by Lucy Dawson
It was the first time I’d seen her since she’d appeared at the flat and wrought havoc. She was a little thinner after two weeks in a psychiatric unit, and seemed somehow a smaller version of herself altogether – fragile and subdued – but then I’d also never seen her completely without makeup, in a simple T-shirt and what looked like pyjama bottoms. She looked exhausted and stripped back.
‘I know you didn’t mean to,’ I said, trying to settle back in the seat and make it look like I was more relaxed than I actually was.
‘It’s just you’d said you two were a casual thing, I didn’t think . . .’ She trailed off, looking devastated. ‘But I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m so sorry.’
Simultaneously I remembered Bailey saying to me, ‘Gretchen explained you were in a serious relationship.’
But then, if there was any confusion and ambiguity, I had only myself to blame. This was exactly the kind of pointless hurt and mess that resulted when you weren’t straight with people. If I hadn’t behaved like a child and had just been honest with Gretchen – and maybe myself – from the word go about Tom and me, it wouldn’t have all ended so bitterly. She’d been very ill when she’d randomly turned up and put her foot in it, not in her right mind. What was my excuse? I still couldn’t even think about Tom standing there in our kitchen and staring at me without wanting to cry.
I cleared my throat and adopted a bright, chatty tone. ‘So how are you feeling? Bailey,’ it felt odd using his name like that with her, ‘told me they’ve played around with your medication a bit. Has it helped?’
‘A little, maybe . . . So are you and Tom still speaking?’
I shook my head and said with difficulty, ‘He’s gone. I bought you a couple of DVDs.’ I reached for my bag. ‘I thought we could watch them together. I haven’t seen—’
She hauled herself up on the bed. ‘What do you mean he’s gone? Gone where?’
‘America.’
‘America?’ She froze, like I’d said the moon, and then looked absolutely desolate.
I nodded. In spite of my best efforts, my voice had become a little unsteady. I needed to get a grip, I was supposed to be here to cheer her up, for God’s sake, and she already felt bad enough about what she’d done. I looked away so she couldn’t see my face and made a show of rummaging around in the bag.
‘When was this?’ she said.
‘He left me a letter.’ I got the DVDs out and began to unwrap the cellophane.
The envelope addressed to me had been waiting on the table at home, the day after he walked out:
Alice,
Came back to get the rest of my things. Passport, etc. You weren’t here and that’s probably best.
You were and are very important to me. I love you very much and all I wanted was to make you happy. I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to do that.
I don’t think you would ever set out to deliberately hurt me, but I also hope you’ll understand why I can’t talk to you for a while now.
I go to New York shortly. I’ve spoken to Paulo and we’ve agreed I will pay rent for the months while I’m away. With holidays etc I arrive back towards the end of November. By then I’m sure you will have found somewhere else to live. I hope you agree that it’s fair of me to ask you to be the one to move out – I can’t find somewhere new very easily from over there. Paulo will help find someone else to take your old room.
Be happy.
With my love,
Tom.
‘I’m so sorry, Alice,’ Gretchen said again. ‘If I could go back in time and not say it . . . I never meant to, to—’
‘Gretch, I know,’ I interrupted, finding it too hard to talk about any more. ‘You didn’t do it on purpose.’ I stood up to put the DVD on. ‘And at least it was a clean break. In some ways it’s probably very helpful that he had the opportunity to just up and leave.’
She was silent for a moment. ‘It’s certainly made things much easier for you and Bailey.’
I sat back down. I hadn’t meant that. I meant it was surely better for Tom to be able to just walk away from the situation, although I couldn’t deny his leaving had meant Bailey and I had a certain freedom we might not have otherwise had.
Vic had pleaded with me not to rush into anything. ‘Al, it’s so important to have a break in between relationships. You need to confront the end of you and Tom – mourn it, get over it – do whatever you have to do to be free and move on. And don’t you think it would be a good thing to have some time to yourself? Pick up with some of the girls? I saw that group email about a picnic in Richmond Park. You haven’t replied – you can’t be working on a Saturday?’
‘I’m not,’ I said. ‘And it’s got nothing to do with Bailey either. It’s Dad’s birthday, they wanted us all to go home, but Phil can’t make it and neither can Fran, so I have to go.’
‘Well, I’m pleased you’re not working – but just don’t keep turning down invitations,’ warned Vic, ‘or people will think you’re not interested and stop asking you. This is the perfect opportunity for you to get back in the social mix, Al, decide where you want things to go, not just where you get swept to. If Bailey really likes you, he’ll wait until you’re ready.’
But he didn’t want to wait and I was so flattered and delighted that he wanted to see me again so badly, I found I didn’t want to wait either.
We went for dinner at a tiny little tapas place that I had never even heard of and talked for hours about the places he had been to and countries I wanted to see. He’d reached over the table and held my hand, gently caressing the inside of my wrist with languid fingers. Then, in the back of the taxi, me very aware of the slight space between us, he had rested his hand on my leg. We jolted as the cab went over a speed bump and he grinned as I was thrown towards him. ‘That’s much better,’ he said and then he kissed me again.
The journey was the fastest I’ve ever known – all I was aware of was his hand on my thigh, my breath quickening and his kiss becoming deeper as we twisted around on the back seat so we could face each other.
‘Are you coming in?’ he said to me as the taxi pulled up outside his front door and he kissed me softly on the tip of my nose. ‘No pressure.’
I hesitated, and then shook my head. He nodded understandingly and said, ‘I had the best evening. Text me when you get home – let me know you got back safe.’
So I did, and got a text back saying, ‘I’m lying on my bed thinking of you x’. I clutched my phone to me with delight and longing. He was so unbelievably sexy. Several heady days at work followed, where I found it hard to concentrate and even forgot a booking completely. I temporarily sobered up when I dreamily drifted in to open up the studio and found a very cross client waiting for me. By Friday, I was so completely overexcited about meeting him again, I took some of the worst shots of my professional career; just about acceptable, but dull, dull, dull. It bothered me a bit, but not enough to redo them. Instead I rushed home early, so I could take my time getting ready before slipping into my brand new matching underwear, specially purchased for the evening ahead. Just in case.
It didn’t stay on for long. After another meal and two bottles of red wine, my resolve, and any guilt I might have felt about Tom, fell away completely. ‘I don’t want you to think I do this sort of thing with just anyone,’ I said afterwards, lying in his bed and his arms.
‘Of course not,’ he said, ‘but you do it very well nonetheless.’ He kissed my neck.
‘No, really.’ I closed my eyes and exhaled as I tried to concentrate. ‘I don’t . . .’
He stopped kissing and looked at me. ‘Are you saying I’m special?’ he teased.
I laughed. ‘Very. But just stop talking. Kiss me again.’
‘Alice?’ Gretchen said. ‘You need to press enter on the menu to start the movie.’
I shook my head and sat up a bit in my chair, dragging my attention back to the TV screen. I picked up the remote and pointed it quickly at the machine.
‘You don’t have
to sit here with me like this, you know. I’m sure you’ve got somewhere else more fun you could be,’ she said as I pushed play, then I shook the remote and banged it on my palm before trying again. The opening titles finally began.
I shook my head determinedly. ‘I want to watch this movie with you,’ I said, and turned it up. If truth be told, I had been invited to a launch party by a client that I ought to have gone to, but I knew Gretchen was just sitting in on her own, and Bailey had made a point of asking me to drop by and see her.
I’d expected her to go straight to their parents’ home once she’d come out of the psychiatric hospital, as I would have done in her position, but Bailey had quietly explained that wasn’t an option.
‘They’ll just clash,’ he explained. ‘Mum will try and take over, which will be fine at first, but then she’ll start making all these plans for Gretchen – with the best of intentions obviously,’ he held up a hand, ‘but Gretchen won’t be able to handle it. It’ll just blow up, Gretch will take off again . . . It’s just not worth it – at least if she’s here I know where she is.’
‘So she’s going to live with you?’ I asked, slightly surprised.
He nodded. ‘Very short term though. She’ll start getting better and stronger as the medication kicks in – then she’ll get bored and want to go back to her own flat. That’s what happened last time. It won’t get in the way of us having . . . space . . . together. I promise.’
‘I wasn’t worried about that at all,’ I said quickly. Jesus, if coming out of a psychiatric hospital wasn’t enough to earn you everyone’s full focus, care and attention I wasn’t sure what was. She had every right to be coming first as far as he was concerned. If it were Phil, or Fran, I’d be doing exactly the same thing.
‘She’ll be gone before you know it,’ he said and pulled me to him.
‘I’m sorry to be here, getting in your way,’ she said one evening, about two weeks into her living at Bailey’s. I’d called over to see her after I’d finished work because she’d sounded particularly low when I’d rung her earlier in the day. She was dressed but had no make-up on and I wasn’t entirely sure she’d brushed her hair. By the side of the sofa there were several half full bowls of cereal and almost empty mugs that had stinky fag ends floating on the surface. She climbed over them and settled back into position, tucking a blanket back round her even though it was a pleasantly warm evening.
‘How can you be getting in my way when I’ve come to see you?’ I teased gently, sinking into a chair to her left.
‘Oh?’ she said. ‘So you’ve come to see me? I assumed it was Bay you were after.’
I hesitated. She seemed to have come out of her earlier low mood only to move into a rather touchy one. ‘It’s always nice to see both of you,’ I said reasonably, to make her feel less like an invalid at hospital visiting time, but equally, valued. ‘Anyway, you can do what you like, it’s your brother’s flat.’
‘But your boyfriend’s,’ she countered swiftly.
We lapsed into silence.
‘Shall I open the curtains? It’s a bit gloomy in here.’ I half got to my feet.
She shrugged non-commitally and then winced as I drew them back and bright evening sunshine flooded the room.
‘So what have you done today?’ I asked, sitting down.
She glanced at me, then back at the TV. ‘Not much. Had a therapy session. You?’
‘I took a photo of a dog sat next to a bag of feed. Big day,’ I smiled.
She smiled so briefly I barely saw it.
‘So, any calls from your agent?’ I ploughed on determinedly.
She nodded, picked up the TV remote and flicked channels. ‘She’s still in damage limitation mode. We’re going with the story that I’m taking time out to address a booze problem. I can’t present like this.’ She motioned down at herself with disgust.
‘You can’t just . . . tell the truth?’ I suggested. It was hardly her fault she was ill; after all, no one would expect her to be working if she’d got pneumonia or something.
‘People don’t “get” mental illness,’ she said flatly, still flicking, images and colours jerking around on the screen in front of her. ‘They say they do but they don’t. They can’t see it – you look normal, so you can’t be ill, right? Anyway, a booze problem might apparently make me more interesting, more edgy, less kiddie-friendly,’ she shook her head in disbelief, ‘which is pretty fucked up.’
At least she wasn’t going to be out of work for ever though, by the sound of it, which had to be a good thing surely? Her mobile began to ring on the blanket next to her, she picked it up and glanced irritably at the screen. ‘Oh fuck off, Mum,’ she breathed, looking at the number and then letting it drop heavily back down beside her.
‘Answer it if you like,’ I said, ‘don’t mind me.’
‘I don’t want to speak to her,’ Gretchen said tonelessly and stared straight ahead.
‘So where’s Bailey?’ I said, finding that I needed another conversational avenue to explore. It was hard to find neutral topics that weren’t controversial – she’d not really done anything with her day that she could talk about.
‘He had some stuff to pick up from the library. He said he’d be back by seven. So what are you two up to tonight then?’ She looked at me briefly then turned back to the TV.
‘Not sure, just a meal I think.’ I deliberately downplayed our plans as I felt guilty to think we’d be going out and leaving her on her own. ‘How about you?’
She laughed. ‘Me? Well tonight I’ll be watching TV and answering the phone to my bloody parents who will be ringing every five seconds, as you can see.’ She waved in the direction of her now silent phone. ‘Mum’s hosting some sort of thespian gathering in our garden tomorrow – they’re doing a play next year and this is the pre-rehearsal get-together. She wants me to go. In fact,’ she changed channels again with energy, ‘she wants me to be in the play.’
‘What?’ I wrinkled my nose.
‘Yup,’ she gritted her teeth. ‘Because after eighteen-odd years in the business, that’s really what I’ve been aspiring to – some sad amateur production of “We’re All Crap In A Village Hall!” Apparently, it will “do me good”. She won’t stop going on and on about it. That’s why she was ringing just then – trying to wear me down. She’s going to fucking finish me off at this rate.’
I didn’t know what to say. Poor Gretch.
‘You see?’ She turned to me. ‘Just in case you were wondering why I didn’t tell you about my illness, this is why . . . because no one bloody understands. She thinks I want to be like this!’ She gestured wildly around her. ‘If I could do something about it, I would. She has no fucking idea.’ She glowered and crossed her arms fiercely, flicking the channels violently before finally flinging the remote away. ‘I just need a little space and time to get through this bit, that’s all.’
I tried hard not to, but I felt a little hurt at being lumped in with everyone else. ‘You could have told me,’ I said eventually. ‘I wouldn’t have liked you any the less and I could have helped. Been there more for you.’
‘Helped me?’ she pounced immediately. ‘Helped me do what?’
Thrown by her directness, I didn’t know what to say. ‘Listened?’ I hazarded. ‘Helped you find better treatment?’
She looked sideways at me, tiredly. ‘Don’t make this about you being annoyed that I didn’t tell you, please. I can barely deal with my own feelings. You’ll have to sort all that out yourself.’
My mouth fell open with embarrassment and shock. ‘I wasn’t—’
‘Yes, you were. I’m not saying it’s wrong, Alice. It makes people feel good about themselves, being needed.’
Hurt and completely chastened, I closed my mouth. The intensity of her mood was making the room small and uncomfortable. I decided it would be better to go and leave her alone.
‘Sorry,’ she said two seconds later, as I was about to make my excuses. ‘That was shit of me. I didn’t mean to t
ake it out on you. You have helped, you’ve been there loads.’ She shot a quick look at me. ‘You’ve been amazing, coming round after work all cheerful even when I’ve been a totally miserable bitch. Like now.’
‘You haven’t been, you’ve been ill.’
‘Yes I have actually. I didn’t want to tell you,’ she said, looking down at the blanket. ‘It’s been very hard to keep friendships going alongside my . . . more reckless phases. Friends in the past have found my behaviour hard to cope with, even when I’ve been honest with them. I’ve found it easier on the whole to try and keep it under wraps. I didn’t want to lose you too.’ Her eyes filled and she looked quickly away, her voice bleak. ‘It’s not the best, feeling like you’re the only one going mad in a world full of sane people.’
I felt an overwhelming rush of affection and sadness as I watched her internal struggle. I just wanted to hug her. I got off my seat and knelt down next to her, moving a cereal bowl.
I picked up her hand and grasped it firmly. ‘There’s nothing you could do that would make me not be your friend,’ I said firmly.
She couldn’t look at me. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered, tears spilling over. ‘I’ve let you all down so badly.’
‘You haven’t at all,’ I said gently.
‘I’m so embarrassed and ashamed. That night at yours . . . I would never, you know, with Paulo if . . .’ She trailed off, face flaming. I tried to hide my shock. She’d slept with him? I just shrugged and half smiled. ‘These things happen.’
‘I know I shouldn’t have stopped taking my medication,’ she fiddled with the edge of the blanket urgently with her other hand, ‘but I missed the hypermania. I like the person it makes me become. You feel beautiful . . . all lit up inside like a human firefly, flitting from place to place – everything you touch bursts into life. It’s like being in a plane while reaching out of the window at sunset and touching the underside of a sunburnt cloud; I can just feel it flow through my fingers.’