‘This is just an exercise to get you to draw inwards, to focus on the now, the immediate space, and what you’re feeling in it. It’s supposed to take you out of your thoughts, out of your memories.’
Nothing can take me out of my thoughts and out of my memories. But at this point, where nothing has worked and the prospect of returning to school in the fall seems out of the question, I’ll try anything. Even this, whatever this is. CBT? Hypnosis? Meditation? All I know is my mom and dad are paying £60 an hour for a one-on-one session with a renowned PTSD therapist. And it costs me almost a fiver on the bus to get here.
‘Let’s focus on the breath now. Start to draw a breath in, taking it in through the belly. Now hold it in your mouth for 1 … 2 … 3 … and release. And again …’
My eyes flicker open. Dr Morton is staring right at me. I blink them closed again. I don’t know why I thought she’d be writing something, or maybe checking her phone.
‘Let’s try again. Breathing in for 1 … 2 … 3 … 4 … hold for 1 … 2 … 3 … 4 … and release.’
We do that again a few more times, and after that I don’t remember doing it. I just remember the breath, her voice, the fan whirring, the audible shiver of the laptop as it charges at the wall (I saw it plugged in when I first sat down). I remember the coolness of the leather on my skin turning to warmth then heat as I fall deeper. Fall where, I don’t know. Inside my mind, my thoughts, somewhere I’m not supposed to be going. But I go there.
It’s quiet. The cement of the pavement is warm under the soles of my feet. It’s summer here. My shoulders are bare and the cardigan lies by my toes. Leicester Square is deserted. It’s just me. The roads around me are empty, the bus stop is free of passengers queuing. My watch suddenly feels heavy on my left wrist and I raise it up. It’s 10:54 a.m. The big hand quivers, momentarily pushing back on the movement of time. I know what comes next because this is a nightmare I’ve lived more than once. I’ve been here, I’ve stood here. I know what happens when it strikes 10:55 a.m.
And just like that, it happens. People appear all around me, frozen mid-stride. Then a gust of gray blows through the crowd, burning them one by one. I feel the heat on my shoulders and on my cheeks. Ash burrows into the wool of my cardigan which still lies by my feet. Dust fills my nostrils. Screams fill my ears.
‘Alice.’
I awake with a jolt, one foot slapping against the wooden flooring. I’m back in the office, the whirring of the fan, shiver of the laptop screen as it reboots. Dr Morton is kneeling beside me, her hand rests on my hands which are clasped on my lap.
‘Alice, where did you go?’
‘I don’t know,’ I lie.
She slides onto the sofa beside me and I unclasp my hands. They’re soaked in sweat so I wipe them on my shorts. ‘It’s normal when you witness a traumatic event like you did to revisit the scene. Your mind will want to wander back to that day, not because it really wants to but because it’s triggered or cued to do so by something that reminds you of that event. A certain song, or a sound, or—’
‘Weather sometimes gets me too, not all the time. It rained that day,’ I mumble.
‘Yes, you can even be triggered by weather sometimes depending on how you’re feeling at the time.’ She shifts closer. ‘My sessions will hopefully soften the occurrence of these flashbacks and eventually eliminate the triggers. Because if the flashbacks become too much of a regular occurrence your memory can get triggered by anything. It eventually doesn’t need a visual or auditory cue to flip, it becomes neurologically embedded. That’s what we want to avoid. Because once that happens, you can’t control it. You become hostage to your memories of that one event.’
My hands are wet again, so I drag them down from the pockets to the edge of my shorts. Sweat, tears, I don’t know which. All I know is that I’m losing what little control I had.
What happens when I’ve lost it all?
Jack
Alice pushes the remnants of a burger around her plate, stabbing an onion ring with her fork but not eating it. Her fiery red hair is tied up in a bun today. It’s breezier than usual so she wears a yellow linen scarf and lets it hang over her khaki coat. We’re sitting at a table outside of a restaurant that used to be Lauren’s favourite. Inside, the shelves are filled with crystal glasses of various shapes and sizes, all mismatched and all with a backstory. There are champagne coupes from London speakeasies of the 1920s and a martini glass from the Ritz in Paris where Hemingway drank after freeing it from the Nazis. I thought Alice would love it here. But she looks like she just wants to go home. ‘How did it go on Tuesday? You didn’t say much about the therapy session in your texts?’
She sighs and drops her fork and knife to one side of the plate. ‘It was OK, I guess.’
‘Just OK? Tell me about it.’
She shifts in her chair and reaches for the last of her foamy frothy double-something caramel latte. ‘Well, firstly the office was exactly how you’d imagine,’ she scoffs. ‘She’s got this huge pot plant in the corner and a leather armchair that looks like it reclines, a box of tissues on the table—’
I laugh with her, even though I know her going isn’t funny at all. None of this is amusing in the slightest.
‘Then she made me do this breathing exercise like we were meditating and—’
‘Jack!’
I turn and see a couple of guys from school that I haven’t seen in months. I can feel a big smile spreading across my face. ‘Hey!’ I reach out and meet their hands, quickly slapping them. ‘Alice, this is Trevor and Rob. They go to our school.’
She waves awkwardly at them.
‘How you doing?’ Rob asks me.
‘I’m OK. Doing better.’
‘Hey, I heard you’ll be up out your chair soon?’
‘Yeah, that’s the plan,’ I grin. ‘I’ll be getting my prosthetic legs soon so hopefully next time you see me I will be out the chair. For good.’
Trevor slaps me on the shoulder. ‘That’s amazing. So you think you’ll be back at squash training by next year?’
‘Next year? Try this year,’ I say. ‘And I’ll be back to beating you both in no time!’
‘Well, we’ll leave you both to your lunch. It’s so good to see you out and about. I think I just missed you at Sarah’s party last weekend. I got there about ten minutes after you’d left. I was gutted,’ smiles Rob.
‘I didn’t stay long. Sorry.’
‘Let’s definitely hang out soon? And let’s make sure we connect at Will’s party in a couple of weeks. You still owe me a beer,’ he smiles. They glance briefly at Alice before they walk away but she’s not looking up.
I turn back to Alice. ‘Sorry, keep going with what you were saying about the therapy.’
She waves me off. ‘Never mind. Anyway, there’s not much to say about how it went. It was only the first session.’
‘OK, well, keep me updated, yeah?’
‘Will do,’ she nods. She sips on her latte which is probably cold by now. ‘You went to a party last weekend?’
‘Yeah, just to catch up with the guys. It was a last-minute thing.’
She fidgets with the ring on her finger, not really looking at me.
‘I would have invited you, but I thought you’d be busy since it was so last-minute.’
She looks up and smirks, ‘Busy?’
‘Well, I didn’t think parties were your scene.’
‘They’re not,’ she says, rolling her eyes.
‘But you’re welcome to come to the next one. It’s at my friend Will’s house.’
She makes a face, pulling her lips to the side as she seems to consider this. ‘OK, maybe I will. Just to check it out.’
I hadn’t expected her to say yes. I’d assumed she’d laugh me off, but I guess she does want to come. I should text Lauren, though, so she doesn’t see me come in with another girl. I wouldn’t want her to get the wrong idea, and think Alice is my girlfriend or anything. Saying that, I texted her last week just to say hi and haven’t heard
back. I’m hoping she does come to the party, then maybe we can chat, possibly reconnect. With all this talk of these new legs, and possibly getting back to running and everything I do best, including competing, I’m starting to feel a bit more like myself again. Getting out the house with Alice this summer, being back out in the city, I’m finally starting to feel like the old Jack. Maybe it’s time to start putting my old life back together again.
Alice
We pull into the car park and turn off the engine. A deep breath escapes my mouth. Thankfully, it’s not too busy today. I called ahead to ask about peak and off-peak times so we could avoid the crowds. I don’t do well with crowds right now.
My head aches and my jaw is tight from another night of restless sleep and bouts of nightmares. But I awoke with a mission today. Regardless of how I’m feeling, of what’s going on inside my head, I’m going to give Jack a good day. It’s not fair to him. I started these little outings to cheer him up and get him out the house, and I can’t stop trying now. He’s beginning to move on with his life again. He’s getting prostheses, he’s hanging out with his friends again, he’s even been posting photos on social media (yes, I check). I can’t punish him for getting better just because I’m not. I might feel trapped, suffocated by these flashbacks but I can’t drag him down with me. He’s got a lot going on too. I can’t expect him to listen to me talk about how miserable I am all day long.
No, today will be a great day for us both. Everything needs to be perfect, no matter what.
He screws up his face as he looks out the open door. ‘Thorpe Park?’
‘Yup.’ I ease him down the ramp and out onto the tarred car park. I’m getting good at this. I’m pretty fast locking him down and even faster unclipping his wheels and getting him down the ramp. I don’t even need Martin to help me anymore. He can just sit there – in the driver’s seat, of course, after I got bumped from that position – texting on his phone to whoever. Probably to Mrs Addington, just to confirm her son is still alive and hasn’t been accidentally wheeled into oncoming traffic by me. His chair doesn’t even feel that heavy. Sure, it’s not like pushing an empty shopping trolley around Tesco but it’s not like a wheelbarrow of bricks either. Maybe I’m getting stronger. I definitely noticed some slight definition in my arms when I got dressed this morning.
He’s looking at me, still with his face scrunched up. ‘Thorpe Park? Really?’
‘Yeah, why not?’
‘What rides am I going to be able to go on? Or is the plan to wheel me to the barriers and have me watch other people have fun?’
I give Martin a small wave and start pushing Jack towards the entrance. ‘Actually, I called ahead and you can go on the rides. Not all of them, sure, but most.’
‘Most?’
‘Well, some.’
I slide a print-out of the online tickets Mrs A slipped into my bag before leaving and get ready to hand them over. I unfold them and bend back the paper, hearing the crease crack. Whoa, did these tickets really cost £70 each? Where are we, Disneyworld Florida? I’m glad she didn’t listen to me when I initially insisted on paying for them myself at the front gate today. I only brought £40 in cash with me. I thought £15 max for each ticket plus an extra tenner for two Cokes. I wouldn’t have even had enough for one admission.
‘Tickets, please.’
I hand them over to an assistant at the metal barriers and she gestures us through the wider entrance for prams, strollers, and well, wheelchairs – although I wonder how many of these she sees here on a daily basis. Maybe more than I think.
I push Jack over to the map and pull out the orange Post-it note from my fleece pocket. ‘Okay, there’s the Flying Fish—’
‘That’s a kids’ ride—’
‘Storm in a Teacup—’
‘Kids’ ride—’
‘Mr Monkey’s Banana Ride—’
‘I don’t even have to look at the map key to know that’s definitely a kids’ ride.’
‘Okay, here’s one. What’s Nemesis Inferno?’
‘Not a kids’ ride. Let’s do that one.’ He drives forward on his wheels and starts heading in the direction of a rollercoaster that apparently twists and turns at speeds of over 50mph, and to me sounds like it ends in a burning inferno.
‘I go into surgery on Monday,’ he says casually.
‘What? Why another one?’ I’m finding it hard to swallow. Another surgery? They’ll cut into him again? What more could the surgeons take from him – he’s already lost his legs?
‘Worried about me?’ he smirks.
‘No, of course not,’ I say, turning my head away so he doesn’t see my face.
‘Well, don’t be. I’ll be fine.’
I can’t turn back to him, not yet. I swallow hard, the lump stabbing my throat.
‘Oh cool, there’s a Walking Dead ride, can we try that one next?’ he asks.
I fumble with the Post-it note, my fingers getting sticky in the July heat. ‘Um, no sorry. That’s one we can’t do because of accessibility restrictions.’
He shrugs. ‘Okay, we can do that one next time, when I have my new legs then.’
We pass large clusters of people: families, groups of friends, young couples who look about our age or maybe slightly older like university age. I pass girls in cute summer dresses, tight denim shorts, floaty skirts and strappy sandals that loop up their calves and look fit for a gladiator arena. I suddenly become aware of my black leggings that are too tight for me on the thighs and my baggy T-shirt emblazoned with Star Wars graphics with my fleece tied around my hips. The old Jack would never walk with me in a crowded public space like this. Thankfully we don’t know anyone here.
‘Jack?’
A tall, slender blonde in one of those floaty skirts and strappy sandals stands before us, her hand slotted into the hand of a boy who looks like Alex, Jack’s friend. Jack’s mouth is agape as he stares at them. Then he clears his throat, ‘Hi, Lauren.’ Jack glares at the guy next to her. ‘Alex.’
‘It’s so good to see you,’ she says dropping Alex’s hand.
‘You look good, Jack,’ he says.
‘How are you?’ Lauren asks.
‘Good.’
‘Sorry, it’s been so busy. I’ve not had a chance to text you back,’ she smiles, nervously.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Jack says.
‘It’s just been so hectic,’ she goes on. ‘I’ve been doing a summer term at Edinburgh just to get a feel for the place and I’ve been working—’
Oh, she works, that’s a surprise.
‘—at Victoria’s Secret in Mayfair.’
Of course she does.
‘Again, don’t worry about it,’ Jack mutters, still staring at Alex.
An uncomfortable silence spreads between us like a spilled liquid.
‘I was going to call you—’ Alex stammers, holding his hand out.
But Jack thrusts his chair forward. Alex startles and steps into Lauren knocking her off-balance momentarily. ‘Enjoy the rides,’ Jack calls back to them as he propels forward down the path.
I stand there, fidgeting with the sleeves of my pullover, wondering how to politely leave the conversation after Jack’s dramatic exit. ‘Um.’ I look between them both, wondering how to leave the conversation too, after Jack’s dramatic exit. I point to Lauren’s shoes. ‘Um … cute sandals.’ Then I brush past them and hurry towards Jack who’s disappearing into a crowd of kids wearing Walking Dead masks.
I finally catch up to him at a snack shack. ‘Thought you were about to take out like thirty kids back there.’
‘I was. Thankfully they moved for me.’
‘So that’s Lauren?’
‘That’s Lauren.’
‘And that’s Alex?’
‘That’s Alex.’ He slows down and shakes his head. ‘Can’t believe he’s with her. And that he never told me about it. He didn’t need to ask my permission, but he could have warned me at least.’
‘Sorry.’
‘
Some friend,’ he shrugs. ‘Real friends don’t date your ex.’
I gesture to a turn in the path up ahead to get us back on the route to Nemesis. ‘Why is she an ex, if you don’t mind me asking?’
He shrugs, ‘We just drifted apart after the incident. But I thought with things starting to get back to normal – with the new legs coming, that we’d … I don’t know, sounds silly now.’
He slows down, the chair eventually rolling to a stop.
‘Sorry,’ I mumble.
He shrugs again, pretending not to care. ‘It’s fine. Anyway, where is this ride? I think we’re just going around this park in circles. And the last thing I want to do is bump into them again.’
‘It’s just over there,’ I point. Maybe Thorpe Park wasn’t a great idea. Who takes someone in a wheelchair to a rollercoaster theme park? Did I honestly think he’d be satisfied being carried into a giant teacup and spun around like a five-year-old while I took photos of him? Nemesis better be an amazing ride. ‘Here we are.’
‘I think the queue starts there.’
‘Lucky your mom got us the super unlimited all access pass for a whopping £70.’
‘Seventy pounds? That’s pretty good actually, I thought it’d be more than that.’
‘That’s per person.’
‘Yeah, I know.’ He stops at the wheelchair barrier. ‘Alice, are you sure I can go on this?’
I wave my Post-it note at him. ‘Of course. I did my research.’ The entrance springs opens and we follow a marked path that weaves around a couple of big pillars to a large platform. Riders spill out from metal gates and rush to sit in the rollercoaster carriages. A couple of kids argue over who gets to sit in the front row until their parents scold them and have them sit behind. I watch the attendants pull on the safety bar before signaling to the operator to start the ride. The carriage crawls at a slow pace, moving further away from the platform and closer to the edge of the track where it drops off and zips through the spirals.
An uneasiness washes over me. Why are we here again? Oh yeah, this was my suggestion. Breath catches in my throat, and my fingers start tingling. Stay calm, Alice. Don’t freak out here. ‘Ready?’ I grit my teeth and try to force a smile. Jack shrugs, looking around like he too was expecting some kind of a burning pit of inferno to justify £70 a head. I wheel him past the large queue and right up to the carriage at the back. The back is the safest, right?
After the Rain Page 15
