by Lucy Dawson
Ohhh, but I didn’t want to phone him. He knew I fancied him. I was going to look like a teenage stalker. Thanks very bloody much, Gretch, I thought crossly as I went through her address book and his name slid into view. I paused. I so didn’t want to do this, but she was missing . . . ARGH! Taking a deep breath, and before I could change my mind, I hit call.
‘Grot, please fuck off,’ said a sleepy voice. ‘I’m still in bed . . .’
Oh God – suppose he wasn’t alone . . .
‘It’s Alice actually,’ I began, trying to focus only on the matter in hand. ‘We met at the café?’
‘Oh right!’ he said quickly, and I imagined him sitting up. ‘I’m so sorry! Hang on – you are on my sister’s phone, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I’m afraid something’s happened . . .’
I waited nervously in the coffee shop for him, clutching Gretchen’s handbag, in which I’d also placed her shoes. At half ten the door opened and in he walked, looking subdued and a little tired.
I couldn’t help it. My heart spontaneously leapt at the sight of him and I nervously pushed my freshly washed hair off my face and smoothed a wrinkle out of my black, slightly-lower-cut-than-normal top, as I tried not to think about the fact that Gretchen had told him about my crush. There were far more important things to worry about. I half stood up awkwardly and held the bag out to him straight away.
‘Hi, Alice.’ He managed a faint smile. ‘Oh, this is hers, is it? Thanks.’ He took the bag from me and set it down on the table between us. Then, pulling out the chair opposite, he sank down heavily. ‘I’m so sorry that you’ve got caught up in all of this.’
‘It’s OK.’
‘It’s not OK actually.’ He sat back and looked at me steadily. ‘It’s very frustrating and, well, sad I suppose. She hasn’t had a setback like this for a while and you almost manage to convince yourself that she’s fine, but then . . .’ He sighed. ‘You’re reminded she’s not at all. Poor little scrap.’
I hadn’t got a clue what he was talking about.
‘She must have come off it to have ramped up like this. She hasn’t done a bunk for a while now.’
‘Come off what?’ I asked.
‘Her lithium,’ he said, surprised by my confusion.
I must have looked totally blank, because he stared at me and then said, very slowly, ‘Oh holy shit – she hasn’t told you, has she?’
‘Lithium?’ I echoed, as that rang a bell somewhere. ‘I’ve heard of that.’
But Bailey was looking at the table and had covered his face with his hands, muttering ‘Shit, shit, shit’ through his fingers. He exhaled, lifted his head back up and said simply, ‘Gretchen’s a manic depressive. I thought you knew. I’m so sorry.’
I stared at him, utterly at a loss for words.
‘I assumed . . .’ he trailed off awkwardly. ‘It’s just she talks about you a lot, says how good you are for her. I thought she would have said. She’s usually pretty upfront about it – although it’s cost her lots of friends in the past. Maybe that’s why she didn’t say anything this time, she was worried about how you’d react. Oh fuck it, I’m such a wanker!’ He looked furious with himself. ‘Where’s the waiter? I need one of your huge spoons,’ he said, trying to lighten the mood but failing miserably.
My mind had spun into motion and was spooling back through the previous night; her singing and trying to get out of the moving taxi . . . So she hadn’t been drunk or on drugs? She was a manic depressive? Why hadn’t she told me?
Bailey was looking at me carefully. ‘You look pretty taken aback. Don’t take this the wrong way, but do you actually know what manic depression is? You don’t need to be frightened, Alice, she’s not a nutter.’
He waited but I said nothing. I could only see her fingers squeezing on the door handle over and over again in the back of the cab. What if it hadn’t been locked? What if . . .
‘Can I try and explain it to you?’ Bailey said gently. ‘You know what it’s like to be high, right?’
‘Not really,’ I said. ‘I did some blow-ups at university, or whatever they are.’
‘You mean when someone blows smoke into your mouth? That’s a blowback.’ He smiled slightly at my mistake. ‘The reason I ask is this . . .’ He paused and took a deep breath.
We both sat still and quiet for a moment while he appeared to gather his thoughts.
‘Imagine,’ he said eventually, ‘you’ve taken a drug. It makes you feel ecstatically happy and like you love the world. You feel like there is nothing you can’t do. You don’t need sleep, you have so much energy you can barely sit still. You start to have these fantastically colourful ideas and schemes that before you wouldn’t have believed you could make happen . . . But now you feel anything is possible. Money, other people, it’s all irrelevant – you’re not inhibited any more, constrained by nothing and no one. In fact, you feel at your most attractive – everyone wants to listen to you; you feel seductive and like you want to be seduced all at once. You just want to dance and dance, then run and run. It’s like speeding down an open road at sunset in a convertible, wind rushing wildly through your hair.’
I caught my breath, it sounded wonderful. I wanted to do all of that – with him.
‘But then,’ he continued, ‘it starts to go too fast. It feels like someone has glued your foot to the accelerator and you can’t take it off. You go speeding dangerously across intersections, your ideas start to feel jumbled and confused. You feel frightened and the people around you start to make you cross or scared.
‘With no warning at all you find yourself under the darkest, blackest clouds you’ve ever seen, but you have no idea where you are or how you got there. All that frenzied energy starts to whirl up and up . . . thunder is starting to rumble in the sky over your head – there’s a crack of lightning and it makes you think you’re hearing and seeing things that you can’t be sure are real. You feel this demented confusion and fear pressing on you so heavily you scream, but then people are reaching out and pinning you down. You don’t know who they are, so you try to protect yourself, you hit out, but they hold you down, even though you try to fight and stay in control . . .’
I sat frozen to the spot, the background noise of the café seemed to drain away. All I was aware of was him and what he was saying.
‘Then you wake up, not remembering how you fell asleep, under this heavy, relentless rain that won’t stop and you feel more sad and hopeless than you have ever felt in your life; you can’t see how it will ever end. You start to remember all the horribly embarrassing things you did while you were high; you feel deeply ashamed and you don’t want to see anyone. It’s as if you have nothing to offer the world – and it seems it doesn’t have much to offer you either.’
A sweetly smiling waitress appeared next to us and asked in a light, sing-song voice, ‘Can I take your order?’
‘Er, coffee, please,’ I said, completely thrown by her interruption.
‘Me too,’ Bailey said. ‘White. Thanks.’
She bustled off and left us in silence.
‘Gretchen’s brain does everything I’ve just described to you, on its own,’ Bailey ploughed on determinedly as he held my gaze. ‘She doesn’t need to take anything to induce those feelings, although undoubtedly the drugs and alcohol she does take don’t help. Basically, she’s got this chemical imbalance in her brain. They don’t really know what causes it or why it suddenly becomes an issue – it might be hereditary, they’re not sure. Anyway, she was diagnosed with manic depression about three years ago.’
‘Has she disappeared like this before?’ I managed eventually.
He nodded.
‘So do you know where she is?’
He shook his head. ‘We’ll just have to sit and wait. Hope she rings us, or that someone else does. There isn’t really anything more we can do.’ He shrugged helplessly.
I looked at him searchingly, trying to imagine how I would feel if Phil was lost out there
somewhere, confused and vulnerable, somewhere where none of us could reach him, gather him to us and simply protect him. Bailey dropped his gaze and stared hard at the table.
‘You just have to wait?’
He nodded.
‘That must be very difficult.’
A desperate laugh escaped him. ‘Like you wouldn’t believe. You want the phone call, but you dread it at the same time, in case, God forbid . . .’
We said nothing for a moment. The pause seemed to go on for ever. I wanted to reach out, put my hand on his, but I didn’t want him to misunderstand the gesture.
‘So, when she turns up,’ I said eventually, encouragingly, ‘what happens then?’
‘I’ll try and get her to go back into a psychiatric hospital.’
I took a sharp intake of breath, immediately picturing white walls, echoey corridors, barred windows and strait-jackets. I couldn’t help it.
‘It’s not like you think,’ he said quickly, catching sight of my expression. ‘It’s completely voluntary and it’s a private hospital. She doesn’t become sectioned against her will or anything, but she has to go in because at certain points in the cycle I described to you, she has no control over her moods – there’s a risk she could be so desperate to get some control back that she might try to take her own life, or not be aware that she’s trying to take her own life. Suffice to say that I don’t want to go into detail, but that has happened in the past.’
The waitress reappeared and inexpertly dumped our coffees down, jerking some of the dark liquid into the saucers. ‘Oops!’ she said. ‘Enjoy!’ And disappeared again.
I was completely horrified by what Bailey had said. I almost couldn’t believe it. Gretchen? Beautiful, fun, fearless Gretch? It was like stepping into a lift, but finding the lift wasn’t there where I expected it to be – just a vast empty space beneath my feet.
‘It’s just a precaution, Alice,’ he said quickly. ‘It sounds horrific, but she’s been there before and come out of it. This will probably happen to her again at some point in the future and, in spite of everything I’ve told you, it really is manageable, I promise you. The imbalance can be addressed with drugs. As long as she takes them, and has regular counselling, she’s totally normal. Trust me, I’m something of an expert now. I think I’ve read every book and studied every website.’ He tried a smile.
‘Last night . . .’ I was struggling very slowly to get to grips with everything. ‘She was behaving . . . quite erratically. Was that why? She’d come off her medication, you think?’
‘It sounds like it, yes,’ he said. ‘I’m just sorry I was so indiscreet and just blurted it out like that – she’s going to kill me.’ He looked devastated. ‘She’s such a private person as it is. Urgh, I’m such a twat!’ He covered his face. ‘It just didn’t occur to me that she wouldn’t have told you. You seem so in control, just the sort of person she could rely on.’
‘I really haven’t known her that long,’ I said slowly. ‘We are very good friends, but . . .’
‘I thought girls were supposed to talk about everything?’ he tried gamely, shooting me a look, and for a foolish moment I thought he was referring to my being attracted to him. His smile faded quickly though. ‘Then again, I suppose when is the right time to talk about something like that?’
When indeed? Poor, poor Gretchen.
‘You’re not going to walk away, are you?’ he asked urgently. ‘I know it’s a lot to take on board and it sounds really heavy, but she needs good friends around her right now, Alice.’
I looked at him. ‘Of course I’m not going to walk away.’
‘Thank you.’ He looked hugely relieved. ‘She will get through this, I promise. And thank you for ringing me . . . and meeting me.’ There was a pause and then he said, ‘I was actually going to call you anyway.’
My heart thumped expectantly. His hand was resting opposite mine on the table. I wondered what it would feel like to have him touch me.
‘Gretchen told me—’ he started.
‘Yes, well,’ I interrupted quickly, flushing. ‘She shouldn’t have. I’d just like to point out I don’t usually adopt the tactics of a fifteen-year-old, i.e. “My friend fancies you.”’
‘I was just going to say Gretchen told me you and your boyfriend split up.’
‘Oh,’ I said, wondering if there was a hole nearby I could crawl into.
He laughed. ‘Don’t look like that . . . OK, OK. I have to come clean. She might have discussed you with me, I think she wanted to make sure I didn’t miss my chance again. I wanted to call you the day after we first met, but Gretchen explained you were in a serious relationship. You’re quite right, she shouldn’t have interfered, but I’m glad she did.’
I was in a serious relationship? Had she been a whole lot more astute about Tom and me than I had realised?
‘Will you come and sit with me outside?’ he asked. ‘Have you got time?’
I’d have stopped it completely for him.
We paid up and he walked ahead of me, throwing the door open and stepping with relief into the sunshine. He found us a bench in Leicester Square amid Londoners clustering on the grass, busily unwrapping lunchtime sandwiches. They were tipping their faces gratefully up to the sun like flowers, snatching a couple of moments of peace away from office phones and incoming emails.
‘So,’ Bailey said, trying to adopt a lighter tone as he sat down, ‘what inappropriately heavy subject shall we pick for when I next take you out? China’s human rights record perhaps?’
‘You seem to be managing to stay very calm about everything,’ I said, thinking, when you next take me out?
‘I have to. What’s the alternative?’ And at that, he smiled a slightly wobbly smile. I think it was that flash of raw vulnerability that made me overcome any worry I had about misinterpretation. I instinctively reached out, picked up his hand and simply held it – because I knew he needed me to.
He didn’t say anything. We just sat there and held hands quietly. I was scared to move in case any shift made him feel he should let go, but he didn’t.
Eventually, though, the moment started to change shape, and what had begun as my innocently comforting him started morphing into something that began to make my heartbeat pulse loudly at my wrist. I was still holding his hand. We were holding hands. I glanced round the square casually but I was barely breathing. People were sitting at tables outside cafés and bars, laughing and smoking languidly. It could have been Paris – if I’d squinted and blocked out the black cabs, postboxes and pint glasses on tables. I thought of Paris, and then I thought of Tom.
‘I have to go.’ I turned to Bailey.
‘OK.’ He looked at me and I suddenly realised how close we were to each other. ‘Thanks for holding my hand,’ he smiled. ‘It’s been a while since anyone actually listened like that. It was very nice of you. But then you’re very nice full stop.’
And then it happened.
He leant forward and kissed me, right there, like we were the only people in the square. I froze for a second, but then, then I very tentatively kissed him back and I forgot everything else except how it made me feel. My mouth started tingling as my tense shoulder muscles relaxed, and I felt his hand resting lightly on my leg. I could smell his skin and feel the warmth of him as I started to fall . . . Just for a second I lost myself totally and I didn’t care who was watching; if the whole of London had ground to a halt and was standing, just staring at us. Had the world only ten seconds left before exploding, I would have died happy, going out on that kiss. It was as if every nerve in my body sprang to life and cried out for him to carry on.
But Tom, what about Tom? I pulled back quickly and Bailey looked at me, totally bemused.
‘We shouldn’t be doing this,’ I said guiltily.
‘Why?’
I stalled. ‘Gretchen’s missing and—’
‘No, no,’ he said, ‘you’ve got to grab these little bits of happiness where you find them. I know it’s not the most uncomplicat
ed of situations, but I actually think Gretchen would be thrilled at the thought of her matchmaking coming off.’
I remembered her comments in the shoe shop that time and wasn’t so sure. And yet she’d told Bailey that Tom and I had separated, and that I was attracted to him . . . I was confused. But then, it sounded like she had been, too – poor thing. She was literally all over the place.
‘I want to see you again,’ Bailey said. ‘Can I? Once I’ve sorted Gretchen out?’
And I nodded. It was an instinctive thing, I didn’t even think about it.
‘You promise?’
‘I promise.’
‘I’ll call you then,’ he said. ‘As soon as she turns up, so you know she’s safe, and to arrange something for us.’
Us. There was going to be an us.
Stunned by what had just happened and what I’d agreed to, I stood up and barely whispered, ‘I’ll look forward to it,’ before turning and walking away.
I could feel him watching me. It felt good.
Chapter Sixteen
‘You’ve done what?’ Vic said incredulously.
I closed my eyes and sank down on to the carpet in my bedroom. ‘Kissed Bailey.’
‘When?’
I cringed. ‘Two days ago.’
‘Two days ago?’ A clunk carried down the phone line, there was a pause and then I heard her swear in the background before she said, ‘I’m back, knocked my drink over. What the fucking fuck?’
‘You were away! I couldn’t call you and tell you on holiday, could I? Vic, I’ve been going out of my mind. I’ve felt so horrifically guilty, and even worse, he’s just called me to ask me out.’
‘Just now? What did you say?’
‘Nothing. He left a message because I couldn’t bring myself to pick up. He was all “Gretchen’s back and are you free tomorrow night?” What am I going to do?’
‘Gretchen’s back?’ Vic said. ‘Where’s she been? On holiday too?’
‘Not exactly, she’s –’ I began, and then I heard Tom shout, ‘Hi, Al, I’m home. Where are you?’
‘Shit, Tom’s here. Hang on,’ I hissed.
