I go over to put on the kettle. 'Have you seen Flynn this morning?'
'Yes, he went out about half an hour ago. For a walk, I think he said.'
'Oh.' We lapse into silence. Aurora gurgles happily as Sophie continues to feed her and I sit and tickle her foot.
'How are things, Jen?' Sophie asks suddenly.
'Fine,' I reply instantly. 'Why?'
'You seem' – a pause – 'a little subdued.'
'It's been a crazy term,' I reply.
'I bet. You do know that if ever you or Flynn need a break from the city, or from each other, our guest room is ready and waiting.'
I smile, stroking Aurora's podgy arm. 'That's kind. Thanks.'
'It's not always easy, living with someone,' Sophie continues. 'I remember when Rami and I first moved in together, I used to get terrible cabin fever every few weeks and have to run home to my mum.'
I laugh. 'Yeah, it does take a bit of getting used to. Especially when you live in a tiny flat like ours.'
'It's such a cosy flat, though,' Sophie says. 'You've both made it really nice.'
'Yeah.' I think back to last summer, when Flynn and I moved in. How different things were then. We had both been full of energy and excitement, combing the second-hand shops for furniture and knick-knacks. It seems like a lifetime ago.
I get up to make the coffee. Aurora babbles happily and blows white spit bubbles. Sophie gets up and wipes her daughter down, then puts her on the floor with some toys and starts a game of peek-a-boo. I hand Sophie her coffee and join them on the carpet.
'Rami seems like a really hands-on dad,' I say.
Sophie smiles. 'Oh, he is. I think he was a bit paranoid when she was a newborn – kept checking her for every possible illness in the book! But now that she's bigger, he's much more relaxed.'
I take the plastic keys that Aurora is holding out to me. 'Thank you, baba!'
'And Flynn is a lovely uncle,' Sophie adds.
'Yeah,' I say, concentrating on Aurora.
A pause. 'He doesn't seem too well at the moment, does he?'
'No . . .'
Aurora shakes the plastic keys and gurgles happily.
'That can't be easy,' Sophie says.
I hold out a teddy to Aurora and tickle her with it under her chin. 'I thought the lithium was supposed to keep him well.' I don't look at Sophie. 'He's been fine ever since he started the medication two and a half years ago. But now . . .' I tail off as Aurora attempts to grasp the bear between her podgy hands.
'Are you worried about him?' Sophie asks.
'Yes – no – I don't know,' I flounder. 'He won't talk, he won't tell me. I just don't understand how someone can be so happy one week and then so miserable the next. I know it's all about the chemicals in his brain but surely we're more than just fluctuating chemicals . . .'
'Of course we are,' Sophie says. 'There is still so much we don't understand about the brain.'
'Sometimes I think it's just him,' I say. 'I know this sounds really mean, but sometimes I think that he could control it if he wanted to, because we all have good days and bad days, don't we?'
'Yes, but we don't all start throwing paint around when we're having a good day and stay in bed when we're having a bad day. We might feel like doing those things' – Sophie smiles – 'but we don't. That, I suppose, is the difference.'
Gradually the rest of the house comes to life. I play with Aurora while Sophie goes off to get dressed. Rami soon joins us and gives Aurora a second breakfast. I help Maria peel the potatoes and baste the turkey. Rami and Matias try and fix something on the living-room computer. Flynn comes in, his cheeks pink from the cold. Breakfast is drawn out over most of the morning while the oven hums and slowly fills the kitchen with the warm smell of roasting. We all crowd round while Aurora opens the first of her presents. She chews happily on the wrapping paper while Rami and Sophie endeavour to assemble some kind of complicated toy.
We play Scrabble in front of the TV; Sophie tries to distract Aurora from eating the Scrabble tiles with an offering of further presents. Flynn sits slightly apart from us all, leaning against the leg of a chair, knees drawn up. He smiles and stretches out his leg to tickle Aurora with his big toe. Finally, at three, we sit down to lunch and pull crackers and drink plum wine. It is a lovely, mellow day.
After lunch we assemble in the living room and exchange presents. I hand Flynn his present from me – a silver envelope containing tickets to The Contenders at the National. It is a play Flynn mentioned wanting to see last month. I get some books, a cashmere jumper and, from Flynn, a pair of beautiful silver pendant earrings.
I kneel up to give him a kiss. 'Thank you. They're beautiful!'
He smiles with a distant look in his eyes.
Maria thanks us for the gloves and Matias seems pleased with the aftershave. Rami wraps the bright multicoloured scarf around his neck and tells us it will cheer him up on cold, grey mornings. To my great relief, Sophie hasn't read I Don't Know How She Does It and laughs at the title. Aurora chews contentedly on the ear of her talking teddy.
After all the presents are unwrapped and cooed over, Flynn goes into the kitchen to make coffee. Maria turns up the sound on the TV and Rami and I start clearing up the mess of wrapping paper and coloured ribbons.
'Hey, whose is this?' Rami suddenly asks, retrieving an envelope from a swirl of reindeer paper and holding it aloft. I recognize my silver envelope containing the theatre tickets. My present to Flynn. The envelope is still sealed, discarded, tossed in with the rest of the rubbish.
'It's mine,' I say quickly. Rami chucks it over and I stuff it into my pocket.
Later in the evening, Sophie and Rami are trying to organize a game of Pictionary, Matias is dosing off in his armchair, and Flynn has disappeared on another walk. Maria suddenly turns to me and says, 'Kulta, you should go and phone your mother.'
I glance at my watch, trying to work out what stage of the proceedings Alan and his kids will have reached, and say, 'OK, perhaps I'll give her a call now.'
'You can use the phone in our bedroom,' Maria says. 'It'll be quieter there.'
'No, it's OK, I've got my mobile,' I protest.
'Mobiles are expensive! Use our landline,' she insists.
I smile my thanks and go upstairs. In the quiet, cool bedroom, I sit on the edge of the double bed and lift the receiver.
'Darling!' Mum sounds overjoyed. I can hear the television, along with a great deal of talking and laughing in the background. 'I've been waiting to call all day but didn't want to interrupt anything. Oh, we've missed you so much. It hasn't been the same without you. My little girl, all grown up. I've been thinking about you non stop. Next year you and Flynn are coming here, promise, OK? Alan cooked us an amazing lunch – roast turkey, stuffing and all – can you believe it? The boys actually offered to do the washing-up, and now they're embroiled in an inter-galactic war. Are you having a really good time?'
'Oh yeah, you know, it's been great . . .' I tail off. Suddenly I'm finding it difficult to speak.
'Did you have a nice lunch?' Mum presses me. 'Who cooked?'
'Flynn's mum. Yeah, it was lovely.' I stare hard at the patterned pale blue wallpaper. Suddenly I'm overcome by a dreadful feeling of homesickness. Why did I choose to spend Christmas here? Flynn wouldn't have noticed either way.
'Did you get anything nice?' Mum asks.
'Yes.' I dig my nails into the palm of my hand. What is the matter with you? 'I'll – I'll show you when I come up.'
'I'm longing to see you tomorrow – we've got your presents here, under the tree,' Mum says. 'You're getting in at four-oh-five, aren't you?'
'Yes,' I say weakly. 'Will you come and fetch me?'
'Of course I will! I'll be waiting for you outside in the car. Won't Flynn change his mind and come too?'
'No, he's got to go back to London and practise,' I say.
'Well, the boys are going home tomorrow so it will just be the three of us,' Mum says. 'Nice and peaceful. Can't wait,
darling.'
'OK. See you tomorrow, then . . .' My voice falters. 'Bye.'
'Bye!'
I replace the receiver and stare at the framed photo on the nightstand. The smiling little blond boy in the paddling pool looks a lot like Flynn. It is an effort to hold back the tears.
Another long meal stretches well into the evening. I feel cut off, trapped inside my own air bubble. Everyone is in high spirits except for Flynn, who scarcely even looks my way. I finally manage to extract myself from the cheery fug of the kitchen, leaving Flynn at the sink again. I brush my teeth and strip down to my T-shirt and pants and crawl into the squeaky camp-bed, aching with relief. Dinner was a painful effort, having to act all cheery and chatty despite the constant ache at the back of my throat. I leave the bedside light on for Flynn and pull the duvet over my head, wishing there was a way to shut out the whole world.
Sometime later, teetering on the edge of consciousness, I am aware of the bedroom door opening and closing, the sound of shoes and jeans being kicked off, then finally the squeak of springs and the weight on the mattress beside me. I open my eyes in the sudden darkness, waiting to see if Flynn will kiss me goodnight. He doesn't. He doesn't even touch me. I close my eyes again. The silver envelope is still in the pocket of my denim skirt. Tomorrow I will throw it away.
I wake with the dawn chorus. Flynn's arm is slung across me, a heavy weight over my chest. I get dressed quietly and pad to the bathroom. The house sleeps. Even Aurora isn't yet clamouring to be entertained. I take the key from the kitchen drawer and let myself out of the house. The village lane is lit by a cold, bluish dawn. Despite my long black winter coat, the chill bites at my skin. It has rained in the night – there are wet leaves and slippery mud underfoot. I walk rapidly through the village. I don't know where I'm going, I just know that I need to walk, move, feel alive. Flynn has turned into an empty shell. He barely seems aware of my existence. I should never have come; he never wanted me to in the first place. But at least I know that in a few hours I will be catching the train to Manchester. The thought fills me with a desperate kind of joy.
I walk till the sun is a cold white globe above the skyline. Then I retrace my steps back to the village. My legs are throbbing and I am finally warm by the time I reach the cottage. I check my watch. Only two hours till my train.
Everyone looks at me in surprise. Breakfast is in full swing – Rami eating cereal, Sophie feeding Aurora, Matias buttering toast and Maria hovering with coffee.
'Well, hello!' Maria exclaims.
I collapse on the nearest stool, brushing tangled hair out of my eyes. 'I felt like a walk,' I explain.
They glance behind me, at the still open kitchen door. 'Where's Flynn?' Rami asks me.
'Oh – I went for a walk on my own,' I say, suddenly flustered.
'Good thinking,' Sophie says. 'Come on, Rami, we should take Aurora out after breakfast and try and work off some of this food!'
'You'll have to wrap her up, it's freezing,' I say, gratefully accepting a cup of coffee from Maria.
'Should somebody wake Flynn?' Matias asks.
I look at my watch. It is nearly ten o'clock. I doubt he is sleeping – mooching more like. I put down my coffee. 'I'll go and get him.'
'Flynn!' I throw open the bedroom door. He is still lying in bed, fast asleep, sunlight pouring through the thin curtains. I hesitate, wondering whether to wake him, then remember my train. 'Hey, sleepy-head.' I sit down on the edge of the bed. Stroke his arm. It's not often that I see him sleep. He looks younger somehow, more vulnerable.
'Flynnie . . .' I give his arm a little shake. Bend down and kiss his cheek. He looks strangely flushed and his skin is hot and sweaty. I straighten up. 'Come on, wake up!' I exclaim. 'We're all having breakfast and I've got to leave in half an hour!'
Nothing. I stare down at him. His eyes are tightly shut, his breathing loud and rasping. A cold hand creeps up and squeezes my chest. I can hear my heart.
I grab him by the shoulders and shake him, hard. 'Flynn!'
His head rolls limply on the pillow. His eyes do not open. His breathing stops for a moment and then starts again, harsh and laboured. I leap away from the bed, a scream building in my throat. As I stumble back, something crunches under my feet. Blister packets, empty blister packets, all over the carpet. I hurl myself out of the bedroom door.
'Help! Call an ambulance! Help!' I scream at the top of my voice.
Rami reaches me on the landing. He is trying to restrain me, trying to pull me round to face him. 'Calm down, calm down. What's happening?'
'No! No!' I yell. 'He's unconscious! Call an ambulance!'
Rami grips me by the shoulders. 'Where? Where is he?'
'In the bedroom – the study!' I scream. 'He's in there!'
Rami lets go of me and runs along to the room. I stumble in after him. Suddenly the small room is very crowded. I can hear the sound of a baby crying.
'Oh God!' a woman's voice is moaning. 'Rami, he's all right – he's all right, isn't he?'
I am on my hands and knees, scrabbling through my coat pockets for my mobile phone. My hands are so clammy that it slips from my grasp.
'Mum, Dad, it's all right, it's under control.' Rami is trying to roll Flynn over onto his side, grunting with the effort. 'Sophie – get them downstairs—'
I key in too many nines and have to find the clear button and try again. Sophie is attempting to get Matias and Maria out of the room. Maria has gone white. Matias sounds panicked. 'What's he done? What's he gone and done?'
'Rami needs space,' Sophie is saying desperately, ushering them out. 'It's under control, but he needs some space. Please come downstairs with me – we need to open the door to the paramedics . . .'
'Emergency services. Which service do you require?' comes the voice over the phone.
'Ambulance,' I say desperately.
'Just putting you through.'
'Emergency ambulance service. What's your name?'
I stutter in reply.
'Your telephone number?'
I give them the number from my mobile.
'Your address?'
'Eight Rose – uh – Rosewood Drive,' I stumble. 'Angmering, West Sussex.'
Rami has got Flynn into the recovery position and is kneeling astride him on the bed, taking his pulse and peering at the back of one of the empty blister packs.
'The ambulance is on its way,' the woman says. 'What's the problem?'
'He's taken an overdose.' My voice sounds weird, as if I am being shaken. 'There are a lot of empty pill packets. He's unconscious.'
'Is he breathing?'
'Yes, I – I think so. Rami, is he breathing?'
'Laboured,' Rami grunts.
I repeat this into the phone.
'Is he lying on his back or on his side?'
'He's – he's on his side, Rami's moved him—'
'The ambulance!' Rami shouts. 'Have they sent out the ambulance?'
'Yes, it's on its way!' I yell back
'And are his airways clear?' the operator asks.
'Yes, I – I think so!'
'Can you read what's on the pill packets? Can you tell me how many pills are missing and what it says on the outside of the packets?' the operator continues.
I squat down and scrabble round on the floor, almost dropping the phone. 'Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, forty – I mean thirty – and then there's two more – forty – and it says fluox— I'll – I'll spell it . . .' My mouth feels as if it has gone numb. I can hardly get the words out.
'Benzodiazepines,' Rami barks. 'Tell her he's taken a massive overdose of benzos and ADs.'
I repeat it into the phone. I can feel the sweat running down my back.
'What dose does it say on the packet?' the woman asks.
'Two milligrams. No, I think it's ten . . .' I am seeing double as I try desperately to read the faint type on the sticky label. 'Yes, ten of diza—'
Rami snatches the mobile away from me. 'Four hundred milligrams o
f diazepam,' he barks down the phone. 'And six hundred milligrams of fluoxetine. Maybe more. When will the ambulance be here?'
Sophie appears in the doorway. She waits until Rami hangs up. Then she asks, 'Is he stable?' Her voice is eerily calm.
'Pulse fifty, pupils non-responsive,' Rami replies. 'Oh Jesus, Sophie!'
'He's still breathing on his own, Rami. Shall we try and get him downstairs ready for the paramedics?'
'No, it's better not to move him.'
'Right. Just keep tabs on his airways and his pulse. That's all you can do for now.'
The wail of a siren suddenly blasts up from the street below. Sophie disappears. Moments later the bedroom is full of people with walkie-talkies and green overalls, crowding round the bed. Everyone is talking very fast. Flynn's nose and mouth are covered with an oxygen mask and a needle is inserted into his arm and taped down. A blood-pressure cuff is attached to his other arm and a thick white neck brace is fitted around him. Then he is lifted onto some kind of chair and covered with a salmon-pink blanket and strapped into it. On the count of three, they lift the chair and manoeuvre it through the bedroom door, jolting it against the door frame. The chair disappears and the room is suddenly empty. I can hear the paramedics grunting and giving instructions to each other on the staircase outside.
I will myself to move, to run downstairs after them and follow Flynn into the ambulance, but nothing happens. I don't seem to be able to get up from the floor. A few minutes later, the sound of the siren wails into life again, sending blue waves of light crashing through the empty room.
Chapter Eight
JENNAH
Sophie comes in carrying the crying baby, and sits down on the edge of the bed. Her face is pale. 'Jennah, listen. Rami's gone in the ambulance with Flynn, and I'm going to arrange for Maria and Matias to be driven to the hospital by a neighbour. Do you want to go with them? I've got to stay here because of Aurora. Rami says he'll call the moment he has news.'
I shake my head dully. I'm afraid that if I try to stand up, my legs will collapse. I still haven't moved from my position on the floor next to the window. The mobile phone is still at my feet.
'Are you sure?'
A Voice in the Distance Page 8
