by Beth Thomas
‘Are you OK, Daisy?’ I hear him ask, but it sounds like he’s a long way off. Probably on the other side by now, holding his sides and trying not to laugh. I nod. At least, I think I do. I’ve shut my eyes and everything is swaying quite badly already.
‘Do you need help?’
I shake my head and try to say, ‘No thank you’, but no sound comes out. Fortunately at this point my phone quacks in my pocket and I step backwards away from the entrance to the bridge, pulling it out as I do so.
Abby Marcus Hi!. What are you doing?
Daisy Mack Passing out. What are you doing?
Abby Marcus Passing out???
Daisy Mack Bridge. Never mind. Did you want something?
Abby Marcus Oh, charming. Well I just wanted to say that I’ve got a little surprise for you, but maybe I won’t bloody bother now.
I read the words through, then again, and then a third time, but they make no more sense on the third reading than on the first. Anyone would think, reading them, that I’d burned a hole in her brand new Gucci jacket, or taped over her wedding video. I read through my own comment again but can’t see anything in it to provoke that reaction.
Daisy Mack What’s up with you, moody Mary?
Felix is swinging one of his legs, listlessly kicking the ground while he waits for me. As I meet his eyes, he grins at me pleasantly. ‘Critical incident?’
‘What?’
He jerks his chin towards the phone in my hand. ‘I’m guessing you’re dealing with a life or death situation?’ He’s still smiling as he speaks and his tone is light and cheery, as if he’s asking me if everything is all right with my meal. ‘Some kind of catastrophic emergency is unfolding, no doubt? A tragic disaster? Fire, earthquake, tornado, something like that?’
I stare at him for a few moments, then jerk as if suddenly understanding what he’s saying. ‘Ohhh, right, I get it. You’re being sarcastic. Of course. Very entertaining.’ I turn my back to him and focus again on my phone. Abby hasn’t replied. Which means she’s either suddenly lost the signal, run out of battery power, dropped her phone in the toilet, or is seriously annoyed. The first three aren’t likely, but what on earth could I have done to annoy her so much?
Felix is looking at his watch now. I roll my eyes and click my phone off. ‘OK, OK, you’ve made your point,’ I say, dropping my phone back into my bag. ‘Shall we go?’
His smile falters a little, but only for a second. ‘I wasn’t trying to rush you, my queen,’ he says, bowing his head. ‘I merely wanted to know what time it is.’
‘Sure.’ I’ve turned back to the bridge and am now right at the entrance, trying not to see the traffic streaming past a million feet below. ‘Whatever.’ Infuriatingly there’s a slight tremor in my voice and when I reach out to take hold of the handrail, I misjudge the distance totally and stumble slightly to my right as I grasp thin air.
‘Hey, what’s going on?’ Felix is at my side in an instant, his hand on my elbow. ‘Are you dizzy?’
Unfortunately, as I lost my balance then, I accidentally looked directly over the edge at the road, and all the air was driven out of me in a whoosh. I shut my eyes and nod silently.
‘Do you need to sit down for a minute?’
Over the rushing noise in my head, I am quite surprised to spot a note of genuine concern in his voice. I wasn’t expecting that. Derision was more the note I was expecting. ‘Not sure …’
‘Well, look, sit here on the grass for a minute, until you feel better.’
I open my eyes and glance at him quickly. ‘No, I mean I’m not sure if there’s any point. It won’t make any difference.’
‘Why?’
I close my eyes for a moment and sigh. Might as well just say it. He already thinks I’m an absolute loser. ‘Because as soon as I get close to the bridge again, I’ll start to feel dizzy again.’
He looks quickly at the bridge, then widens his eyes and brings his face nearer to mine. ‘Are you saying … that it’s the bridge making you dizzy? Then you must think … You can’t mean … that this bridge is haunted?’
A loud laugh escapes me, in spite of my tremulous state. ‘No, it’s not inhabited by some malevolent, undead spirit that has come to this realm from the depths of hell to terrorise all potential bridge-goers to the brink of madness or death. I wish it were that simple.’
He chuckles; a rich, mellow sound. ‘Well then, why is it making you dizzy? Is it to do with magnetic forces? Or, no, wait, are there naturally occurring gases in this area that you’re particularly sensitive to? No, no, I know, you’re allergic to …’ He looks around for a second, then his eyes land on some random plants sprouting at the bridge’s entrance, and he points at them triumphantly. ‘You’re allergic to these weeds!’
I’m smiling now. ‘No, nothing like that. I honestly wish it were though. I think all of those things could be overcome, or dealt with somehow, so that I could get across. As it is, I think I’m probably going to have to live here.’
‘You can’t overcome magnetic forces, you know,’ he says darkly.
‘How about gravity?’
‘No, you can’t … Actually, you can, can’t you? Birds and aeroplanes overcome gravity all the time. Why?’
I press my lips together resignedly. ‘It’s gravity I’m sensitive to. Not weeds or magnetism or strange smells. Just gravity. The most important, powerful, universal force in the … universe. I expect.’
He’s frowning and rubbing his chin exaggeratedly, almost like a cartoon, while looking at me sideways. It’s quite funny, actually. ‘You’re allergic to gravity? Christ alive, that’s absolutely terrible. There’s nowhere you can go to get away from it.’ He squints and looks up for a few seconds. ‘Unless … every birthday, your parents take you on one of those anti-gravity flights, where the plane dives towards the earth every so often and you experience relief from your symptoms for a few exquisite seconds.’ He follows the descent of the imaginary plane with his eyes. ‘But they can only afford it once a year, and they scrimp and save assiduously for twelve months to pay for it.’ He looks back at me, grinning. ‘Is that right?’
I nod seriously. ‘I look forward to those precious seventeen seconds all year. Even the wild nausea and copious vomiting afterwards are worth it. You have no idea.’
He nods, pulling a very sympathetic face. ‘What torture. Have you considered living on the moon?’
‘Wouldn’t work. They got all the brochures a few years ago. Gravity still exists there, although it’s less, so I’d still suffer. And they thought they might have to sell the house to get the fourteen billion dollars together for the ticket. It probably wouldn’t be worth it.’
He grins again, nodding approvingly, then quickly composes a serious face. ‘No, no, I see what you mean. Well,’ he says, pushing his fingers through his hair, ‘looks like you’re just going to have to live with it.’
‘That’s pretty much what Mum and Dad said.’
‘Your parents are awesome.’
‘Yeah. They were.’
He jerks his head a little when I say this, but I said it very softly so I’m not entirely sure he heard me. Probably best if he didn’t, really. Although I have astonished myself by participating in a joke conversation involving my parents. I even said ‘Mum’ without feeling stones in my throat. In fact, I was smiling. I actually enjoyed it.
He turns to glance across to the other side of the bridge. ‘So how do you want to tackle this then?’ He looks back at me. ‘We are going across it, Daisy. Don’t suggest a different route. That’s not happening.’
I had opened my mouth to speak, so I close it again. ‘OK.’
‘How do you normally get across?’
‘Well, my usual tactic is complete avoidance. When that doesn’t work, I hold onto Danny very tightly, keep my eyes shut, and he kind of drags me over.’
Felix’s eyes widen. ‘Danny?’
‘He’s the bloke I normally walk with. He’s away on holiday at the moment, which is why �
�’
‘Oh, yeah, yeah, I remember, Abs did explain all that.’ He nods, thinking. ‘OK. So Danny Boy pretty much just uses brute force to get you over, right?’
‘Nothing wrong with brute force. It bloody well works.’
‘But it doesn’t really help you in the long run, does it?’
‘There is no long run.’
He frowns. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, I avoid bridges as a rule, so I don’t need to think about a long run.’
‘You avoid bridges?’
I nod. ‘Bridges, high buildings, balconies, lifts, stairwells …’
‘Lifts?’
‘Yep.’
‘And stairwells?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Well, how do you get up anywhere?’
I smile, ever so patiently. ‘You’re not getting it, are you? I don’t go up anywhere. Because I avoid all those things. See?’
He’s nodding even before I’ve finished speaking. ‘Yes, I do understand. It was just a joke. Obviously it’s the going up you’re avoiding by avoiding those things, right? You’re not scared of bridges and lifts per se?’
And now I feel stupid. Which is annoying because I wanted him to. ‘Well, no. Obviously.’
‘I get it, Daisy. But you can’t avoid stairs and high places and bridges your entire life. Can you? It’s so limiting.’
‘I don’t see why not. My mum did.’
He widens his eyes and looks astonished. ‘Did she?’
‘Yeah, she did, and she got by very well, thank you. No one absolutely has to cross a bridge if they don’t want to. No one should feel forced, or under pressure to do it, if they’re not comfortable.’
‘But this is all in your head, Daisy. Can’t you see that? Obviously you’ve picked up on your mum’s fear since you were born and have learned that bridges and high places are dangerous things and need to be avoided. But that’s not correct. Your mum’s fear is incorrect.’ He folds his arms and scrutinises me for a moment. ‘Has she ever had therapy for it?’
‘No, and can we not talk about it, please.’
‘Maybe she should think about that. Ooh, why don’t the two of you go together? It would be so good for both of you to overcome your fear together. And then you could go shopping and have lunch after the sessions … What’s up? Hey, what’s the matter?’
I’m crying, obviously. Not sobbing loudly or anything, I managed to hold onto that; but nothing would stop the water leaking from my eyes and running down my face.
‘All right, look,’ he says kindly, ‘we don’t have to go over the bridge if you feel that bad about it. Not today anyway.’ He reaches out a hand and touches my arm very briefly.
‘That would be good,’ I manage to mumble. ‘Thank you.’
‘Hey, no problem. Shall we carry straight on for now?’ As he turns away from me to look up the path, I notice for the first time that he’s wearing a single shark tooth round his neck on a leather thong. It’s such a surprise to see it there, although I don’t know why. I’m surprised at being surprised, I suppose, seeing as I barely know him. He could have a flick knife in his sock for all I know. Too late I realise that he’s turned back to look at me again and I’m rather embarrassingly staring at his throat. ‘What do you think?’ he says.
‘Well I have to say I’m a bit surprised to see it, but actually it does look kind of sexy.’ No. It’s all right. I don’t say that. I almost, almost, almost say it, then realise in the last possible nanosecond that he may not have meant that. I just shrug instead.
‘Come on then,’ he says, punching me lightly on the arm. ‘Let’s get going before Abby gets Mountain Rescue out.’ I experience the weak heaviness of relief flooding through me.
Incredibly, he doesn’t mention the bridge episode once during the rest of the walk and, after several minutes, I find myself relaxing and my muscles loosening.
‘Wow, you’re smiling,’ Felix says at one point. ‘You should do it more. It suits you.’
‘Once a day, every day?’
‘Uh … What?’
‘Nothing.’
When I get back to the flat, I practically float in through the door, warm and serene from the beautiful sunshine and the pleasing ache in my hips and thighs. I stretch luxuriously in the hallway, enjoying the feeling of tautness in my legs and remembering lying face down on the floor after my first long walk, unable to move. How could I have found it so unpleasant and difficult? ‘See you tomorrow?’ Felix said as he left me, and I’d nodded. I’m looking forward to that already.
I glide into my room, still faintly smiling, still floaty and light with the relief of not being ridiculed, and the first thing I see is a pair of black trousers. Ah fuck it.
FIFTEEN
Daisy Mack
has discovered that I definitely do not like surprises. Thought I did; was wrong. They are bad, bad things, and no good can ever come of them.
Abby Marcus Oh, that’s great Daze. And there I was thinking I was doing something nice for you. What an idiot.
Daisy Mack I wasn’t talking about that Abs.
Abby Marcus Sure you weren’t.
Daisy Mack I wasn’t. I was actually talking about you springing that quiz on me last night.
Abby Marcus Fine. Whatever.
Suzanne Allen You two do realise that everyone can see this argument?
Jenny Martin Shut up Suzanne, this is better than Corrie!
Actually, I was talking about the black trousers and white shirt which she very sweetly left on my bed as a lovely surprise, but I realised just too late that I probably shouldn’t have put that on my wall. Abby’s been in a foul mood all day, for no apparent reason, so I’m trying not to provoke her. Telling seventy-three ‘friends’ how much I hate the fact that she’s manoeuvred me into this horrendous and unbearable position (getting a job and becoming independent) by going out and thoughtfully picking out the necessary work clothes for me was probably not the best way to avoid provocation.
‘Bieber’s bollocks, Daisy, put your fucking shoes away,’ is her opener when she comes in from work that evening.
‘Sorry, sorry, sorry.’ I scuttle out of my room to the hallway and scoop up the trainers. ‘Hiya,’ I say with a smile as we meet each other by the door. ‘Good day?’
‘Yeah, fucking marvellous,’ she says. I’m not convinced.
‘Oh. Bad students?’
‘Look, Daze, I’m shattered, OK? I just wanna stuff my face then veg out in front of Come Dine with Me. Do you mind if we save the inquisition for another time?’
I put my hands up. ‘No, no, of course, that’s fine.’
‘Great.’ She moves away towards the living room, then turns back suddenly and comes up to me. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, much more softly, and gives me a quick hug. When she pulls away, I’m stunned to see her eyes are filling up.
‘Hey,’ I say, taking a step towards her, ‘whassup?’ The mysterious hallway woman flashes into my mind and I feel a cold plunge of dread. I convinced myself at the time that it was nothing more than a discussion about sweat bands, but that seems ridiculous now. What was it Tom was saying? Did sweat bands even feature in the conversation? Oh God, I wish I could remember. I’m such a terrible friend. Here is my best pal in the entire world almost in tears, probably about her faithless boyfriend having conversations with strange women all over the place, I actually witness one of them, and I can’t bloody remember it. I hate myself.
‘Nothing, just feeling bad for snapping at you,’ she says now, rubbing my arm with a smile. Then she walks off leaving me mystified in the hallway.
The only possible explanation for this strange behaviour is that it’s her time of the month. Although we do usually synchronise, and it’s not time for me yet. Plus I’ve never noticed her getting as moody and volatile as this before. I stand there and wonder about it for one more second, then hurry back to my room to get ready for work.
It’s been over three years since I last went to work. I hope I r
emember how to do it. I won’t say I’m looking forward to it, but the atmosphere in the living room is so chilly tonight, Tom’s eyelashes have frost on the ends of them. It’s actually a bit of a relief to have a reason to leave the flat for the evening; I just wish it wasn’t this reason.
My first shift doesn’t go particularly well. It’s a Friday night, so the place is pretty packed out by half past eight, mostly with kids staying up late because there’s no school in the morning. The whole place is alive with the sound of voices breaking. Standing there behind the bar, the eyes of the whole world on me – or at least, the eyes of my just-turned-eighteen audience – I feel like I’m starring in some kind of performance, and I keep forgetting my lines and dropping the props. It doesn’t take long for these sharp youths to suss me out and I quickly spot a kind of ‘Mexican nudge’ travelling around the pub. Heads turn; grinning, expectant faces are revealed, staring at me hungrily. But what are they waiting for? What are they longing for? I realise the answer the first time a glass slips from my useless fingers and smashes on the tiles. There’s a split second’s hiatus, then the room explodes into noise, everyone cheering and stomping, high fiving each other and clapping each other jovially on the back. I think some money even changes hands. I try to curl up into a tiny black dot and blink out of existence, but it doesn’t work. I have no choice other than to carry on failing at life, in full view of this hostile crowd of onlookers. It brings to mind the time I fell over on the stage during the school play when I was thirteen, and Mum stood up in the audience and asked if I was all right. She even said ‘Daisy Duck’. I could have died. I longed for death, actually. Lying prone on that stage, with my wig falling off and my ankle throbbing, I would have been more than happy if someone had secretly replaced the fake gun with a real one and shot me once in the back of the head. I was known as Lame Duck for months after that. Actually I think I still am, in certain circles.
But the sarcastic cheers and foot stomping and Alex’s oh-so-patient smile are almost as bad. Once the first glass goes and Alex says, ‘Doesn’t matter, love, it happens’, my hand shakes every time I make a drink. Which I also can’t do. I don’t know where anything is or what quantities of things to use or how to do it, and have to keep on asking Millie, the other girl working here, or Barry, the barman.