Harry returned, loosening his bow. ‘I’m going to meet Kate and some friends down at the pub. Coming?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Go on. Half an hour?’
Flynn gave Harry a look, astonished that Harry should think he might possibly change his mind. Obviously Harry did not realize that only holding a gun to Flynn’s head could have made him walk out of that door.
‘For goodness’ sake!’ Harry exclaimed. ‘Aren’t you bored out of your mind, just watching TV all day?’
Flynn shrugged. ‘Beats anything else.’
Harry let out his breath and shook his head in a gesture of defeat. He put on his jacket and left. Flynn returned his gaze to the television screen.
By Thursday, Flynn had his television viewing all planned out before he had even left class. By mid-afternoon it was all he could think about – longing to be half lying on the sofa, feet up on the coffee table, channel-surfing his way through the evening, cocooned away from all the talk and music and exam papers and practice, from prying questions and false concern and fake friendships, from the noise and rush and clatter that seemed to fill the outside world. It exhausted him, all of it. His own company was as much as he could bear.
‘Did you ask Doctor Stefan whether he would consider cutting your dose before your exams?’ Rami asked him over dinner on Friday.
‘Yeah,’ Flynn replied, his mouth full.
‘And?’
Flynn swallowed. ‘He said he would look into it if I didn’t go high before the end of the month.’
‘OK, well that’s something.’
‘I don’t want him to cut the dose,’ Flynn said acidly. ‘I want to stop taking the bloody stuff altogether.’
‘Lithium is a tricky drug to prescribe,’ Sophie said. ‘If the dose is too high it can completely muffle you and make you feel exhausted but if the dose is too low then all your symptoms can come back. I expect the psychiatrist will have to do a bit of fine-tuning before he finds exactly the right level.’
‘Great,’ Flynn said sarcastically with his mouth full again.
‘Well at least it’s not affecting your appetite any more!’ Rami exclaimed.
Saturday afternoon was all football and racing. At least it made a change from Blue Peter and Newsround. It was almost four and Flynn had only been up for a couple of hours, sprawled on his front in his T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms, the sunlight plunging in through the open window. Harry burst in from orchestra practice – loud, sweaty, breathless from lugging his cello up the stairs.
‘More TV?’ he said, a hint of exasperation in his voice.
‘Better than bloody orchestra,’ Flynn muttered, returning his gaze to the screen.
‘That’s debatable,’ Harry replied, sitting on the keyboard stool and yanking off his trainers. ‘Oh, come on, let’s do something. Kate’s away all weekend so you’ve got to keep me company! Let’s – let’s go to the lido!’
‘You’ve got to be kidding.’
‘OK, I know, let’s have a game of pool!’
‘I’m not going outside,’ Flynn said in a voice that left no room for argument.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ Harry suddenly shouted. ‘It’s a beautiful day! How can you just sit there?’
Flynn glowered at him.
‘Isn’t your medication supposed to be working by now? I know Rami said that the lithium would take a couple of weeks to get you back to your normal self but you’re still exactly the same as before!’ Harry’s cheeks were flushed suddenly.
‘This is my normal self,’ Flynn said drily. ‘The bloody lithium’s not going to change my personality, for Christ’s sake.’
Harry stopped. ‘This isn’t your normal self,’ he said quietly.
‘How do you know? Who the hell said it was up to you to decide who I am and who I’m—’
‘OK, OK’ Harry held up his hand and backed out of the doorway. ‘Excuse me for talking. Enjoy your evening. Don’t do anything too wild.’ He slammed out of the room.
But sometime later that evening, as Flynn was dozing off in front of a re-run of Friends, Harry came in with Jennah, brandishing DVDs. ‘I figured that since you’ve become such a slob, we might as well join you,’ he said.
Flynn looked at Harry over the back of the couch. He wore a sheepish, lopsided smile, and Flynn knew that this was his way of trying to make up. Harry never stayed angry for long. But Flynn almost wished that he had – Jennah’s sudden appearance jarred him and even spending the evening watching DVDs with them seemed like a monumental effort.
Jennah laughed. ‘I think everyone needs to slob out once in a while.’
‘Well, once in a while maybe, but the Slob King here has taken it to an entirely new dimension.’ He grinned at Flynn’s scowl.
Jennah laughed again. Her hair looked different, slightly curly with a strip of burgundy material tied around her head. Small diamonds hung from her ears. She looked like she might be wearing make-up. Flynn peeled himself off the couch and busied himself with cold drinks and snacks.
‘So what DVDs did you get?’ Harry asked Jennah.
Jennah reached into her bag. ‘Well, I couldn’t find a compromise. So in the end I got Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason for me and The Matrix Revolutions for you guys.’ She held them up proudly.
‘Oh, you star, I never got round to seeing The Matrix Revolutions!’ Harry exclaimed.
‘God, I knew you’d say that. Back me up, Flynn. You’d rather watch Bridget Jones, right?’
Flynn smiled and shrugged awkwardly.
‘Don’t be stupid, that’s a chick-flick!’ Harry exclaimed.
‘Well I think since I’m the guest and, more to the point, since I’m the one who actually got them out, I should decide,’ Jennah declared.
‘And I think that since I will no doubt be returning them, as well as paying for them, I should decide,’ Harry countered.
Jennah narrowed her eyes playfully. ‘Oh, listen to spoiled little rich boy.’
‘We’re going to watch them both so what difference does it make?’ Harry argued.
‘Exactly. We may as well start with Bridget Jones.’
‘Or The Matrix.’
They looked at each other and started to laugh.
‘Flynn’s going to have to decide – there’s no other way,’ Jennah declared.
Harry held up the two DVDs. ‘Go on then,’ he said.
‘I don’t mind,’ Flynn said, turning away.
‘You have to help us out or it’ll come to blows!’ Jennah exclaimed.
‘Bridget Jones then,’ Flynn said, and disappeared into the kitchen.
‘Traitor!’ Harry called after him.
Rinsing his glass pointlessly in the sink, Flynn breathed deeply, trying to quell a mounting knot of frustration. Why was it that whenever Jennah came round, Harry always turned into this entertaining charmer and he into a monosyllabic idiot? It was always the same! The more gregarious and expansive Harry became, the more tongue-tied and awkward he did. And now things were even worse because Jennah thought of him as some kind of freak. No doubt she was waiting for him to start raving on about falling ceilings or jump out of the window. They were both waiting for him to lose it again.
When he returned to the living room, Harry had taken up residence in the armchair, legs slung over the armrest, watching the trailers.
‘I hope this is Bridget Jones,’ Jennah said.
‘Would I dare put on anything else?’ Harry pulled a cushion out from behind his back and placed it strategically behind his head. ‘Wake me up when it’s over.’
Flynn sank back into the sofa, grateful for the opportunity to sit in front of the TV again. But Jennah’s presence beside him was an obstacle to total immersion. The brush of her bare arm against his as she reached for her glass, her small explosions of laughter at each funny line . . . She was so – well – reactive. The small sounds that escaped her, betraying her every emotion, were more riveting than the film itself. Pizza arrived and Flynn was grateful for the distr
action. By the time Renée Zellweger and Colin Firth were left snogging in front of the courtroom, dark was falling outside.
By then, though, it was almost twelve and no one felt much like watching The Matrix, not even Harry. He hung upside down off the side of the armchair, complaining about his back.
‘Coffee, anyone?’ Flynn asked.
‘Yes, please,’ Jennah replied.
‘Harry?’
‘No, I’m knackered. I’m going to hit the sack. Jen, I take it you’re spending the night?’
‘I’ll get the night bus—’
‘Don’t be daft. You can have the couch.’
‘OK. Thanks.’
Flynn went to make coffee in the kitchen.
‘Night, Flynn!’ Harry called from the hallway a moment later.
Jennah was sitting on the opened-out sofa bed in one of Harry’s oversized T-shirts when Flynn returned. He handed her a cup, glanced away from the unnerving expanse of leg and, after a moment’s hesitation, sat down on the piano stool.
There was a moment’s silence. ‘Flynn?’
‘Yes?’
‘I owe you an apology.’
He looked at her in surprise. ‘What for?’
‘I didn’t realize . . . Even though we talked and stuff, I didn’t realize you were feeling so bad . . . I didn’t even realize you were ill . . .’
Flynn shook his head quickly, embarrassed. ‘Oh, forget about all that—’
‘The night of the dinner party, I couldn’t stop crying,’ Jennah said. ‘I felt so guilty.’ There was an awkward silence. Then she gave a small smile. ‘Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to make girls cry?’
Flynn gave her a look. ‘No. Just not to get them pregnant.’
Jennah started laughing. Then she said, ‘I miss you, Flynn.’
He raised his eyebrows.
‘I mean I miss you, the non-depressed, non-silent you. I miss the way you get excited about crazy things and get all worked up about, I dunno, a piece of music. I miss how we were when we went on holiday, just mucking around and cracking each other up and laughing at Harry. Remember the time when Harry wanted to buy some stamps and we told him the word for stamps was vache and so he walked into the corner shop and asked the shopkeeper for a cow?’
Flynn started to laugh. ‘God, we were silly.’
‘But happy,’ Jennah said.
Flynn stopped laughing. ‘Yeah.’
‘I miss that,’ Jennah said.
‘Me too.’
‘How are you finding university?’ was the first question Dr Stefan asked on Friday.
Flynn gave an exaggerated shrug. ‘Fine. Nothing much happened this week. I managed to act fairly normal.’ He laughed. Dr Stefan did not. Flynn started to bite his thumbnail.
‘How does it feel to be back at your flat?’
He shrugged again. ‘OK.’
‘What about your music practice?’
‘It’s OK too.’
‘You’re going to have to do better than that.’
Flynn gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Uni’s OK – we’ve only got revision lectures now and I’m managing to catch up. Professor Kaiser’s easing off on the practice because of exams.’
‘What about your friends?’ Dr Stefan asked.
‘What about them?’
Dr Stefan adopted an expression of weary patience. ‘How did you feel about seeing them again?’
Flynn pulled down the corners of his mouth. There was a silence. Dr Stefan watched him.
Flynn shrugged.
Dr Stefan continued to watch him. Flynn began to flounder. He glanced at Dr Stefan, then glanced away again.
‘It doesn’t have to be this difficult,’ Dr Stefan said quietly.
‘What do you want me to say? It was fine!’
‘Before you can begin to recover, Flynn, you need to feel,’ Dr Stefan said quietly. ‘By pushing your feelings aside, you’re denying yourself the very essence of who you are. You sit there and tell me about your week as if you are talking about somebody else. In an attempt to cope with your own life, you plunge from hyperactivity to depression without any idea of the feelings that have caused you to feel like this in the first place.’
There were children, children and whole families, strolling across the grass with babies in buggies or kids on bikes. Flynn found himself watching them covertly, especially the children. There were two boys on bikes who couldn’t have been more than seven or eight. Perhaps they were brothers. They looked so happy. From this brief snapshot their childhood seemed idyllic and Flynn wondered whether he and Rami had appeared that happy at their age. Had they mucked about with bikes and footballs and sticks? Of course they had – Dad was always taking them to the local park and he remembered being given his first bike when he was three. They must have appeared as happy and as carefree as those boys, back then. So why did he watch these children play and feel such sadness? Was it because he was looking at something he’d once had – living in the moment, finding excitement in the little things, feeling safe and loved? Would he ever feel like that again? And why, if this had once all been his, had he turned into the miserable wreck that he was now?
It was almost inconceivable that there had been a time, only last summer, when he had gone backpacking across France and Italy with Harry and Jennah, sleeping on dodgy youth-hostel mattresses and crying with laughter at Harry’s deplorable French accent. There had been sunburned arms and blistered feet, endless maps, condom jokes, truth-or-dare on long train journeys, ganging up on Harry to try to embarrass him . . . Was I really there? he wondered. Could that really have been the same me?
He walked in the park in the evenings to catch that hour when day turns into night – black trees silhouetted against a turquoise sky, the blanket of cloud turning into soft pink fields and hills, illuminated by the dying sun. This was the only time he knew what heaven must look like; the only time he believed heaven existed and he wished he could be transported up there to walk across those fields of clouds, towards the sinking sun. The soft breeze smelled of summer, lifting his shirt and stroking his skin and wrapping itself around the trees. In the surrounding streets, he found himself glancing through windows at living rooms and kitchens, all looking so comfortable, so welcoming, so tidy, and he wished he could go in and be part of those houses, those lives, those families. It was not as if he didn’t have his own home to go to, his own family to care about, so it made no sense. But it was as if stepping into another house would mean he could be somebody else for a while, live another life and escape himself.
I would give anything to escape myself, Flynn thought, just for a day, just for a minute even. Just to know what it was like to think differently, to feel differently, and to not be me.
And the lithium continued to wear him down, slowing his fingers, his thoughts, his mind. Professor Kaiser tolerated his sluggish playing with some kind of bewildered horror, Harry got used to him as a permanent fixture on the couch and Rami called every week to check up on him. The crooks of his elbows were bruised purple and yellow from the weekly blood tests. And despite what Dr Stefan had said, there didn’t seem to be any emotions to run away from any more; he felt nothing but a dull sort of apathy, a meaningless void, empty of both pleasure and despair.
‘I want to stop taking this,’ Flynn announced the following Friday morning. He had been rehearsing that one line all morning, preparing to deliver it in a firm yet reasonable tone. He glared at Dr Stefan, his jaw set, trying to gauge his reaction, ready to fire a counter-attack against any words of persuasion. But Dr Stefan adjusted his glasses, sat back and said nothing.
‘I feel sick all the time, I can’t think, I can’t read, I can’t even follow a TV programme. It’s like I’m retarded or something. And I’ll never, ever be able to play the piano again, so what’s the point? I may as well be crazy like before!’ He had vowed to stay calm but now his voice was rising and he forced himself to stop, breathing hard. Please, he wanted to say. Please tell me I don’t have to keep tak
ing this. Please tell me there’s another way, an easier way for me to feel normal again.
‘I can’t make you take lithium,’ Dr Stefan replied in his deliberately slow way. ‘But I am going to ask you to, just till the end of the month. Then, if you’re still feeling tired, we’ll talk about lowering your dose back down again.’
‘Why?’ Flynn almost shouted. ‘It’s not working! I feel worse, not better! I look like a zombie!’
‘That’s how most people feel when they first take lithium,’ Dr Stefan answered calmly. ‘With any new drug, it takes the body time to adjust. But your body will adjust and, when it does, the side-effects will begin to wear off and the lithium will begin to take effect.’
‘How do you know? You said lithium didn’t work for some people. It’s not working for me!’
‘Till the end of the month,’ Dr Stefan said evenly. ‘If there’s no change by then, we’ll try cutting the dose.’
‘That’s another ten days! What do you care – you’re not the one taking it! That means I have to endure another ten days of hell, walking around like an idiot, bumping into things, forgetting the end of my sentences, feeling only half-alive! How am I supposed to believe this is going to work if it makes me feel like this? Why should I believe a word that you say?’
Dr Stefan smiled slightly. ‘Because, Flynn, this is the most animated I’ve ever seen you. I would venture to say that you’re beginning, just beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel.’
Flynn narrowed his eyes in contempt. ‘Well if that’s the case, then, to quote Robert Lowell, it must be the light of the oncoming train.’
Dr Stefan threw his head back and roared with laughter.
Later that evening while he was watching Coronation Street, there was the sound of the key in the door. Voices in the hall. Flynn felt himself tense. Then Harry and Jennah burst in, loud and merry from an evening spent in the pub.
‘Here’s square-eyes!’ Harry exclaimed.
Flynn sat up reluctantly.
‘How’s it going, couch potato?’ Jennah sat next to him and teasingly ruffled his hair. She pulled out a six-pack from a plastic bag. ‘Look, we decided if you wouldn’t come to the party, we’d have to bring the party to you!’
A Note of Madness Page 18