One Glass Is Never Enough

by Jane Wenham-Jones

  He shook his head silently, his eyes full of tears. When he spoke it was in such a low voice she had to bend her head closer to hear him. “They won’t believe me,” he said. “None of them. Not even Mum.”

  Gaynor led him towards the chair. “Sit down,” she said again. “Tell me.”

  “I wanted to phone you,” he said. “I wanted to warn you but the phone’s tapped.”

  “I’ve been calling your mobile,” she said.

  His eyes flicked fearfully round the room. She saw them narrow at the microwave and kettle. “Not safe,” he said.

  “Tell me what’s been happening.” She pulled another chair close to him and sat down with a hand on his arm. She could feel him trembling.

  “It’s the council,” he said. “They want to take my job away because I know what they’ve been doing. I am the enemy now. They want me out.”

  Gaynor spoke gently. “Are you sure? Do you think perhaps you’ve been getting very stressed again and everything seems…”

  He shook his head vigorously. “They’ve put a virus in the system – it’s all about me. It’s in everyone’s address book and in six days it will be all round the world.” He suddenly jumped up. “Where’s yours?”

  “What?”

  “The computer. Don’t switch it on!”

  Gaynor shook her head. “I hardly ever touch it,” she said. “Only Victor uses it really.”

  David grew more agitated. His hands fluttered in front of him. “Don’t trust Victor,” he said.

  I don’t, she thought silently. She tugged at David’s wrist till he sat back down. “How long has this been going on?”

  He seemed to be thinking. “I didn’t notice it at first,” he said slowly. “Then they all kept coming to me. Problems with files, system crashing. They all kept asking me what it was.”

  “But that’s your job isn’t it?” Gaynor asked cautiously. “Aren’t you there to trouble-shoot the problems?”

  David gave a grim smile. “These weren’t real,” he said. “These were put there to get at me. They’ve been sending emails round. It looks like a virus – it says it’s confidential information but really, inside, inside the return path, it’s all about me.”

  Gaynor felt the old frustration rise inside her and took a deep breath, keeping her voice very calm. “What about you?”

  David looked at her sadly. “Saying I’m evil. They want to get rid of me because I know what they do.” He looked anxiously around again. “They might come here, I don’t know.”

  Gaynor’s mind raced. She was glad Victor wasn’t here but she felt that frisson of fear she always did when David was like this. She knew from her mother that he hadn’t been taking his medication, that he’d convinced himself that he was being watched and followed, that he refused to go to the doctor. He thought the medical profession were now in it with them.

  “It sounds to me,” she said carefully, “as though everything’s been getting on top of you again. Have you been taking your tablets? Have you got them with you?”

  His eyes narrowed again. “I don’t need them. There’s nothing wrong with me – it’s them.”

  “What does Mum say?”

  He shook his head again. “She doesn’t understand, does she?” He spoke sorrowfully. “Mum doesn’t know about computers. She believes what people tell her. Mum’s too innocent. She just says I’m tired and I should go back to hospital!” He opened his hands and shrugged. “It’s no good trying to explain it any more.”

  “What about Dad?” Gaynor asked warily

  David’s eyes flashed. He jerked back from her. “He’s very two-faced!” His voice was high and loud. “Don’t trust him either!”

  “It’s OK,” she said, mind racing, wondering what to do. She should try to get him to go to bed and sleep – he looked totally exhausted. Perhaps tomorrow she’d be able to persuade him – God knows how – to come to a doctor with her.

  “There is a conspiracy,” he said urgently. “I know everyone thinks I imagine it but that’s what you’re meant to think. They want you to believe I’m mad and then they can do what they like. But things are really happening to me, they really, really are.” He put his head in his hands and she watched a tear trickle down his cheek and slide through his fingers. When he raised his face again his eyes were pleading. “Do you believe me, Gaynor? You believe me, don’t you?”

  She heard her mother’s voice in the back of her head, worn down with having the same conversations over and over, wrung out from the constant emotional rollercoaster of David, weighted down by disappointment in her husband who would have silently withdrawn, who would be sitting now, morosely looking out of the window into the garden leaving his wife to wonder what she had done to deserve this twice. A husband and son who found, in their different ways, reality so very hard to stomach.

  But despite that, her mother would be remembering her reading and her experience and still, desperately, through her weariness, trying to do the right thing. “Don’t collude with him,” she would say, when later Gaynor found a way to make the whispered call that would let her mother know David was safe. “Try and get him to a doctor, make him take his medication…”

  Gaynor looked at David, huddled in the damp clothes he still wouldn’t take off, looked at his scared, wretched, exhausted face and she leant over the table and took his hand.

  “Yes,” she said, “I believe you.”

  She lay awake staring at the ceiling. David had finally been persuaded to take a shower and put on a big baggy sweatshirt of hers and some tracksuit bottoms she swore weren’t Victor’s, and had gone to bed in the spare room. She’d peeped in at him earlier and he was asleep, a glass of water beside him. He wouldn’t have anything to eat and she wondered if he thought his food was poisoned. In his worst-ever illness he wouldn’t even drink, convinced that the water was contaminated. He would take only carton orange juice from one particular shop he felt safe about. They’d had to sedate him and put him on a drip in the end.

  She gazed upwards wondering what to do with him in the morning. She’d made the call to her mother, keeping it brief, just saying he was sleeping and she’d call again. Her mother had been anxiously listing things about social services and ringing the ‘out-of-hours’ team and how long it was since she thought he’d taken any tablets but Gaynor was barely listening. She’d told David he was safe here, that she would look after him. She didn’t have a clue what to do next without letting him down.

  She felt very alone. Though Victor would probably have made things worse. He didn’t understand about David. They had nothing in common even when he was well. Victor found him hard to talk to, nervy and introspective.

  “He’s got a permanent chip on his shoulder,” he’d said, disparagingly. “With good reason,” Gaynor had answered shortly.

  She couldn’t explain to anyone the emotions David brought out in her – the blend of frustration and rage and pity and fierce, protective love. Victor had called David “that nutter” once. Gaynor had hurled a plate at him.

  But lying here alone in the half-dark, she felt afraid. She’d left the lamps on downstairs and a soft glow came up the stairs on to the landing. She looked at the clock. It was nearly two a.m. She thought about ringing her mother back but she didn’t want to wake her – she probably hadn’t slept for the last two nights. She turned over.

  She wished she could talk to Sam, but he’d probably be asleep too and if David woke up and heard her… He’d probably be better with Lizzie – he was always more comfortable with women – but Lizzie could go in too strong and alarm him. Her eyes felt gritty and she felt nauseous with tiredness. She’d sleep on it. See how things were tomorrow. She yawned and pulled the duvet more closely round her. She was getting warm and heavy. She’d drift off in a minute. She’d decide what to do in the morning. Maybe David would be better when she woke up…

  She sat up with a start, as a high wailing noise came from down the landing. Heart pounding, she got out of bed and groped for her d
ressing gown. The green illuminated hands of her clock showed it was twenty past four.

  She threw open the door of David’s room. “What’s the matter?”

  He was sitting up in bed, hands waving in agitation in front of him. She went to him but he writhed away from her, still making the same desperate sound of despair.

  “It’s OK, it’s OK.” She sat on the edge of the bed, blinking, as he began to hold his head and rock back and forth, moaning as if in great pain. The awful thought that he had a brain tumour flashed through her head. “What is it? Does something hurt?”

  “They won’t stop,” he cried, “they won’t stop!” He turned and looked at her wild-eyed. “They keep on and on inside my head. They’re here, Gaynor, they’re outside, they’re under the floorboards…”

  “No, nobody’s here.”

  He began thrashing about again, one arm flailing out and knocking the glass of water to the floor. It bounced on the carpet and splashed up, drops splattering against the wallpaper, the rest seeping across the crimson pile in a dark red stain. Gaynor looked at it uneasily.

  He was still shrieking. “They want to get me, Gaynor! They’re in this house and they’re creeping inside my mind.”

  Gaynor stood up. “I’ll call someone to help us then,” she said. “I’ll get the police.”

  “NO!” He stood up too, knocking into the bedside table, making the small lamp rock violently. “They’re involved. Everyone’s been told and everyone’s in on it. Don’t call anyone!”

  He stared at her and her heart thumped again. He had that look in his eyes she’d come to dread. He was somewhere else entirely. He held his head to one side as if listening. Then he stared at her again, looking almost menacing.

  “No police.” One of his hands went to the lamp.

  “David, sit down.” She felt scared now. She was sure he wouldn’t hurt her but she didn’t know quite what he would do. Once in his teens, he’d knocked her mother’s glasses off and their father had punched him. The most awful fight had broken out – Gaynor remembered her mother sobbing and wringing her hands while she herself huddled horrified in a corner, powerless to stop them. Her father had come off worse, Gaynor remembered, with satisfaction.

  “No police,” David said again. He stood in front of her rigid and trembling.

  “I know a retired one – a good one – he left them – now he’s just on his own – he’ll help and protect us,” Gaynor said desperately, wondering if Sam would come. She needed someone else here. She didn’t like it and she didn’t know what to do.

  “NO!” David had hold of her arm. He still had a wild look in his eye. “You can’t trust anyone. They’ll take me away if you call.”

  “I won’t let them!”

  “You can’t stop it! STOP IT,” he screamed, letting go of her and clutching at his head again. “Stop it, STOP!”

  She began to move towards the door.

  He leapt after her and gripped her elbow again. “Don’t go anywhere!”

  “I need to go to the loo.”

  He looked at her suspiciously. “You can’t.” His voice rose. “You’re going to call them and get me taken away.”

  “I’m not.” She pulled her arm away from him. “Let me go!”

  “No!” He picked up the red patterned lamp and hurled it at the wall. There was a tinkling of broken glass as the bulb smashed. The plug, wrenched from the socket, thumped down after it.

  Real fear ran through her. “David, I have to go to the bathroom.” She could hear her voice breaking.

  He stared at the lamp and then at her. For a moment he frowned as if puzzled. Then his face closed in distrust once more. “Where’s the telephone?”

  “In my bedroom.”

  “You’re not to use it.”

  “I won’t, I promise.”

  “I’ll sit by it.”

  “OK.”

  Her mother had reminded her about this. It was always a problem. Once, David had ripped the phone from the wall when she’d tried to call the doctor.

  “If it gets bad,” her mother had whispered down the line earlier, “keep your mobile with you. Call me!”

  It was in Gaynor’s dressing-gown pocket. For a heart-stopping moment, she thought David would want to search her but he seemed not to have thought about mobiles, or assumed hers was elsewhere. He sat stiffly on the edge of her bed, guarding the landline as she went into the ensuite.

  Her fingers were shaking as she found the number. She flushed the loo and ran both taps praying the noise would cover her voice. Oh God, please answer, please be awake. At the other end, the ringing stopped. He sounded calm and alert despite the hour. Her mouth was dry. She could already hear David calling for her. There was a thump outside the door. Don’t ask questions, just do it, she begged silently, as she managed to say, hoarse with panic: “Sam, please, please come.”

  15. Uruguayan Tannat

  Aggressive flavours with an overpowering endnote.

  David seemed to have exhausted himself and agreed to lie on her bed, holding the phone off the hook while she went down and made tea. The house was cold. She felt sick and shivery. She pulled her dressing gown more tightly around her and flicked on the heating.

  Gazing at the kettle, waiting for it to boil, she wondered what would happen when Sam came and half-regretted calling him out. Maybe David would fall asleep up there, maybe the whole thing was best left till daylight. Till she could call her mother and make a plan. A noise made her go to the hall. Sam was tapping quietly on the frosted panes to the side of the oak door.

  “Thank you,” she said in a low voice as she opened the door. “Thank you so much.”

  Sam raised his eyebrows as he looked about him. “Wow,” he whispered. Then he touched her face. “Are you all right?”

  She silently shook her head, leading him through to the kitchen before she tried to speak. He put his arms around her. “What’s been happening?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

  “I just don’t know what to do now,” she finished, wiping her eyes, weak with relief at having him there. “He won’t trust anyone.” She pulled a wry face. “Especially men.”

  She handed Sam a mug. “I don’t know what he’ll do if he sees you.”

  When she went into her bedroom, David was lying back with his eyes closed, the receiver left dangling next to him. He snapped awake as she approached.

  “Tea,” she said brightly. He sat up, reaching for it, looking a little more normal than before. He peered into the yellow mug as if checking its contents but seemed prepared to put it to his lips.

  “How are you feeling?” asked Gaynor carefully. She was aware of Sam waiting quietly at the top of the stairs, ready to spring into action if needed. They had agreed that if David was calm, it was better not to rock the boat, and Sam would stay out of sight. “I’ll talk to him,” he’d offered at first, but Gaynor had shaken her head. He didn’t know what David could be like.

  Now, as David opened his mouth to speak, there was a creaking on the landing outside. Gaynor grimaced. That bloody floorboard.

  “Who’s there?” David shot from the bed, the mug flying across the room, the contents cascading from it. “Who is it?” he shrieked.

  “A friend of mine,” she yelled back, thinking of Victor coming home to find tea all over the pale carpet and suddenly wanting to shake her brother. David came right up to her, putting his hands on her shoulders, gripping them tightly. “Who?”

  “I’m Sam.” His voice was quiet in the doorway.

  “NO!” David howled, shaking Gaynor.

  She shrank back, terrified now as David appeared to go totally out of control. He threw her away from him, turning and banging his own head hard against the wardrobe door. There was a sickly thud as he did it again against the tasteful grey and pink paper. Again and again, till he was literally bouncing off the walls, all the time making terrible noises of pain.

  She was aware of Sam holding out his hands to him, saying something she couldn’t hear
. David’s nose had begun to bleed.

  “Stop it,” she cried. “Stop it, stop it.”

  David appeared not to see or hear her. He picked up the velvet-covered stool from her dressing table and brought it high above his head. He was staring at a point somewhere in the distance but she realised he was going to hurl the heavy wood straight at her.

  “No, David!” she shouted. She was shaking so much she thought her knees would buckle. The seat sailed past her as she ducked. There was a loud splintering sound as it crashed into her full-length mirror. She dropped to the floor, hearing herself shriek.

  Then Sam was there, launching through the air, bringing David down in a rugby-style tackle on to the bed. Gaynor screamed again. Sam had his arms wrapped around David’s, pinning her brother’s limbs to his sides, the weight of his legs hooked over David’s. David struggled, squeaking like a trapped animal, hands and feet flapping but Sam, breathing heavily, held the rest of him immobile.

  Gaynor stood transfixed and horrified. She wanted to cry out to Sam not to hurt him, but then David went limp and began to shake with loud racking sobs and she heard Sam’s familiar tones .

  “Shhhh, Shhh,” he was saying soothingly. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you and nobody is going to harm you.”

  He looked up at Gaynor. “Ambulance,” he mouthed over David’s shoulder. “Ambulance now.”

  It was daylight by the time they’d all gone. Gaynor sat at the kitchen table, still in her dressing gown. She scrubbed at her face with a damp ball of kitchen towel. Sam came in through the back door, a warm waft of tobacco smoke coming in with him.

  “You could have had that in here,” she said wearily.

  He shook his head. “You should get some sleep,” he said, picking up his jacket from the back of the chair.

  Gaynor rose and began to pace up and down the room.

  “Did you know the police would be called?” she asked accusingly.