Me and You

by Claudia Carroll

  After a while, Susan began to feel worthless and alone. And worst of all, that there was no one for her to talk to. Over the weeks and months that followed, she began to sink deeper and deeper into herself, until she reached a stage where she felt unable even to get out of bed in the mornings. She recognises now that she was suffering from the early stages of depression, but at the time all she felt was that the four walls around her were closing in on her and that if she didn’t do something, she’d surely suffocate.

  ‘So,’ she told me, ‘I walked. I needed to get away. It’s impossible to explain, but I just wanted to put as much distance between me and this life that I hated as I possibly could. Something had to give and, mad though it may sound now, at the time this just seemed to me like the right way to go about it. I wasn’t thinking about all the worry and unnecessary stress I was causing to my family; I wasn’t thinking, full stop.’

  Susan took a flight to London, checked into the cheapest hotel she could find and lay low. And of course, in no time, the alarm was raised. Her family back home became concerned at not having heard from her. She wasn’t answering her phone and wasn’t turning up for work either. Her parents contacted the police and through passport records at the airport, it didn’t take the police long to trace her to London. After that, her mobile phone gave away her location pretty quickly. In the meantime, money had started to run out for Susan and she knew herself that sooner or later, she’d have to come forward. She knew it was just a matter of time before her old life caught up with her.

  ‘But in a weird way, it turned out to be the best thing I could possibly have done,’ she told me. This, she now feels, was a classic cry for help and so help is exactly what she got. And for the first time in years, she began to open up about the black dog of depression that had been smothering her for so long. She’s in a far better place now, she tells me, and thankfully her whole life has moved on.

  ‘When I disappeared,’ she added, ‘part of me knew that I was only causing huge unnecessary worry to my family. But that’s the thing; you can’t see the wood for the trees. You have to understand that you’re in complete meltdown, and all you can think of is that you want to walk away from it all.’

  But Me and You isn’t just about a girl who goes missing. It’s a love triangle too, and that was very much what I wanted to focus on when Kitty/Jean returns back to her old life to find that everyone else has moved on, except her. But here was the thing; do love triangles ever end happily?

  I spoke to countless people – women mostly – and the general consensus seemed to be that, while it’s no fun being on the wrong end of a triangle, sometimes realising that your partner is just never going to stop obsessing about his ex can be the very spur you need to move on. And to accept that, try as you might, the relationship is going absolutely nowhere. A tough lesson to have to take, isn’t it?

  One friend had a particular gem; she was madly in love with her too-perfect boyfriend, who she claimed was just the nicest man on earth. But that was the trouble; he was almost too nice, too easy-going, too unable to see what was going on around him. Because he had an ex you see (don’t they all?), who was still very much a fixture in his life. To the extent that she was constantly on the phone to him, or else hanging around his flat. On one famous occasion, Mr Perfect Boyfriend was taking my pal out to a special occasion posh restaurant for Valentine’s Day … and his ex decided to tag along too.

  ‘She was feeling really low you see,’ Mr Perfect patiently explained. ‘So what could I do? Course I had to include her.’ Anxious to be seen as unthreatened by this and complete fine with it, my pal just kept her cool, and nodded and smiled, albeit through gritted teeth. But this was far from being a one-off; in fact time and again, needy-ex-from-hell kept finding more and more ingenious ways to sabotage Mr Perfect’s budding new relationship. If he and my pal were due to have a romantic dinner together, she’d be sure to pick that night of all nights to have a panic attack, so he’d just have to drop everything and run to her side. And by the way, as my friend pointed out, this was a girl who seemed to be able to time her panic attacks so they conveniently coincided with any night she and Mr Perfect planned to be together. Some coincidence, no?

  If they were having a cosy night in front of the telly with a bottle of vino and a pizza, just the two of them, you could almost guarantee his phone would ring. Guess who?

  ‘So of course after a few months of this carry on, ‘my friend said, ‘My patience started to wear thin and I just reached breaking point. I really appreciated that my lovely boyfriend was so caring and concerned about his ex, but the fact was that she was manipulating him and he was completely blind to it. I wanted to shake him by the shoulders and ask him why he couldn’t see this, but of course then I would have ended up looking like the one who was being a complete bitch. Which, I suppose, is what his ex wanted all along, I’d safely guess. In retrospect she played it all so well and ultimately got what she wanted, which was me out of the picture. We broke up amicably enough and I really wasn’t surprised to hear that within no time, he’d got back with her. But then, she was determined not to let him out of her life and would have gone out of her way to sabotage any fledgling relationship he may have had.’

  You see what I mean? Ask any author and they’ll tell you. The stories and inspirations really do come from just about anywhere and everywhere …

  Claudia on … editing and deleted scenes

  Ok, time for an extra-special treat. Thing is you see, I always feel so sorry for my lovely editor. Mainly because I’m a shocking over-writer and have a horrible habit of delivering first draft manuscripts that are so ridiculously long, they could almost double up as door-stoppers. Which is where the amazing Claire Bord steps in, and works tirelessly on pruning back my initial meandering scribblings down to a more manageable length. You know, something that’s less likely to give you shoulder strain when you’re carting the book around.

  Anyway, this always involves losing scenes which sadly, just have to head the way of the cutting room floor. But I just wondered if you’d like to have a sneaky peek at one of them? Which, ahem, got as far as the first draft, but then had to be jettisoned in the interests of publishing a book that would actually fit on a bookshelf.

  So this particular deleted scene takes place in part one of the book, when Kitty has first gone missing and poor old Angie and Simon are left running around like headless chickens. While researching this, the police told me that one of the things that can often hamper any missing person investigation is a load of psychics and mystics all creeping out of the woodwork and claiming that they’ve got valuable information that’s guaranteed to help with the case. As they have to take any information seriously, hours of police time is wasted in pursuing these and most end up as little more than wild goose chases.

  But I wondered what would happen if, in total desperation, Angie went to visit one of these psychics and if the information she got turned out to be frighteningly accurate and on the money?

  Read on and you’ll see what I mean!

  The Deleted Scene

  12th January

  7 p.m.

  Madam Rita’s

  I’m not sure what exactly I expected, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.

  I’d half expected Madame Rita to work from some run-down bijou-type artisan cottage, with cats combing all over it and with a smell of incense hanging in the air so strong it would make you gag. A bit like in Grey Gardens.

  So I can’t quite believe it when Jeff pulls his car into a space outside an office block on the quays in town. One of those giant concrete monstrosities that got flung up in the building boom, and now sits virtually empty. Like a ghost town, where they probably pay you to rent office space instead of other way round, they’re that desperate for tenants.

  The second surprise is Madame Rita herself. Again, I’d been carrying a mental picture of a wafty, slightly dotty eccentric old lady; you know, a batty old dear who goes around in flowing Kaftans and a turba
n. Not unlike Margaret Rutherford playing Madame Arcati in Blithe Spirit.

  (David Lean, 1945. Completely brilliant, still funny and fresh. May even suggest it to Simon for our next movie night. Absolutely no romance in it, just gags all the way. He’d enjoy.)

  But it turns out I’m wrong again. When we work our way up to the fourth floor and knock on her office door, Madame Rita turns out to be a neat, efficient, middle-aged woman, well dressed with lovely soft blonde highlights and not a Kaftan or turban in sight. She’s dressed a bit like a secondary school teacher wearing an elegant beige suit with sensible shoes. Which slightly disappoints me; I’d nearly have preferred an out-and-out oddball that we could all have a good snigger at later on.

  Madame Rita has a gentle, understanding manner about her too; she smiles warmly, offers us some green tea and sympathises with us for what we’ve been through, her cloud blue eyes unflinching and very sincere. Now of late, I’ve noticed that when most people offer sympathy, they get awkward and tongue-tied and often come out with the wrong thing, but not her. So far, so good.

  Then she ushers the pair of us from the reception area into her office and invites us to sit down. Her office turns out to be an actual proper office with a Mac computer, fax machine, printer, copier – the works – and not an incense stick or a stray cat in sight.

  Very tasteful altogether, and all I can think as I look around is that there must be a fair few quid in being a professional psychic.

  7.10 p.m.

  Reading starts. Madame Rita sits down opposite us and rubs her temples. Jeff and I sit opposite, on tenterhooks. Jeff the very picture of concentration; me more awkward, not knowing where to look.

  ‘I’m afraid I must ask for silence now please,’ she says softly, ‘while I tune into your spirit guides.’

  Tuning into our spirit guides takes a lot longer than I’d thought though and every time I catch Jeff’s eye, it nearly sends me onto the verge of giggling. But a scalding look back at me from Jeff has a sobering effect though. I keep forgetting he’s inclined to take all this stuff very seriously.

  ‘You come to me with deep concerns,’ Madame Rita eventually says, eyes closed, like she’s deep in meditation. ‘About a very dear friend …’

  OK, so far, so Googled.

  ‘By any chance did you bring along something that once belonged to her?’ Madame Rita suddenly asks, snapping her blue eyes wide open.

  ‘Oh, emm … Yes, right here,’ I tell her, fumbling around the bottom of my handbag for a cardigan that Kitty used to wear a lot. Vintage Kitty; it’s oversized, in pillar box red and was so big it would nearly have fitted two of her into it. I distinctly remember she used to wear it with a denim mini and deep green tights, then go round laughing at herself and asking if she looked bit like a Christmas tree.

  ‘This was Kitty’s,’ I say. I hand it over and Madame Rita fondles it like a James Bond villain stroking a cat, eyes closed.

  Another larky glance from me to Jeff, trying to goad him into having a good snigger. But he’s having none of it, just sits bolt upright and shoots me another one of his head boy glares for daring to act the messer.

  ‘Yes,’ Madame Rita mutters softly to herself, ‘yes, yes, I see …’

  ‘Emm … See what?’ I interrupt. ‘Anything we should know about?’

  ‘Shh! Please dear, I really do have to ask you for quiet. You must understand I’m trying to concentrate!’

  ‘Sorry,’ I mouth back, nearly having to suck my cheeks in at this stage to stop me from convulsing.

  ‘There’s a piece of jewellery,’ Madame Rita mutters softly, almost like she’s off in a trace. ‘A ring. I’m seeing a beautiful antique ring, it’s a ruby I think … Yes, definitely a ruby …’

  Jesus. Instantly I sit up like I’ve just been electrocuted. Suddenly she has my attention.

  ‘… with two diamonds on either side …’

  And now I’m in shock. Because that’s it. That’s exactly what Simon’s engagement ring looks like.

  ‘… It was intended as a gift … was meant to be a surprise, I feel … but somehow, Kitty came across it … she didn’t mean to … it was an accident …’

  ‘… And she panicked?’ I interrupt her urgently. Jeff shoots a look at me as if to say what the hell are you on about? Because no one, absolutely no one, knew about this. Just Simon and me, that’s all. He’d asked me to keep quiet about it and so I did.

  A very long pause.

  ‘No,’ Madame Rita eventually says, so softly that I nearly have to strain to catch what she’s saying. ‘No, there was no panic … I’m not feeling anxiety, I think your friend was in a good place … I can feel her excited, happy to find it even … She carries a great love in her heart for the man who was about to give this ring to her …’

  But … that makes absolutely no sense! If Kitty didn’t bolt because she freaked out about getting engaged, then why did she go at all? And more importantly, where to?

  ‘Do you know where she is now?’ I blurt out, on the edge of my seat now.

  ‘I feel … she’s absolutely safe,’ Madame Rita murmurs, ‘Yes … she’s secure now … I can tell you that for certain … She had to go, you see … very much for her own protection though … It had to be done … the poor girl had absolutely no choice …’

  ‘Protected from what?’ Jeff and I say in unison.

  ‘… I’m feeling fear,’ Madame Rita says, trance-like, ‘Huge fear … she’d been carrying it with her for a very long time … something to do with her past … maybe someone from her past … I get a sense of her running from something or someone … someone who was determined to find her again … to track her down at all costs … and track her down they did. I can feel her panic … but she managed to get away … She was so worried that this day would come and was well prepared … and he can’t possibly harm her where she is now … she really is quite safe …’

  None of this is making the remotest bit of sense! And yet my heart is physically twisting in my ribcage with what I’m hearing.

  ‘So where did she go to?’ I blurt, nearly wanting to hammer on the table with frustration. ‘Where are we not looking?’

  ‘… I can feel sun on her face … I think she’s somewhere warm … close to the sea … abroad … Yes, I can hear others around her speaking in English, but with very different accents … your friend has travelled a great distance. You won’t find her though … she doesn’t want to be found … but you must understand that she didn’t want to leave her life here behind, I feel a huge reluctance on her part … This has been the hardest thing she’s ever had to do in her life … It’s all been a massive wrench for her … but she didn’t have a choice … none of this was her fault, you see … she had to do this for her own safety … she’s tried to do it before too, I’m almost certain …’

  OK, so now my chest is pounding now and I’m about to break out in a clammy, cold sweat.

  ‘And will she come back to us when she’s ready?’ I gulp.

  Another aching pause, then Madame Rita starts to shake her head.

  ‘… No, no I’m not feeling it … at least not for a long, long time … I feel that in this life, if you ever do see her again … she won’t be Kitty Hope anymore … that girl is gone … she’ll be someone different … I see two faces …’

  Jesus, two faces? What is Kitty anyway, Clark Kent?

  ‘She’ll be a whole new person …’ Madame Rita whispers, ‘in fact, she IS a whole new person … and you must be prepared... Also you mustn’t be afraid to let go … just let go … move on …’

  I’m completely at sea here. Kitty, a whole new person?

  ‘… But there’s news coming … very soon too … You mustn’t be shocked by what you hear though … just remember that your friend is quite safe and well … remember that, no matter what you may hear …’

  A second later, Madame Rita opens her eyes and calmly hands Kitty’s jumper back to me.

  ‘Well?’ she asks me, cloud blue eyes blinking
like she’s just woken up from a deep sleep.

  ‘Was that any help to you both?’

  Acknowledgements

  Huge and heartfelt thanks to one of the most hard-working people I know and yet one of the calmest and kindest. Marianne Gunn O’Connor, what would any of us do without you?!

  Massive thanks to Pat Lynch, who’s always such a pal.

  Thanks also to the wonderful Vicki Satlow in Milan, who does so much in getting my books translated and published overseas. You’re a star, Vicki.

  I really don’t know how to even begin thanking my fabulous editor Claire Bord. Thank you so much for all of your wonderful thoughts and suggestions with this book and for always being so encouraging and enthusiastic. You’re a pure joy to work with, Claire, you really are.

  To all of the wonderful team at Avon, HarperCollins, or the Avon Gals as I call them. You’re all just so amazingly supportive and it’s a pleasure to be part of such a hard-working team. Very special thanks for being so lovely and welcoming whenever I’m in London … now if I can only scheme a way to get you all over to Dublin more often! Special thanks to the fabulous Caroline Ridding, Claire Power, Sammia Rafique,katz, Helen Bolton, Becke Parker, Cleo Little, Caroline Hogg and Keshini Naidoo. And of course, thanks to Sam Hancock who’s always on the other end of a phone whenever technical things get banjaxed.