I took the blue one first.
It took about twenty minutes—actually, maybe a bit less. Roz was so kind and reassuring, and the bright lights and all the equipment were starting to reassure me too, and when twelve-year-old took my pulse and said it was slowing down, I forgot about my breathing for a moment. I lay back and it was such a relief to not have to remember to breathe. Of course, as soon as I remembered, my breathing got harder and I had to remind myself to do it, but gradually it was just happening, even when I thought about it.
I lay there thinking about hypnosis tapes as Roz held my hand.
I’d bought loads, I had the lot, but I hated that they all, at some point, told you to concentrate on your breathing and the natural rise and fall of your chest, or the effortlessness of breathing. As soon as they said that, I swear, it didn’t happen naturally. If I could find a shagging self-hypnosis tape that didn’t tell you to concentrate on your breathing, I would have given up fags and booze and kept all my new year’s resolutions years ago.
‘Better?’
The doctor roused me from my slumber. Roz had just gone to the loo, he explained, and he wanted to have a word with me. Now that I wasn’t dying I noticed that he was actually nice looking, in a sort of Hugh Laurie House-type way. Well, actually he was ugly, really, but he was a doctor and sort of crabby, and that reminded me, I had one coming to stay in the morning. I toyed with telling him, maybe it would give me reciprocal rights or something, maybe then he’d believe me.
‘Much!’ I said, but then I remembered twelve-year-old saying that the steroids might take a while to kick in. ‘Well, still a bit itchy,’ I said, scratching at my ribcage.
‘Itchy?’ He sort of hauled me up and checked my back then laid me flat on my back and looked at my stomach and then my legs, and then he scratched the inside of my arms with the end of his knee-jerker thingy and I willed just a little welt to appear.
It didn’t.
Had I brought my handbag I could have whipped on some lip plumper made of cayenne pepper and he’d have believed me, but my bag was sitting at home. I looked towards the curtains he had pulled and willed Roz to appear. She’d put him right, but he must have read my mind.
‘I’ve asked your friend to wait outside so that I can talk to you. How much have you had to drink, Alice?’
‘A friend came over,’ I said. ‘He made margaritas, I’ve never had them before, maybe I’m allergic…’
‘You had a full-blown anxiety attack.’
‘I didn’t,’ I insisted. ‘I was asleep… though I did eat some leftover Chinese; I think I saw a cashew…’
‘Alice, you might convince Brent, but you won’t convince me—that was a full-blown anxiety attack. The tingling, the numbness, the hand spasticity were because your oxygen and carbon dioxide levels were out of balance—that’s why we got you to breathe into a paper bag.’
‘I wasn’t anxious,’ I insisted. ‘I was asleep.’
‘Is there anything on your mind?’ I remember feeling sort of vaguely touched. The place was steaming, there were really sick people, I could see the trolley wheels and feet whizzing past beneath the curtain, hear the shouts for help, and House was being nice to me. But there wasn’t anything on my mind—okay, I had more than fifty grand in credit-card debts, but he was hardly going to write a cheque. Still, I did concede a touch.
‘I’ve got a few money problems.’
‘Okay.’
‘I’m getting on top of it.’
‘Good,’ House said. ‘Anything else?’
‘Isn’t that enough?’
‘You tell me.’
He smiled at me and he actually wasn’t so ugly, he was really quite nice looking—with a bit of luck he was thinking of breaking his ethical code.
I gave what I hoped was a sort of brave smile.
‘Nothing…’ I racked my mind for something that would make me sound stoic and brave, but there really was nothing.
‘Anxiety doesn’t just go away, Alice. A lot of people have money problems, but they’re not in emergency at four a.m. with an anxiety attack. You need to talk to someone.’
‘And I will,’ I lied.
‘Good,’ he clipped. ‘Right, Brent will dispense your script—I’ve given you a reducing dose of steroids. It’s important that now you’ve started you take the course—you have to finish them, Alice,’ he reiterated, ‘and I’ll write you up for twenty diazepam tablets, one or two a day as required… You need to go and talk to your GP and give him this letter, I’ve suggested that you see a psychologist.’
Well, he could suggest what he liked. There was no way I was going back to Lisa—except I wasn’t really listening to him now.
Twenty diazepam.
If you counted tonight, that was three weeks’ worth.
I would give up drinking. Take tonight. Had I been able to relax, to switch off, I wouldn’t have had so much to drink. But now I had three weeks’ supply. I would go on a diet too—absolutely no carbs. No, better than that, I would do the lemon detox diet. I would start it this very morning. I would buy nicotine patches, and cleanse my body and exfoliate every night, and in three weeks’ time I’d be glowing and calm and radiant.
I was delighted.
‘You will see your GP?’ House checked, and I gave an assured nod, signing for my goodies when Brent appeared. I was dressed and ready and actually smiling when an anxious-looking Roz was allowed back in.
‘All okay?’ she checked.
‘Fine.’
‘What did the doctor say?’
‘That I have to see my GP…’ As we walked out to the car park the cool night air hit me and I was a bit wobbly and shaky, and Roz took my arm. ‘He thinks I have an underlying allergy, though they’re not sure to what. I have to have some bloods and that done.’
‘You poor thing,’ Roz fretted, seeing me in first, then walking round to the driver’s seat.
It was nearly five a.m. by the time Roz got me home.
Woozy from the Valium, all I wanted to do was sleep, but Roz found me trying to set my alarm.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I have to pick up Hugh.’
‘I’ll pick up Hugh. And you’re not going to work tomorrow. You’re staying in bed.’
‘I haven’t got any sick days left.’ I climbed into bed, too tired to pull the duvet up.
‘I’ll ring them for you—I’ll ring the hospital if you like, get a note.’
‘I won’t get paid if I don’t go in.’
It was the closest I’d come to admitting how broke I was, that I couldn’t ring in sick tomorrow, that I needed my crap hourly rate, and thankfully Roz didn’t push it, just tucked the bedding in around me.
‘Sorry I rotted up your night,’ I said.
‘You didn’t.’ Roz smiled.
‘You were on a date.’
‘About three hours before you rang.’
‘I didn’t disturb anything?’
‘It was our first date—I was hardly…’ She didn’t carry on: we both knew our version of first dates were different.
‘Thank you.’
‘Go to sleep, Alice. I’ll crash in Nicole’s room.’
‘You don’t mind staying?’
‘Of course not.’ Roz paused before she left. ‘Alice, is anything worrying you?’
‘I told you, nothing.’
‘Okay—but if you were worrying about something, you know you could talk to me.’
‘I know,’ I lied.
‘If there is something on your mind, you can share it—I might even understand.’
I looked at her kind, tired face.
A woman who’d married at seventeen, who was studying to be an accountant, who had it all so together she didn’t even use conditioner, and as much as she might think she’d understand, I knew that she couldn’t.
‘I’m fine.’
‘Good.’
‘I really am.’
I was tired, but I still couldn’t settle, so I took one o
f the Valium and read one of my self-help books as I waited for it to kick in.
I was to picture myself as a child apparently, to love the little me, and I managed a wry grin at that.
If only she’d seen what I’d looked like!
I lay back on the pillow, I could hear Roz snoring and it soothed me.
With Roz in the flat, I could almost stand to think.
Eleven
I pulled out some money from my savings and on Thursday after school I went to the hairdresser and got it straightened again. It looked even better this time than it had at the wedding. She smoothed it with serum, and then, after I went home and thankfully Mum was out, I washed myself and I shaved my legs. I pinched some of the perfume Lex had bought Bonny.
I wanted to change into something, but I always went in my school uniform and I didn’t want him to think I was making an effort or, worse, for Celeste to think that I was, so I didn’t bother.
Celeste was poisonous; she warned him that they had to leave at seven for the antenatal class as we headed to his study.
‘Like I want to learn to change nappies!’ Gus said as he closed the study door.
But whatever had happened on Monday had gone. He was very businesslike, and really pushed me. He even told me off a bit when I messed up, and said that if I wanted to pass then I had to practise more.
Celeste came in at ten to seven and told him they had to leave now.
‘Alice has paid for an hour,’ Gus said. ‘You don’t mind spending it, Celeste; well, I have to earn it. I’ll meet you there.’
She slammed out of the study again and then out of the house.
‘I can go…’
‘No.’ Gus shook his head. ‘Play, Alice—she moans about the noise. Jesus…’ He hissed out his frustration, closed his eyes and I felt so sorry for him. He was doing his best, trying to earn some money, and all she did was moan.
And I told him so.
‘She’s lucky to have you.’
‘Well, she doesn’t think so… We went to this sodding class last week. I’m doing everything right—I’ve married her, I’m supporting her and there’s not even a sniff of appreciation, not a sniff of anything.’
‘Then she’s…’ I didn’t know what to say—I sort of knew he was talking about their sex life. I didn’t understand Celeste. How could she not want him? She had him, why wouldn’t she try to keep him?
‘Come on,’ he prompted, ‘let’s go through it again.’
I messed up—and he told me to do it again, then stood up, and then he put his arms in to show me how my fingers should go… His hand was over mine but not as it had been. I could hear him breathing a bit hard, feel his hands sort of capture mine, placing each finger on the key. Instead of pressing down on the keys, I pushed my fingers up, sort of entwined them with his.
‘Play.’ His voice was lower and he moved his hands, and I played, or tried to, because his arms slid away. This time his hands did pause at my breasts, just at the sides, and I was still playing, and they were still there, a pause as still I played on. I felt dizzy. I wanted to stop but it seemed imperative that I keep playing, because if I did stop, maybe so would his hands. They were stroking the sides now, then moving round to my nipples.
His hands were on my breasts. I looked down and his fingers were opening the buttons of my blouse. I was going to bite him, but I didn’t.
I breathed in tightly.
I was somewhere between relief and fear as his fingers slid into my bra, then the fear slid away and my breath blew softly out.
It felt nice.
Twelve
‘I hope I didn’t wake you!’
I jumped out of my skin when I shuffled into the kitchen at midday and saw Prince Harry filling a kettle, dressed in jeans and T-shirt. He was all sort of untucked and rumpled and I instantly wanted to smooth him and tuck him in.
Well, not Prince Harry exactly—his hair was a little less red, and his cheeks a little less ruddy—but I do like Harry: for a redhead he’s sexy and he’s fun and he’s naughty… Where was I…? Oh, yes.
I will give you rapid details so that you will understand what I suddenly found myself dealing with.
I was expecting, I don’t know, someone with bright orange hair to greet me—instead I found myself gazing upon dead straight hair, a touch redder than strawberry blond, and he had a long fringe that was flopping in his face (given he was already in transit when I wrote my requirements, I think the universe had amended my order as best it could).
Glasses—but oblong black ones that I have to say looked fantastic.
A big body—not fat, just sort of big and male, and taking up the kitchen—and he wasn’t white. This is a very important point. I glow in the dark I am so white—that is why I have a fair-skinned spray tan once a week and apply holiday moisturiser for fair skin each night.
I sent a silent thanks to the universe for the spectacular, rapid delivery of my order. In eBay terms the feedback was five-star, fab, better than expected.
‘Coffee?’ he asked, spooning instant into a mug, and when I nodded he went through the sugar and milk ritual. ‘Well, you’re easy,’ he said when I declined them both.
You have no idea, I almost quipped, but it was there in my head and bizarrely he seemed to hear my thoughts, because he grinned and my stomach folded over on itself. Never, never had a first attraction been more intense and I could tell, I could just taste and breathe and sense, that the feeling was mutual, that it would be absolutely appropriate if he walked over now and kissed my face off.
Of course he didn’t.
He sat opposite me at the table, a slow smile on his gorgeous mouth, and stared for a moment and I stared back—it was almost as if we recognised each other.
Thank you, Yasmin. Thank you thank you thank you thank you…
‘Sorry about the glasses. Nic said they’d give you a fright,’ he teased. ‘I’ll put in my contacts soon.’
Bloody Nicole.
His flight had been long, he replied on being asked, but he’d liked Singapore Airport.
We chatted about flying for a while and gave each other a few horror stories and then I glanced at the clock and got up and pulled some bacon out of the fridge.
He made toast (which I don’t eat) and more coffee while I cooked. I splurged carb-wise (for me) and added mushrooms and tomatoes. He was so bloody easy to talk to. He was sorry to hear I hadn’t been well and said I really hadn’t had to send Roz to pick him up, but it was appreciated.
Then I had a teeny panic that maybe he would be working in Emergency too and would haul up my notes (that’s the sort of thing I would do if I fancied someone and had access).
‘It’s a busy place, Emergency,’ I said.
He pulled a face. ‘I avoid it as much as I can.’
‘Because you’re a consultant?’ I checked, and he laughed.
‘Not for another week.’
He looked too young for such a senior position and I told him so and he laughed again and said, yes, that he was. ‘But psychiatry’s one of those specialities where you can get on quickly, there’s a real dearth.’ I didn’t hear anything else for a moment, for the great whooshing sound in my ears. He Was A Psychiatrist?
I was sitting opposite a psychiatrist?
I could think of nothing worse.
A psychiatrist.
Didn’t they have half-rimmed glasses and patches on their elbows and start every sentence with Perhaps what you’re trying to say is…?
I was horrified.
I would have preferred him to be a proctologist.
Oh, God, I should have been far more specific with my list.
Still, he was here now—and it was too late to worry because, psychiatrist or not, I fancied him rotten.
‘Do you do hypnosis?’
‘Sorry?’
‘In your work?’ I was cheering up suddenly. With my own resident hypnotist, there was no end to what I could achieve.
‘Occasionally,’ Hugh said. ‘
Why?’
‘I’m just interested in it,’ I said airily, then I realised the time and pictured Claire’s face if I was late again. I toyed with ringing Roz to ask her to ring in sick for me, but I knew I mustn’t. ‘I’d better get going.’
‘You work at the paper?’ Hugh checked, as I (unusually for me) cleared and rinsed my plate. ‘What do you do?’
Normally, when trying to impress, I lie. Well, not an outright lie, but I say something vague that hints I’m a journalist, but somehow I knew that he knew. After all, he’d clearly spoken to Nicole and would have spent time in the car with Roz.
‘I work on the classifieds.’ I rolled my eyes to show how mind-numbingly boring it was. ‘With Roz.’
‘That’s right, she was saying.’
‘It was only supposed to be for a year or two,’ I admitted. ‘Actually, I’m thinking of going to university.’ It wasn’t a lie: I had sent off for the forms.
‘To study what?’
‘Music.’
I didn’t want to go to work; I so didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay and talk, but I had no choice.
I smiled and headed out to the living room and sorted out my bag, lipstick, water bottle, keys, that sort of thing, and then he appeared again.
‘Thanks a lot for letting me stay,’ he said. ‘It really is appreciated. I know Nic said you were looking forward to some time on your own. (Begrudgingly, in my head I thanked her.) It’s just till I get my bearings. You’ll hardly see me.’
I rather hoped that I would.
‘Here.’ He handed me a bag, which contained a box, which contained a bottle of a really, really expensive perfume that suddenly became my lifelong favourite. ‘It’s nice meeting you, Alice.’
I flew to work.
I swear I don’t remember a traffic light or anything.
The cosmos had aligned.
Finally, finally, my ship was coming in.
Alice Watson.
I smiled as I drove to work and smelt my newly sprayed wrist.
Dr and Mrs Hugh Watson.
Or Drs Hugh and Alice Watson. (My fantasies had moved to epic proportions by the end of my shift. As I waded in my bag and took the shine off my nose before driving home—I had decided that I would never work, I would study full time, DMus sounded good to me.)
Putting Alice Back Together Page 7