A Convenient Marriage
Page 11
She felt a stab of alarm. Frowning wasn’t good.
He sat down. ‘Well, Chaya,’ he scanned the paper in front of him again before looking up. ‘Is everything okay with you?’
Oh no, this wasn’t a good sign either. ‘Yes,’ she said carefully. She nearly said ‘sir’, but stopped it just in time. He didn’t like being called ‘sir’.
‘It’s just that your reports this term have been…’ He paused briefly to glance as the papers, ‘Disappointing.’
‘Disappointing?’ Her heart got louder in her ears.
‘Yes. Not up to your normal high standards. Have you been ill? Is everything okay at home?’
‘No. Yes. I mean, I’ve not been ill and everything is okay at home. I went back to see my new niece, just before the start of term.’ She’d only been back for two days. She had to focus. ‘What do you mean disappointing?’
‘Well,’ he put his glasses back on and read a few out. ‘Plant biochemistry: “has handed in work consistently, but that’s the best that can be said – C.” Metabolism: “Needs to improve – C plus” and for molecular biology, usually your best subject, B.’
As her tutor, Dr Goldworthy was supposed to look after her general welfare as well as her grades. He lowered the papers again and peered at her. ‘Is there anything you want to talk about?’
She stared at him. There wasn’t enough air in the room. The whole point of her being there, all her hard work, her scholarship, her years away from her family, the whole point was for her to get her degree. This could not be happening. She went to lectures. She did the work. What had gone wrong?
Dr Goldworthy sighed. ‘If there’s something going on in your life that’s distracting you from your work, tell me and I might be able to help.’ When she said nothing, he shook his head. ‘You’re going to have to work very hard if you’re going to pull your grades up next year. At this rate all you’ll manage is a two-two at best. I know you can do better than that.’
He paused and looked searchingly at her. ‘Is the pressure getting to you?’
She stared blankly at him.
‘If there is anything I can do to help, please ask. I’m always here,’ he said.
‘Yes sir.’ She rose unsteadily to her feet. ‘I… yes.’
Dr Goldworthy looked as though he would like to say something more, but took pity on her and handed her a set of notes. ‘Your reading list for next week’s tutorial,’ he said. ‘I’m sure if you find some of the more accessible text books and work hard over this term and the summer holidays, you’ll be able to get yourself back up to speed.’ He gave a smile.
‘Yes sir. Thank you.’ She let herself out, still not quite believing it. There was even less oxygen out here. She stumbled down the stairs, heart hammering, the walls leaning in so all she could focus on was putting one foot in front of the other. Her heartbeat was so fast that she sat down. Was she having a heart attack? There was no pain. She felt hot. Frightened, she thought about calling out, but her throat was tight. She sucked in a deep breath and let it out. And another. And another.
Eventually, her heart rate slowed down. Cold sweat broke out. When she was finally able to stand up, her legs shook.
She had to talk to her parents. They knew she was going to meet her tutor today. Her choices were to tell them the truth about her studies. Or lie.
Her breath hitched in her throat. She hated lying to her parents, but it was what she’d had to do for months. She never said anything directly untrue… she just conveniently left out the parts of her life that involved Noah. There was her life at home with her family and then there was Noah… and never the twain to meet. It worked, in a fashion, but it didn’t stop her feeling terrible about it.
Every so often, she had wondered if she could tell her parents about Noah. After all, he was nice, clever, his parents were diplomats… but now there was this. The whole point of her parents keeping her away from boys during her school days was to stop her getting distracted from her studies. Her studies were the main reason she was here. Not Noah. She had let herself be distracted by Noah and look what had happened.
Eventually, she felt steady enough to walk home. All the way home, the horror of her falling grades went round and round her head.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chaya – London, 2005
Chaya opened her eyes and instinctively knew it wasn’t morning. Awake. At night. Oh no.
She stared at the darkness, her heart pounding already. It would only be a few more seconds before her mind dug up the past. Her shoulders twitched, making her breath hitch. Her lungs shrank to almost nothing. Outside the bedsit, thunder rolled.
Her breathing came in little puffs. Something terrible was coming. The dread gathered over her head to swallow her whole. She had no tears left to cry; she hadn’t cried in nearly ten years, so all that was left was to fight. She had to get up and do something. It was either that, or give in and let the despair bury her.
It took everything she had to get up and turn on the light. It was just past midnight. Why was she awake? What could she do to distract herself? She looked round the room. The place was spotless. The dishes and sink were clean. The table was polished to a shine. Her heart was picking up speed. The fear welled up in her throat. The hopelessness would arrive any second now. She flicked the bed sheets straight. The distraction gave her a few seconds of reprieve.
Exercise helped. She could go for a run. She looked out of the window to see rain slamming into the brickwork opposite and running down the window. Lightning flashed. Chaya turned round. The room shrank. Blood roared in her ears. She stumbled across to her medicine cabinet and fumbled around for her beta blockers. She hated taking them and it was already too late, but still. She pulled the bottle out and stared at it. It was empty.
How? Then she remembered that she’d run out soon after she’d got back from Sri Lanka. That was nearly a month ago. She had meant to get a new supply, but she had forgotten. How could she have forgotten? It was on her list. She looked round the room again, searching for something to do to keep a lid on the attack. Suddenly, the crest of the wave hit and misery exploded on her. She folded down onto the floor and put her head in her hands.
She was transported back to her old college room, listening to Noah’s footsteps moving away from her. Loss and loneliness coursed through her.
In the past she would have called Sara or Jay, but since they had kids, she didn’t. Especially at night. They had enough on their plate without her being a burden to them.
Another wave of despair. Chaya whimpered. She had to move. With unbearable slowness, she raised her very heavy head. The pain was almost physical. If she’d been asked to put it on a scale of one to ten, she’d have said nine. But this hurt was worse than mere physical pain. It was there and not there at the same time. Uncontrollable. Maddening.
She had to do something, anything, to dull the ache. She drew up her knee, pulled up her pyjama leg and looked at her calf. The old scar had healed months ago, but the memory of it was still there, reminding her of that other way to release the pain. No. That is not an answer. It had been a mistake the first time. But the flood of relief when she saw the blood ooze out of the cut, that incisive moment when emotional pain was replaced with something physical; something she could stem, had been overwhelming. She knew it wasn’t going to help, that when she was more herself, she would be ashamed of it. But right now, when everything was so bleak and in the face of the solid conviction that something terrible was going to happen if she let time carry on moving, she had to do something, something, to make it stop.
She got to her feet and reached for the kitchen drawer. In it lay her meagre cutlery collection and a small stack of takeaway leaflets. She moved past the big kitchen knife that she rarely used, to the small paring knife at the back, the one that she kept so sharp that it needed the little metal guard on it to prevent her accidentally cutting herself whilst getting a spoon. A rectangle of card rested just above the knife. She flicked it out
of the way, but it fell back. A sharp corner dug into the back of her hand.
The small white card and the tiny jolt of pain derailed her line of thought. She stared at it, trying to remember what it was doing there. It was a business card. For Gimhana Herath. In a sudden moment of clarity she remembered Gimhana handing it to her before they parted ways at the airport. She had meant to call him, but with each passing week, it became more and more difficult to do, so she’d tucked it in with the leaflets, so she didn’t have to look at it. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t just thrown it away.
Gimhana. She could call Gimhana. He’d understand. She gripped the sides of the drawer to focus. Would he, though? Would he really know what it was like to wake up in the middle of the night and feel the awful weight of his life trying to crush him?
No. But it was better than the knife. He said he often worked late. He might be awake. She picked up the card, trapping it with her fingertips, so that the edges dug in. Sharp points of pain to keep her grounded.
She pulled her mobile phone out from where it was charging. A quick glance told her it was past midnight. Was it too late to call him? He was a complete stranger. She couldn’t just call him out of the blue like that.
She put the phone back down, the tiny blue screen face up and found she couldn’t leave it. She couldn’t turn around. She couldn’t straighten up. She knew how to, but her body just wouldn’t obey. It was getting harder to breathe. Her throat tightened. Her face felt like it was on fire.
She couldn’t bear this. If she didn’t do something to get help now, she might do something terrible.
Her hands shook as she typed in the numbers. If he was not there, she could always hang up without leaving a message. Do it. Anything to keep the panic at bay. He answered almost at once. ‘Gimhana Herath.’
Chaya hesitated. She hadn’t worked out what to say if he answered.
‘Hello?’ he said.
She had to squeeze the words out of her chest. ‘It’s Chaya.’
‘Chaya? What’s wrong?’ He didn’t sound annoyed. He sounded concerned.
‘I… it…’ What could she say? ‘I woke up and I couldn’t cope with being alone? I think I’m going to die?’ She said nothing.
After a few seconds of silence, Gimhana said, ‘Is everything okay?’ He sounded calm. Unhurried. Somehow it helped.
‘No.’
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Do you want me to come over?’
Just talking to him, hearing another voice, was helping. Her heartbeat was slowing down. She was starting to feel silly. The cold was creeping up through her toes. The residual heat in the thin cotton of her pyjamas had seeped away. Chaya shivered.
‘Chaya,’ he said again. ‘Do you need some company?’
She should say no. Deal with this by herself. She tried, but all that came out was a strangled mewl.
‘I’m coming over,’ he said, firmly. ‘What’s your address?’
The minute he said it, something loosened in her. The vice around her chest seemed to lessen. She told him her address.
‘I’ll be there in half an hour.’
The feeling of relief was instant and incredible. ‘Okay.’ She felt the ache subside. ‘Thank you.’
When she’d hung up, she clutched the phone to herself and sat still, remembering how to breathe.
By the time he arrived, the panic attack had mostly subsided. It was coming back in waves though. A flare of panic, followed by a period of calm. This, she could deal with. She dressed and warmed herself up. Why had she called Gimhana? She hardly knew the guy. She should have called Sara. Except Sara would have been asleep. She got precious little rest and Chaya would have felt awful for disturbing her. Anyway, calling a virtual stranger was sometimes easier than calling a friend whose opinion she cared about.
When she opened the door and saw him, rain-spattered and looking worried, she felt silly for getting him to come out in the storm. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, leaning against the open door to steady herself. ‘I shouldn’t have called you.’
He looked at her silently, studying her face carefully in the dim hallway light. ‘No,’ he said, slowly. ‘I think you really should.’
Another flare of panic washed through her. Gimhana stepped forward and touched her elbow. It wasn’t a full grip, but it was solid and oddly reassuring. As the panic subsided, she realised she was staring into his face. Her gaze finally made contact with his.
‘I’m here,’ he said, softly. ‘You’re not alone.’
Not alone. She hadn’t realised how much she needed to hear that until he’d actually said it. She released the breath that had been pent up in her chest and gestured for him to come in. She closed the door and leaned against it, still a little shaky from the last flare up.
He stood in the middle of the room and looked around, taking in the bed, the sink, the tiny kitchen area.
‘Nice place,’ he said, shrugging off his wet coat. ‘Very… snug.’
‘Tiny, you mean,’ she took his coat and umbrella and put them on the draining board. ‘Can I get you some tea?’ It was odd offering tea at this hour, but this wasn’t a normal visit.
‘That would be lovely,’ he said, shaking water out of his hair. ‘I haven’t eaten, so I brought some food, hope you don’t mind.’
Chaya shrugged. ‘Why should I mind?’ She didn’t know what to say to him. She was glad he was there, but apart from that… what did you say in a situation like this?
‘You can share it with me, if you like.’ Gimhana gestured to the food.
‘I… uh…’ Had she eaten that evening? She couldn’t remember. The food in his bag smelled amazing. ‘I would like that,’ she said. She hadn’t intended to say that, but now she had, she knew it was the right thing. ‘Thank you.’
Gimhana’s shoulders relaxed. ‘Thank goodness,’ he said. ‘My nurturing and comforting skills pretty much run out after the “give them food” option. You have no idea how glad I am that you said yes to food.’
He looked so genuinely relieved that it made her smile.
‘That’s better,’ he said and smiled back.
* * *
She only had one chair, so they ended up sitting on the floor, with Gimhana’s takeaway Chinese containers on the coffee table. They talked about what was in the news and the way Chinese food tasted so much better in Sri Lanka. They discussed politics, religion, the things they’d done at school. They discussed everything other than the reason he had come round. Chaya felt her insides untying. There was something comforting about him; a feeling that he understood living with pain. Even though they never discussed it, it was always there in the background, reminding them to be gentle with each other.
After several hours, Gimhana yawned. He looked at his watch. ‘I should go home,’ he said. ‘I might be able to get a power nap in before I have to get up for work.’
‘I guess so.’ She didn’t really want him to leave, but she knew he had to. She would be okay now. Even if she couldn’t sleep, she could clean the flat until the smell of Chinese food and the smudges of muddy footprints were eradicated. That would take her until dawn, when she could go to the lab.
He leaned forward and put his elbows on the little table. ‘Chaya, are you okay now?’ he said, gently.
She was too embarrassed to meet his eye. ‘Yes.’
‘Listen,’ he laid a hand on her arm. ‘I know what it’s like to be alone. Feel free to call me anytime you need me, okay?’
She looked up at his worried face. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
He smiled and gave her a theatrical wink. ‘What are friends for?’
Chaya put her own hand over his and gave him a little smile, grateful that he wasn’t going to make a big deal about it. He hadn’t tried to force her to talk or insist she get help. He had just met her where he found her. It was as though he knew instinctively that all he needed to do was to be there. And it had been enough.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Gimhana – London, 2005
The sensible thing would have been to not get involved. She had given him an excuse not to go, right from the start. He should have hung up, put it down to a narrow escape from weirdness and got on with his life. But he hadn’t. Now he wanted to help.
Since he was completely out of his depth, he turned to the internet to see how he could help. A bit of searching brought up any number of quizzes about mental illness. Was Chaya suicidal? He had no idea. He hoped not. Was she likely to self harm? There was something in the way she had avoided looking at the knives in the cutlery drawer, deliberately reaching for the spoons the long way around, something in the way she’d looked faintly ashamed. So maybe, maybe not. Either way, he was glad he’d gone round. The idea that he had somehow stopped something terrible from happening frightened him.
Those big things aside, he spotted the nervous tics, the constant fidgeting. What did that mean? Some sort of undiagnosed ADHD or a form of anxiety?
He sighed and rubbed his eyes. All the internet search had done was give him a load of information and speculation with no real way of relating it to what he had seen. Really, the only thing he could usefully do was to persuade Chaya to get help from a professional.
He stood up. He needed more coffee. Today had been a hard day to get through. Half way out of his office, he paused. If it had been so hard for him, how must it have been for Chaya?