by Wendy Clarke
‘The old quarry?’
‘That’s the one. I was thinking of going there to take some photographs. Fancy coming?’
The sun was getting low in the sky. Beth checked her watch. ‘What, now?’
He laughed. ‘No, of course not. I mean at the weekend. Unless you’ve got something better to do.’
‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘No. I’m not doing anything.’
‘Great, that’s a plan then. Bertha and I will pick you up in the morning.’
‘Bertha?’
David cocked his head towards the camper van. ‘That’s what I call her. I’ll come by at eight.’ He looked across at the row of miners’ cottages. ‘Which one is yours?’
‘Don’t worry,’ Beth said quickly. ‘I’ll come here. Save you turning the van round.’
‘Okay. Whatever. Look, it was nice to see you and all that, but I’ve got stuff I need to get done.’ Picking up the mugs, he placed them on the floor of the van, then turned back to her. ‘Are you feeling all right now? I hope it wasn’t something I said. I have been known to put my size ten in it sometimes.’
‘No, it wasn’t you.’ Beth got up and lifted her bag onto her shoulder. ‘I was just being stupid.’
‘Glad to hear it. It happens to us all at times.’
She smiled and thanked him for the tea, then made her way back across the field to the bridge. When she reached it, she stopped and looked back, wondering if he’d be watching her, but he wasn’t – he’d gone inside the van, taking the chairs with him.
As she walked back along the road, she hummed a tune to herself. For the first time in a long while, she felt happy.
Across the road, Graham Hargreaves had put a sign outside the door of his shop, advertising local ice cream. Fancying some, Beth crossed the road and pushed open the door.
The man looked up from his paper. ‘Fine afternoon.’
Beth smiled. ‘It most definitely is.’
‘What can I get you?’
‘Just a small tub of vanilla ice cream, please.’ She got some coins out of her pocket and placed them on the counter as Graham turned his back on her and rummaged in a small freezer compartment.
He slid it towards her, then rang it up on the till. ‘How’s your mum?’
‘My mum? She’s fine.’
‘That’s good.’ He handed her the receipt. ‘Gave me a bit of a scare, though, the other day.’
Beth felt a shiver of concern. ‘Why? What happened?’
‘Didn’t she say? Probably didn’t want to worry you. She had a bit of a turn, is the best way to describe it. Looked as if she’d seen a ghost. Face as white as a sheet and pulse through the roof. I wanted to drive her home but she wouldn’t hear of it.’
‘Oh.’ Beth frowned. Her mum hadn’t said anything.
‘Anyway,’ Graham continued. ‘Glad to hear she’s all right now.’
He went back to his paper and Beth let herself out, the doorbell tinkling as she pulled it open. Why hadn’t her mum said something? Had she not wanted her to know? There was a time when they would have told each other everything.
She desperately wanted to talk to someone but there was no one to tell – except her dad, and she didn’t want to worry him. Maybe if her mum had encouraged her to make friends when she was younger, she’d now be on the phone to one of them, telling them what Graham had said. She’d listen to their words of sympathy then, between them, they’d work out what she should do.
With a jolt, she realised the only person she wanted to tell was David, but what would she say? My mum’s going crazy and I’m scared?
Stripping off the cardboard lid and throwing it in the bin, she dipped the little plastic paddle into the ice cream, realising, as she did, that she was no longer hungry.
Eleven
Leona
It doesn’t look like a consultation room. It looks like someone’s living room. There’s a curved settee in a neutral beige material and a matching armchair. The walls are neutral too, with tasteful abstract prints, and on a low table by the window the thick green leaves of an aspidistra plant contrast nicely with the floaty, white curtain at the window.
I’ve been sitting here for ten minutes and, so far, we’ve done nothing but exchange pleasantries. How long it’s taken me to drive here. How beautiful the countryside is looking with the bluebells out.
While we’ve been talking, Lisa Manning has been sitting back in her chair, her neat ankles crossed. Now, she leans forward a little.
‘Why don’t you tell me what made you come to see me today, Leona? Or would you prefer me to call you Leo?’
Ria’s voice is in my head. Get out of my house, Leo. I never want to see you again.
‘No,’ I say quickly. ‘Nobody calls me that.’
It’s peaceful in this room with its tall windows. One of them is open a little and a breeze shivers the curtains. Her question has taken me by surprise; for a moment, I’d forgotten the reason why I’m sitting here.
I look at her and notice how, behind her glasses, her eyes are an unusual shade of green. I’d been expecting someone older, with iron-grey hair in a bob, or maybe even a man. Not this slip of a girl whose light brown hair is pulled back from her face and caught behind her head with a tortoiseshell clasp.
She smiles at me and it’s a nice smile. It reaches her eyes and I feel myself responding.
‘I’m not coping. I thought I was, but I’m not.’
She nods and looks down at her notes. I wonder what she’s thinking, how much is written there.
‘I’m here to help you. You don’t have to be on your own through this.’
‘I’m not on my own. I have Scott and Beth.’
‘I know that, of course you have. It’s just that sometimes, in situations like this, you need more support than your family can give you.’ A strand of hair slips loose and, as she pushes it back into the clasp, I notice the shine of her clear nail polish. ‘Why have you never come before? It’s been what… twelve years?’
I think about this, remembering the early days. It had been hard, but I’d got through it. Everyone said I should forget her, forget Ria. That looking back would only cause me more pain. I’d done what they’d said and, in time, she’d become just a memory. A phantom who sometimes haunted my dreams.
‘I’ve started to see her.’
‘Who do you see?’
The fabric of the settee has a faint check on it. I run my finger over it, counting the squares.
‘Who, Leona? Take your time.’
Tucking my hands under my legs, I look up at her. ‘Ria. That’s who I see.’
She picks up a pen from the glass table between us and makes a note on the pad she has in front of her.
‘And how does it make you feel when you see her?’
‘Scared. I’m scared she’s coming back.’
‘She can’t come back, Leona. You know that’s not possible.’
‘I know she can’t.’ A well of sadness opens up within me. ‘But despite what she did, I miss her.’
I’m trying to hold myself together but it’s too exhausting. Instead, I drop my head into my hands and let the tears fall.
Lisa says nothing, just pulls a tissue from the box on the table and hands it to me. I blow my nose and push the tissue up my sleeve. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘There’s nothing to be sorry about.’
‘I’ve been wasting your time. I know there’s nothing you can do to help me.’
Lisa looks at her notebook. ‘You say you’ve been having panic attacks. Do they happen often?’
‘I’ve had them in the past but now they’re getting more frequent.’
I remember the panic I’d felt in Graham Hargreaves’ shop and the overwhelming fear I’d had when I’d woken that night.
‘Usually they happen in the daytime but sometimes they wake me up.’
‘Can you describe them to me?’
I watch the curtains flutter. ‘I feel a terror I can’t explain. My chest is tight and
I sometimes find it hard to breathe. I feel as if I’m about to die.’
Lisa slides the clip of her pen into her notebook to mark the page, then closes it and places it on the coffee table. ‘During a panic attack, a lot of adrenaline is coursing through your body and it’s this that is causing the physical and mental responses. But it’s important to remember that feelings can’t hurt us… not physically, anyway. You might feel like you’re going to die when the attack happens, but the fact you’re sitting here with me is proof that you didn’t. Around sixty percent of people with a panic disorder experience at least one attack at night – a time when darkness can make you feel more vulnerable.’
I think of how claustrophobic the velvet darkness seems and how desperate I am to turn on a light. ‘But when I get them, I haven’t been dreaming.’
‘A panic attack at night is pretty much the same as in the daytime. The only difference is, it happens in a less conscious manner. We forget that our subconscious is still active when we’re asleep. These attacks have been found to occur during non-REM sleep and are not always a direct response to a dream.’
A fly is buzzing around the room. It lands on the arm of the settee and I feel a desire to squash it with my fist. I don’t though, just flick it away.
‘Why is this happening to me now?’
Lisa levels her cool green gaze at me. ‘Rather than concern yourself with why it happens, I think we should concentrate on how you will respond the next time it does. It’s important not to fight against it, but to work with it. I’ll show you some breathing exercises you can do which will help and, if it happens at night, don’t try and go back to sleep, do some ironing or read a book until the anxiety goes. Most importantly though, when you feel an attack coming on, you must try to remember that there’s nothing life-threatening causing these symptoms.’
I stare at her. ‘But what if there is? What if I’m in danger?’
I expect her to react, but she doesn’t. Her voice is as calm and level as it was before.
‘There’s no danger, Leona.’ Picking up her notebook again, she opens it and turns back a few pages, reading what’s written there. ‘I think that it would be beneficial to you to look back to when it all happened.’
My heart clenches. ‘No! I can’t do that.’
‘I know it’s hard, but until you confront your feelings and make peace with the past, you won’t be able to deal with the present.’
‘But I’ve been all right for years.’
‘The subconscious is good at burying bad memories. Locking them up until, one day, something happens to turn the key and release them. Have you ever told Scott?’
‘I can’t. You know I can’t.’
‘When something traumatic has happened in the past, it’s sometimes difficult to keep it from our loved ones… Even when we know we should.’
‘I haven’t told him.’
She steeples her fingers under her chin. ‘And if you did, what do you think he would say?’
My stomach churns. I’ve asked myself this question a million times. ‘I don’t know.’
There’s a vase of lilies on a polished wooden console behind me. Every now and again I catch their sweet, cloying scent. Lisa is speaking again. She’s asking me to tell her about Ria. From the beginning. So that, together, we can work out what it is that makes me afraid. I wonder if I can do it.
Lisa gets up and stands by the window. She parts the white curtain and looks out. When she looks back at me, her eyes are serious.
‘I know it’s Ria’s story, but I think it’s you who should tell it.’
Twelve
Ria
Ria leant across the table and took a strand of her friend’s long fair hair between her finger and thumb.
‘How is it you have such gorgeous hair when, however long I’ve spent on it, mine looks like a haystack?’
Leo pulled a face. ‘What? The “just got out of bed” look? I’d give my right arm for hair like that. Men can’t get enough of it in my experience and, if I’m not mistaken, there’s one over by the bar who wouldn’t mind getting his fingers tangled up in yours right this minute.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘His face has I’d like to take you home with me written all over it.’
‘Stop it. You’re embarrassing me.’
It was nearly seven and the bar was filling up with people on their way home from work: men in tailored suits and women in grey knee-length pencil skirts and high-heeled shoes, their voices loud and confident, their make-up just so.
Looking down at her jeans and T-shirt, Ria felt out of place. Usually, she and Leo spent their evenings in the student union bar or in the pub at the end of their road, but tonight she was working. Well, maybe not working as such, as it was only a trial. She would have to wait until after she did her set later in the evening for the manager to make a decision. If he liked what he heard, and liked what he saw in the till at the end of the evening, he’d said she could have a regular Thursday evening spot. This would be for cash, not just free drinks.
She could certainly do with it; even after buying most of her food from the value range at Tesco, and limiting her alcohol consumption to weekends, her money was never going to stretch to the end of term. It never did, but this year she’d vowed not to turn to her parents for another handout.
‘Well, what do you think?’ Leo said, nudging her.
‘About what?’
‘About him? Over there at the bar… The one who’s staring at you.’
Trying not to make it obvious, Ria looked over her shoulder. There were several people at the sleek black counter, but it was clear straight away which one Leo was talking about. The man was perched on the edge of his stool, one shiny black shoe resting on the rail, and he was looking their way.
He was quite a contrast to the guys on her business studies course with their wine-coloured skinny jeans and emo haircuts. Like most of the other customers, his suit trousers looked expensive, and he’d taken off his jacket to reveal a white shirt with a faint blue stripe that fitted the contours of his body. His sandy hair was neither long nor short but combed back from his face, and his chin was showing just a hint of five o’clock shadow.
Scared he had seen her looking, she turned back quickly. ‘Actually, I would have thought he was more your type.’
Leo sat back and took a sip of her wine. ‘God no. Far too metrosexual for me. Anyway, I’m happy with Adam. I couldn’t cope with two men.’
Ria laughed. ‘That’s not what I heard.’
Dodging Leo’s punch to the arm, Ria drained her glass. It probably wasn’t a good idea to drink before she performed but, with any luck, it would calm her nerves.
With elbows propped on the table, she rested her forehead on the heels of her hands and tried to concentrate on the songs she would be singing later. As she ran the words through her head, she could still feel the man’s eyes on her.
‘Is he still looking?’
‘So, you are interested.’
‘I didn’t say that. I just don’t like being stared at.’
The chair scraped as Leo moved it a little to see past her. ‘He sure is. I wonder what he does?’
‘It could be anything. There are a million different offices in this area of London. I reckon he looks like a lawyer.’
‘My guess is marketing or advertising. In fact, he looks like he should be in an advert himself. He’s got that David Beckham sort of look. Bet he’d rock a sarong.’
‘Shush… He’ll hear you.’
‘What, with this racket? And, in any case, he’s on the other side of the room.’
It was true. Loud chart music was playing through the speakers on the walls. It was hard enough to hear what Leo was saying, let alone anyone else.
‘If this is the sort of music the customers like, my stuff’s going to go down like a lead balloon. God, what was I thinking of? This really wasn’t a good idea.’
Catching her hand, Leo gave it a squeeze. ‘They’
ll love you. How could they not? Anyway, I have a feeling that you could play the bagpipes today and you’d still have one admirer.’
‘Still looking?’
Leo smiled in amusement. ‘Yup. Still looking. Oh, wait a minute, I think he might be leaving.’
Ria felt a stab of disappointment. ‘I’ll have to save the bagpipes for another day then.’
‘Looks like it… Oh, no, wait a minute. He’s not leaving, he’s just going to the gents. Fancy another drink? I could follow him if you like.’
Ria raised her eyes in mock horror. ‘Not unless you want to get yourself arrested!’
‘Spoil sport. I always fancied myself as a sleuth. Anyway, what was your answer to the drink question?’
Their glasses were both empty but Ria shook her head. ‘I’d better not. I’d get the words all muddled or play the wrong chords.’
‘As if that’s going to happen. I’ve heard you play enough times to know you could do it in your sleep.’
‘Anyway, I’ve got no money.’ Leaning back in her chair, Ria tried to relax, letting one song, then another, wash over her. It was only when Leo shook her arm that she came back to the present.
‘Look,’ Leo hissed.
Ria turned to see one of the girls from behind the bar weaving through the crowd with a bottle of white wine in her hand. When she reached them, she placed it on the table and looked back over her shoulder.
‘It’s from that guy over there.’
He was standing now, side on to the bar, his elbow resting on the shiny bar top. Slowly, he raised his glass and, as her eyes met his, he smiled.
‘Lucky you,’ the girl said, wiping her hands on her black apron. ‘He’s been in three times this week and half the girls who work here fancy him.’
Ria felt herself colour. She glanced at Leo. ‘It might not be me he’s interested in.’
‘Oh, it’s you all right,’ the girl said, ‘and, if you ask me, you might have hit the jackpot with that one. He’s done pretty well for himself from what I’ve heard.’