing concern and splashed a little more beer into the curry than he had intended. Harry was off the counter in a flash, elbowing Flynn out of the way. ‘Keep away from my food!’
Choking with laughter, Flynn grappled with Harry, grabbing him by the shoulders. The laughter hurt his throat, made him want to retch, but it seemed to fool Harry and maybe, if he tried hard enough, he might even end up convincing himself too. Harry hung onto the side of the counter, red in the face, as Flynn tried to hook his leg and knock him to the ground.
‘Flynn, you nutter, stop, get off, this is going to end badly!’
‘For you, I think!’
The bell went, saving Harry from a humiliating defeat.
‘You get it.’
‘No, you get it.’
‘Give me your beer can then.’
‘Fine, take it!’
‘Thank you, I will!’
Voices in the hall – Jennah and Kate. Harry was taking their coats, ever the gentleman, asking them about their day.
‘Mm, smells lovely,’ Jennah said, coming into the kitchen. Her hair was windswept, her smile very bright. ‘I didn’t know you guys could cook! Hi, Flynn.’
‘It’s the only thing that Harry can cook but, yeah, this is really good curry.’ Flynn went over to the stove, dipped his finger in and sucked it. ‘Kind of tastes of beer, though.’
Harry’s eyes latched onto the newly opened beer can in Flynn’s hand and widened. ‘You didn’t!’
Flynn started to laugh again as Harry leaped over to the stove.
Jennah and Kate exchanged amused glances. ‘What’s going on?’ Jennah asked.
Harry grabbed Flynn’s wrist and tried to wrestle the beer can out of his hand. ‘How much did you put in? How much did you put in?’
‘Oh, just a drop!’
‘That’s an interesting recipe!’ Kate began to laugh.
‘No, no, no!’ Harry was red in the face. ‘There was not meant to be beer in the curry!’
Jennah gave Flynn a grin. ‘Are you trying to sabotage Harry’s culinary efforts?’
‘No, improve. It’s a good tip, adds a certain je ne sais quoi! Let’s go and put some decent music on.’ He swung round and headed for the living room.
‘I’m gonna kill him,’ he heard Harry mutter behind him.
Moments later, Jennah followed, glass in hand, and sat down on the couch. Flynn emerged from beneath the side table, pulling piles of CDs out with him. ‘What d’you fancy? I’ve got Bob Dylan, Aerosmith, Queen, Manic Street Preachers, U2, Kylie – Harry’s, not mine – REM, Meatloaf, Oasis—’
‘I really don’t mind.’
‘Massive Attack, Coldplay, Travis, Lauren Hill . . .’ He continued to reel them off, chucking each CD case into the middle of the floor as he finished with it.
‘Or how about some hip hop? We’ve got Doctor Dre, 50 Cent, Eminem, Notorious B.I.G.—’
‘Flynn, Flynn, I really don’t mind!’
‘You’ve got to choose! What about Snoop Dogg, Gang Starr, Obie Trice, Missy Elliott—’
‘OK!’ Jennah leaned forwards and snatched one off the carpet. ‘What about this one?’
‘No, you picked it randomly. You have to put some thought into this. Choosing which music to listen to is a very important decision, especially when you’ve got friends round, especially when you’re eating. Choose the wrong music and you could get severe indigestion. Huh – see, did you ever think of that? D’you want to end up with a stomach ache?’
‘All right, all right. Let’s have Queen then – definitely goes with curry.’
‘Are you sure? Because if it’s the wrong choice . . .’ He tailed off, looking at her, breathing hard. He seemed to have forgotten the rest of his sentence. He started chucking the CDs back under the table. Spun each one so that it hit the bottom of the wall with
a satisfying thud. Once he had started, it seemed imperative that he give each case the same treatment. The trick was to get each CD to land on the pile. If he missed he had to start again. His jaw ached with concentration. As the last CD spun out of his hand he turned to face Jennah. She watched him, her folded arms resting on her knees, chewing the corner of her lip.
‘What?’ Flynn demanded, his voice sounding very loud.
‘Nothing,’ she replied.
Flynn looked around for the Queen album. Then he began to laugh. Jennah’s eyes widened.
‘Oh no, d’you know what I’ve done?’ He was laughing so hard he could hardly speak.
Jennah smiled uncertainly.
‘I’ve chucked the CD back under the table! Oh, shit, it’s back to square one!’
‘You know what, I’d actually rather we didn’t listen to any music right now,’ Jennah said suddenly. ‘Why don’t we go and see if Harry needs a hand?’
‘No, no, come here, come here, you’ve got to come here—’ He grabbed her arm and pulled her down onto the carpet beside him. ‘You’ve got to help me find it. It could be anywhere. It could be right at the back. This could take a very long time—’
‘I’ll help you in a minute, OK?’ Jennah said, pulling away. ‘I’m just going to see Harry.’
Reluctantly, Flynn let her go and dived back under the table.
Sometime later, he felt someone kick his leg. He emerged from beneath the table to find Harry standing over him.
‘I’m very busy,’ Flynn replied. ‘You’ll be impressed. I’m arranging them alphabetically – by artist, not by title. Actually, by artist’s last name, then first name, then title.’
Harry’s eyes were narrowed. ‘Why the hell are you trashing the living room? We’re about to sit down for dinner!’ His voice sounded almost angry.
‘OK, OK, I’ll finish this later.’ Flynn got up and followed Harry. But the thought of the half-finished pile of CDs made him feel on edge.
In the kitchen, Kate and Jennah were seated at the table, deep in conversation. They broke off quite suddenly as Flynn and Harry came in.
‘Oh, wow, this curry smells of beer. What did you put in it, Harry?’ The sight of the curry made him want to laugh again.
Harry gave a small sigh, raised his eyebrows and started to dish up.
‘Who wants another beer? What are you girls drinking? Coke? Oh, for goodness’ sake. Another beer, Harry?’
‘No, thanks. And you’d better go easy, Flynn.’
‘Why? I think being hungover for the concert tomorrow would be an excellent idea. What was it you said, Jen? Too hungover to care? But, hey, being drunk would be even better. Then I can roll my head and sway about like flaming André and I’ll actually look the part!’
Kate laughed. Harry and Jennah did not.
‘Oh, you two are unreal,’ Flynn protested. ‘So serious! It would be funny if I was drunk, wouldn’t it, Kate? Then I’d trip on the steps, start playing “Chopsticks”, and fall off the piano stool.’
‘Tuck in, guys,’ Harry said, passing out the plates. ‘Don’t let it get cold.’
‘Yeah, cold beer curry, horrible!’ Flynn exclaimed.
Harry gave him a long-suffering look.
The curry was actually quite nice, despite the beer. Kate started talking about some presentation she was giving at her Music Theory class the following week and Flynn struggled to suppress the urge to laugh. A sense of unreality had descended over him. The table, the meal, Harry, Kate and Jennah, the darkness gathering behind the half-open window, the muted strains of Mariah Carey on the stereo. He took a deep breath – how could he have considered leaving all this when there was so much? It was working, it was actually working – a wild sense of crazy well-being was shooting through him. Even though he was still on his first beer, he felt drunk – the kind of drunk that makes you want to climb onto the table and swing from the chandelier and sing and dance.
Jennah was talking, fiddling with a strand of long brown hair as she spoke. The deep flush of her lips stood out against her pale skin. Her knitted green jumper was a little too long in the arms, the sleeves almost covering her hands, the colour matching her eyes. She looked so beautiful, it hurt. How could he fail to embrace life, to absorb all this beauty, to revel in the fact that he was alive on this gentle evening in May with all his life ahead of him, stretching out like a blank canvas, waiting, ready . . . ?
Twenty-three hours to go; he had passed the twenty-four-hour mark without even realizing it. But it was of little importance now, for the world was a stage and its people merely players. They were acting here, they would be acting tomorrow, and for every day that followed. Actors in a beautiful play – a play where life was good, a play that knew no fear, nor pain, nor sorrow. The despair could not touch him now, he would not let it touch him again. He would play the game, he would not seek more. This was enough, this was more than enough. He was lucky to be alive . . .
Harry put down his fork. ‘I think I should propose a toast.’
They raised their glasses.
Harry’s eyes met Flynn’s and he gave him a little smile. ‘To the worst kitchen assistant but undisputedly the RCM’s greatest pianist, best of luck for tomorrow, not that you’ll need it.’
‘Cheers!’ Jennah and Kate exclaimed together.
‘Thanks,’ Flynn said.
They put down their glasses and resumed talking again, but it was difficult to make out what anyone was saying. The air seemed to be filled with a loud, thick hum and the room had begun to blur around the edges. Flynn didn’t seem to be able to distinguish what he had just been thinking from what he had just been saying. The thoughts and words and words and thoughts were getting all jumbled up in his head. Had he thought to himself that Kate was going to mess up her presentation or had Kate been saying she was afraid she was going to mess up her presentation? Had he been thinking how much he wanted to kiss Jennah or had he told Jennah he felt like kissing her? Suddenly he needed to move, to get away, to knock over all these people and kick down the walls. But if he did that, then the ceiling would collapse and they would be crushed right here, where they sat. Great chunks of brick and plaster would come tumbling down – they would be knocked unconscious first, then covered with white powder as the blood ran down from their temples. Who would be the first to die? Flynn looked up at the ceiling. He realized that he didn’t even need to move to make the walls crumble. His thoughts were powerful enough. The light shade had already started to sway.
Jennah touched his arm, making him jump. ‘What are you staring at?’
He looked at her, his eyes wide. She was smiling, unaware, unafraid. He did not know how to tell her. Harry and Kate were talking blissfully. He did not want to scare them. He whispered something to Jennah.
‘What?’ With a tentative smile, she leaned in closer.
‘I think we should go,’ Flynn said.
A look of surprise. ‘Where?’
‘Next door. This room’s not safe.’
Jennah started to smile, then stopped. ‘What do you mean?’
He looked meaningfully up at the light shade and then back at her again. With a puzzled look, Jennah raised her eyes. The light shade continued to sway.
‘Do you mean that light shade? I don’t think it’s going to fall, Flynn.’
Flynn gave a barely perceptible shake of the head. ‘Not the light shade, everything.’
Jennah began to smile again. ‘Is this your idea of a joke?’
‘No, you’ve got to believe me. Come on, if we go the others will follow.’ He got up and grabbed his plate and glass. Jennah stared at him, then slowly stood up too.
‘Hey, where are you going?’ Harry exclaimed.
There was a silence. Harry and Kate were staring at them. Then Jennah suddenly said, ‘We thought we’d be more comfortable next door, it’s – it’s a bit cold in here.’
Harry looked disbelieving. ‘Is that meant to be a hint or something?’
‘No, no, you�
�ve got to come too,’ Jennah said quickly.
Flynn could tell they were exchanging confused glances but he could not wait any more.
In the living room they gathered around the coffee table on the couch and armchairs, balancing plates precariously on their laps. Harry was looking perplexed and staring at Jennah. ‘Shall I lend you a jumper or my jacket?’
‘No, no – in here it’s fine.’
If one ceiling gave way, wouldn’t the next one fall too? Flynn looked up at the light shade. It was still. As he looked down, his eyes met Jennah’s. She glanced away, but not before he had seen the fear in her eyes. She knew they were in danger too. He could not eat any more, adrenaline coursed through his veins. The orange glow of the streetlamps reached the tall windows. One more night. Would he survive? Could he survive? He might smash everything to pieces. He might just end it all, right here, right now.
Harry and Kate were chatting again. Jennah was gazing strangely at him, oddly subdued.
It’s all right, he wanted to tell her, we’re safe in here. I won’t knock down the walls. But he was not, could not, be sure.
‘So what are we up to tomorrow night?’ Harry suddenly asked.
Jennah looked over at him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, after the concert,’ Harry explained. ‘We’re going to have to do something to celebrate, don’t you think?’
‘We could go to a club!’ Kate exclaimed.
‘Why don’t we just chill out with pizza and a DVD?’ Jennah suggested.
There was a pause. ‘What do you want to do, Flynn?’ Harry said.
Flynn shrugged. People, more people, but tomorrow would never come. They were talking about after the concert, not before it. The concert was the bridge. He would have to cross it in order to reach the other side.
‘What if it goes badly?’ he said suddenly. ‘Then we won’t have anything to celebrate.’
Harry looked up in surprise. ‘It’s not going to go badly.’
‘You don’t know that.’ Harry’s optimism was suddenly infuriating. ‘What, do you have some kind of ability to see into the future? You actually have no idea how it’s going to go, do you? You have absolutely no idea at all.’
A Note of Madness Page 14