A Note of Madness

by Tabitha Suzuma

  ‘I’m not angry,’ Flynn said desperately, flushing at her words and turning away to try to avoid her furious gaze. ‘I don’t feel like talking to anyone right now, I’m just tired.’

  ‘Why?’ Jennah’s voice was frantic. ‘Is it your illness?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Then I don’t understand! Why are you acting this way? Why are you acting so weird just because I tried to kiss you? It was just a stupid heat-of-the-moment thing! Why do you have to let something so silly ruin our friendship?’

  ‘I don’t know, OK?’ Before he even knew it, Flynn had jumped to his feet and started to shout. ‘I can’t tell you because I don’t know! I can’t answer any of your questions! So why don’t you just leave me alone? I don’t want to speak to you. I didn’t ask you to come here, so stop going on!’

  Jennah stood up too, her eyes wide and frightened. ‘I didn’t mean to make it worse, Flynn, I just wanted – I just wanted us to stay friends.’

  ‘Well we can’t, OK? So go! Just leave me alone!’

  Jennah stared at him, her eyes flooding with tears, and left.

  As he heard the front door close, he sank down onto the sofa, his heart hammering. He bit his thumb hard, struggling to get a grip, his breathing exploding in short gasps. He knew he was losing it again but was determined to fight back. He needed to calm down so that he could think. He must think so that he could work out what to do. He sat motionless on the couch for what must have been an age . . . As the screaming tension in his muscles began to fade, it slowly dawned on him that he had done something truly, truly awful.

  He looked over at the DVD player to see the time. He had been sitting there for nearly an hour, in some kind of a trance. Jennah would be home by now. He needed to call her. He needed to apologize. He needed to find some way of explaining his behaviour, of getting her to realize that he didn’t really mean it. He had hurt her. He needed to find a way of taking it all back . . . He would have to explain the bipolar to her. He would have to tell her that he had stopped taking his medication and that she was right, he was ill again. And that the reason he’d been ignoring her wasn’t because he was angry that she’d kissed him, it was because he was – he was . . . something else. He couldn’t find a word for it. Something like a fist would reach down inside his chest and take hold of his heart and squeeze and hurt and force him to feel a longing . . . a wanting so powerful and so painful that he didn’t think he could bear it. And if he let it happen, if he let the glass bubble that had surrounded him for so long shatter, he would start to feel again.

  He looked up at the window, breathing hard. Maybe he should call her and ask if he could go round and talk to her and tell her what was going on. And then maybe she wouldn’t look so sad any more, and then maybe they could just hang around together like they used to and everything would be OK. He picked up the receiver. His hands started shaking as he punched in the numbers and he found himself gripping the receiver painfully hard, feeling his racing pulse in the palm of his hand.

  It went straight to answerphone. OK, so Jennah had switched off her mobile. He hung up and called her home number. Someone picked up on the fourth ring.

  ‘Hello?’ Sounded like Jennah’s mother.

  He swallowed hard. ‘Hi. Is Jennah there, please?’

  ‘I’m afraid she’s out. I was expecting her back for supper half an hour ago so she should walk in any minute. Can I ask who’s calling?’

  ‘It’s Flynn. I–I’ll try calling back later.’

  ‘Oh, Flynn, didn’t she come round? She told me she was going out to see you.’

  ‘She did, she did come round. But then she left and I – I just forgot to tell her something.’

  ‘Oh! When did she leave? She assured me she would come straight home because her aunt’s coming round for dinner.’

  Flynn’s mind started to race. Should he lie and cover for Jennah? Had Jennah not gone straight home because she didn’t want her mother to see she was upset? Had she gone to see a friend?

  ‘Flynn, are you still there?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m – um – I’m just’ – he rubbed his cheek furiously – ‘I’m just – um – thinking—’

  ‘Is everything OK? You sound a bit bothered.’

  ‘No, everything’s fine. She left about an hour ago. I’ll – I’ll call back later.’

  He replaced the receiver and ran his hands through his hair. OK, so Jennah hadn’t gone straight home, it was no big deal. She had probably gone to see a friend. It was fine. Jennah was often late home. Her mother didn’t sound worried. It was only nine o’clock. Maybe Jennah had forgotten about her aunt and decided to go out for the evening. Maybe she’d gone to the pub with some friends. That would be a good thing – it would mean that she’d got over their argument and decided to go out and have fun. It was fine, he would try her mobile again later, much later, when dinner with the aunt was over, when Jennah had calmed down and wasn’t so upset any more.

  Flynn sat back and switched on the TV. But he couldn’t sit still, his foot kept drumming against the coffee table. He chewed his thumbnail down to the quick, made himself a cup of coffee, went to the loo, had another cup of coffee . . . Behind the window, the sky was darkening and the streetlamps were coming on. He didn’t bother to switch on the light but paced the length of the floor, the living room lit only by the flickering television screen. He stared at the phone, willing it to ring and checked the reception on his mobile over and over again. But both phones remained silent.

  Would Jennah be too angry to call him? Would her mother remember to pass on the message? Would she call him to let him know Jennah had returned? Probably not. Why should she? Especially if Jennah came home saying she hated him and never wanted to see him again. Should he call back? But they would be in the middle of dinner and maybe Jennah would have told her mother what he had said and she would be furious with him and tell him never to call again . . . But he had to talk to her. He had to explain! Maybe he should go round. No, that would be worse. He had visions of Jennah’s mother screaming at him through the letter box . . .

  He drummed his fingers against the cushion, spun the remote round and round on the coffee table, got up and went over to the window, circled the room, sat back down, got up again. He watched two episodes of Friends and didn’t even smile. He tried to watch the ten o’clock news but nothing made sense. It was past ten already! Why hadn’t Jennah phoned?

  Come on, he reasoned, she wasn’t about to phone him, he had just yelled at her to go away. Jennah’s mother was no more likely to phone either. He was going to have to call again. Perhaps he could write her a letter . . . No, this was ridiculous! All he had to do was pick up the phone! Elbows on knees, breathing hard, he fixed the innocent white handset with a desperate stare. It began to ring.

  It took him a moment to react. For a second he thought that he had willed it into life. Then he sprang up.

  ‘Flynn?’ Jennah’s mother. She didn’t sound angry at all. He ached with relief.

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Did you say that Jennah left you at about quarter past eight?’

  Flynn’s heart started to pound. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And she didn’t say where she was going next?’

  ‘No.’

  There was a pause. ‘Did she seem upset?’

  Flynn felt his throat constrict. ‘We – we had a bit of an argument.’

  ‘Was it serious?’

  ‘No,’ Flynn said desperately. ‘I mean yes, maybe. She – she was upset that I’d been avoiding her recently and – and I lost my temper and kind of shouted at her.’

  ‘So when she left you, she was upset?’

  Flynn felt his face burn. ‘Yes, she – she was crying.’

  There was another long silence. Flynn was sure that the pounding in his chest must be audible.

  ‘Right,’ Jennah’s mother said finally. ‘Stay by the phone, would you? I’m going to have to call all her friends. She seems to have disappeared.’

  ‘You st
ill up?’ Harry crashed through the front door, shaking his damp curls and tramping into the living room. ‘It’s pissing down outside – typical British summer. What have you been up to?’ He stopped in the doorway, illuminated in the light of the flickering television screen. ‘Anything good on?’

  There was a silence. Harry switched on the light.

  ‘What’s up? Why are you looking at me like that?’

  Flynn released his thumb from between his teeth. ‘Jennah’s gone missing.’

  Harry shrugged. ‘Yeah, I got a call on my mobile a couple of hours ago from Jennah’s mum. She said Jennah was late for dinner or something.’

  ‘You don’t get it. She came to see me at eight and never went home.’

  ‘So? It’s only – what – quarter to twelve? She’s probably out with some friends. Have you tried her mobile?’

  ‘Yes, it’s switched off. I’ve left about six messages. She promised her mum she’d go straight home. Her aunt was coming round for dinner.’

  ‘Oh.’ A silence. ‘Well, she must have forgotten . . .’

  ‘Her mum called everyone she knows. No one’s seen her.’

  Harry chewed his lower lip and sat down on the arm of the couch. ‘OK . . . well . . . let’s be reasonable . . . She’s only been missing a few hours . . . It’s Saturday night, she’s probably gone clubbing—’

  ‘She hasn’t gone clubbing!’ Flynn startled himself as he began to shout. ‘She was upset – something might have happened to her. I’m going to look for her—’

  Harry grabbed him by the arm. ‘Hold on, hold on. You have no idea where she is. Let’s figure out where she might have gone, at least.’

  Flynn stopped, breathing hard. ‘All right,’ he said desperately.

  ‘Did she say what she was upset about?’

  ‘Yes – no – it was me – I shouted at her!’

  Harry looked at him askance. ‘What? Why?’

  ‘I don’t know! I don’t know!’ Flynn jumped up from the sofa and ran his hands through his hair as if he were about to pull it out. He walked over to the window and banged his forehead against the pane.

  ‘Well this is great,’ Harry said wryly, straddling the arm of the sofa and peeling off his denim jacket. ‘First you give her sleepless nights before her exams, then you chase her away when she comes over to see you!’

  Flynn turned slowly from the window, one hand still clutching the frame. ‘Why would my not speaking to her for a few days make her so upset? Something else must have happened.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ Harry began to kick off his shoes, looking irritated. ‘Of course it’s because of you. You know damn well she’s crazy about you.’

  Flynn felt his heart begin to pound. ‘Very funny.’

  ‘Jesus, Flynn!’ Harry rolled his eyes. ‘Everyone knows it! She’s been crazy about you for ages!’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about—’ Flynn began.

  ‘You can stop playing the fool,’ Harry snapped. ‘She told me she tried to kiss you.’

  Flynn felt the blood rush to his face. ‘Ha ha, very funny, that was just a mistake—’

  ‘A mistake?’ Harry, standing with only one shoe, looked as if he might start to laugh. ‘Tell me, how does one accidentally kiss someone?’

  Flynn looked at him, his cheeks burning, breathing hard. ‘Just shut up. You know that was out of pity. It was only because you told her!’

  Harry stared at him, the whites of his eyes gleaming in the half-light. ‘Told her what? What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘You told her.’ Flynn turned round slowly, back pressed against the window pane. ‘You went and told her that I’d fancied her for ages, and she felt sorry for me, with my illness and stuff, and so she kissed me, out of pity—’

  ‘Out of pity?’ Harry groaned and clutched at his curls and bent over, as if getting ready to pull his own head off. ‘Oh my God, I can’t take any more of this. You really are completely and utterly out of your mind!’

  ‘OK.’ Flynn sobered suddenly. ‘What then?’ His voice dropped, and he leaned against the windowsill for support.

  Harry straightened up slowly, his damp hair sticking up comically, and took a deep breath. ‘I don’t really know how many ways there are to say this, Flynn,’ he began, ‘but Jennah’s crazy about you. You’re the reason she broke up with Charlie. Everyone knows it. People at uni call her the smitten kitten. When you’re not around, you’re all she talks about.’

  Flynn stared at him. ‘But—’ he protested weakly.

  Harry held up his hand. ‘No, listen! I never even hinted that you used to fancy her. And, believe me, after the way you reacted to her kiss in the pub, that’s the last thing she suspects!’

  Flynn stared down at the threadbare carpet. The television continued to flicker. A car drove by in the street below. A long silence passed.

  ‘Oh, fuck,’ Flynn said in a whisper.

  ‘Yes, yes, I completely agree.’ Harry flung himself onto the sofa, rolling his eyes dramatically. ‘For the last two weeks she’s been trying to patch things up with you, and now she thinks she’s not only made a fool of herself, but gone and lost you as a friend as well.’

  A door slammed somewhere below, making Flynn jump. ‘Shit. Oh, shit, I’ve got to find her—’ He crashed into the hall and shoved on his shoes.

  ‘Wait, we still don’t know where she is!’

  Flynn shoved him off. ‘I’m going to find her! She’s got to be out there somewhere! I’ll find her!’

  Flynn raced down the stairs and burst out into the street. The orange glow of the streetlamps was reflected on the slick, wet pavement; the parked cars and black railings glistened. The rain was falling thick and steady – within seconds his T-shirt was stuck to his skin. The bottoms of his jeans soon clung wetly to his calves and by the time he had reached the main road he could feel the damp seeping into his socks and pants. He ran through the next set of lights and splashed his way through two enormous puddles that took up half the road. He almost lost his footing on the slimy pavement and, on one corner, bumped hard into a woman who shrieked. He was hooted at by a night bus as he sprinted blindly across the road before heading down towards Notting Hill Gate. He had no idea where he was going. All he knew was that he needed to get through as many streets in as little time as possible.

  It was difficult to grasp the enormity of what Harry had said. There had been no grin, no snort of laughter, no sudden confession that it had all been some kind of hoax. Harry had been serious. The kiss had been serious. Jennah had broken up with Charlie before she even knew Flynn was ill. That couldn’t have been out of pity . . . He had to find Jennah. He could hardly imagine what she must be feeling right now – angry, hurt, humiliated, betrayed?

  It was so late now. Where the hell could she be? If she’d gone to a friend’s then she’d have called home. It didn’t make sense. She always had her mobile on her. Unless – unless something had happened . . . Unless she had been attacked. Girls went missing all the time, only to be found in woodland weeks later, raped and murdered. The thought of that happening to Jennah made his mouth fill with bile and a sob tore at his throat. He would carry on running till he found her. He would find her, he would.

  It was increasingly hard to see. Two dark red blotches pulsated in front of his eyes. A sharp stabbing pain started in his chest and it hurt to breathe. At one point, he skidded to a halt, thinking he could see a great river lapping at the pavement ahead of him. But it was just his imagination; the wavelets were made out of concrete, and he ran across the river to the other side. He bit his tongue against the pain in his chest and tasted blood. The only sound was the drum of his heartbeat and his great, rasping breaths. He kept thinking he was going to have to stop, kept thinking there was no way he was going to be able to run at this pace for another second, but then he made it to the corner of another street and he told himself one more, just one more . . .

  Sometime later he was sick. Tipped forwards onto his h
ands and knees and threw up on the pavement. He couldn’t run again after that. It was an excruciating effort just to get back onto his feet. He couldn’t breathe fast enough and his throat was making these weird heaving noises. He was walking like a drunk, zigzagging across the puddles. He slipped on some wet leaves and the pavement came up to slap him. He staggered back to his feet again, his body pulsating with pain. He kept thinking he could see a bench ahead but, when he got closer, it turned out to be nothing more than a shadow between the trees. His whole body screamed at him to lie down, but he thought of Jennah and kept on going . . .

  After a while he realized that he had come full circle. He was back on Bayswater Road. He couldn’t even remember which way he’d been . . . It was an effort just to stay on his feet. And somewhere he was aware of a voice, a voice that kept saying his name, somewhere to his left, somewhere from the car that was crawling along the side of the road. There was a kind of static in the air and he was afraid he was imagining things again. But the voice kept on and on.

  ‘Flynn, get in the car, just get in the car—’

  He allowed himself to turn his head and saw Rami, head stuck out of his car window, arm outstretched, crawling along beside him. He wanted to collapse with relief and stopped, the ground tilting in every direction.

  Rami jumped out of the car and grabbed him. ‘Come on, I’ve got you. Get in, get in!’

  He felt as if he were floating. His body seemed weightless as he collapsed into the front seat. Rami got back behind the wheel and pulled Flynn’s seatbelt across him.

  The air inside the car was warm and steamy. Rami had turned the heating up high but within seconds the windows had fogged up and Rami was leaning forwards in an effort to see through the windscreen. As the car glided effortlessly through the wet streets, Flynn was aware of his brother muttering to himself. ‘Jesus Christ, here we go again . . .’

  By the time the gasping noises had stopped, they were in Watford. The rain was still falling as Flynn stumbled out of the car. It took Rami a moment to find his keys and by the time they stepped into the warm, bright entrance hall Flynn was shivering so violently it felt as if a giant hand was rattling him by the neck. Suddenly there was the sofa and towels and hot-water bottles and more towels and a hot drink that he sloshed all over the carpet. Sophie and Rami’s voices talking loudly, then more softly, then whispering, then louder again. Clothes being dragged off, dry clothes being shoved on, a hairdryer burning his ears, bleeding grazes down his arms, Sophie brandishing cotton wool, and voices, voices, voices, and the telephone ringing. Coughing, coughing, coughing. And finally a strange feeling – a tingling, a prickling, soft dry clothes against his skin, a glowing feeling surrounding him . . . Warmth.