Journey to the Centre of Myself

by Andie M. Long

As soon as lunch is delivered and eaten I change into my pyjamas and grab my notebook.

  Things to do:

  1. Visit launderette.

  2. Text Steve.

  3. Research photography courses.

  4. Think about future and meeting with Adrian to discuss same.

  I switch on my phone and text Steve. ‘Just got back from Paris. Now in London. Your sister is an international jet-setter.’ Within a minute, I have a reply.

  ‘How are you? I’m worried about you.’

  ‘Don’t be. I’m fine. Doing a lot of thinking about the future. Home soon.’

  ‘Home when?’

  ‘I don’t know yet, need to think some more. Maybe Thursday/Friday?’

  ‘I’ve been talking to Adrian. He seems to have a genuine explanation for what he’s doing.’

  ‘Really? Or is it just more of the lies and deceptions he’s so good at?’

  ‘Well, I thought I’d let you know, but it’s for you to sort out.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Glad you’re okay.’

  ‘What about you? How’s things? Work, work, work?’

  ‘I met someone.’

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘Yep, early days but it’s different somehow, seems right.’

  ‘Oh Steve, it’s about time. Glad to hear it. Here we are again yin/yang. My marriage is on its bottom just as you start dating again.’

  ‘Feel for you sis, heavy decisions to make. You know where I am.’

  ‘I know. Thanks, bro, love ya, bye.’

  ‘Bye.’

  When to go home? There’s a text on my phone from Jo, asking me to a dinner party. Before I would make an excuse but now I think I’ll go. I need to get out more. Please let it not all be couples. I send her a text to accept and ask her. I’m pleased when her reply comes telling me that there’s an assortment of people and I’ll be fine whether I’m on my own or bringing Adrian. Hmmm, Adrian. I decide to go home Thursday evening, ahead of Friday’s dinner party. Do I let him know or just turn up? Gosh, we have so much to talk about.

  I spend some time looking at photography courses. They are really expensive. My redundancy money could stretch out to two years’ salary if I’m careful, or one if I intend to study and travel. I look at the Open University. There I can study photography without being stuck in Manchester as a student.

  Decisions made, it’s now time for clean clothes. I find the nearest launderette and spend a few hours washing my clothes. The hotel does laundry, but it is far too expensive. I enjoy the smell of the room, the noise and watching all the drums going round.

  Later I go back to my hotel and rent a movie through the T.V. Around nine o'clock I go for a long walk and head to Convent Garden. I love the ambience of the place, the buzz of people and the containment of the markets. I treat myself to some l’occitane hand cream and get a burger and fries to eat from an American Dining Restaurant. The thought of going home tomorrow makes my stomach churn.

  Back in the room, I wonder where I’ll be tomorrow night—safely ensconced in my home or looking for another hotel room to stay in. The sense of satisfaction and luxury I got when I first stayed in one has lapsed and I ache for my own bed and belongings. At the same time, I can’t imagine staying in my old home in my old life forever more either. There has to be a compromise. I feel like a split personality. Perhaps I’m going mad again. Anyway, my case is prepared. If I don’t stay at home, at least I have fresh clothes. I know Steve would let me stay with him, but that’s another step backwards. Maybe, it’s time to be on my own for a while. But then, I counter, I wouldn’t have my own bed. My mind spins in circles all night long. With the accompanying din from other hotel occupants, who bang and crash in their own rooms, I get little sleep.

  The hotel has a spa. In all the times I’ve stopped in hotels I’ve never used the facilities. I purchase a swimsuit and head down there before breakfast. The reception said I don’t have to vacate the room until midday and there are regular trains to Manchester, so I don’t feel any rush.

  I shower and go into the steam room. The heat hits me as I sit inside, and it’s a minute or so before I find I can breathe properly. Then I love it. As the sweat and moisture runs down my face and body, it’s like a cleansing. I stay in there for about fifteen minutes, simply relaxing. After another shower, I brace myself for the pool, where I’m relieved to find that it’s actually quite warm. I’m not a strong swimmer and can only do breast stroke, but I push myself to do four lengths straight off. I quickly realise how unfit I am as I’m completely out of breath. The stretch of my legs and arms against the water is exhilarating. I’ve found something else I want to do more of—strengthen my body. I carry on for another four lengths, the muscles in my legs aching and my arm muscles screaming. I rest against the side of the swimming pool laughing to myself. There are only a couple of people in here besides me and they’re too focused on their own swim to worry about what I’m up to.

  Then it’s into the sauna where I struggle with the dry heat. I really do feel like I can’t breathe and need to escape, but I make myself stay and push through it. I keep throwing water on the stones though I don’t know if this is supposed to make it better or worse. A magazine article I remember reading said something about sitting on a lower level for less intense heat, but I only manage just over five minutes in there. It’s too intense and makes my heart palpitate.

  There are lovely products in the shower and changing rooms so I take my time washing my hair and conditioning it, scared the heat will have frazzled it. I walk back to the changing area, grab a fresh towel to dry off further and then smooth in body lotion. I pull up a chair and style my hair and apply cosmetics. Then I head for the dining room where I have a full English breakfast and plenty of coffee. I spend my last hour catching up with my writing, which has become my to-do lists, my confessional, and my journal. I reflect on the cover. Now I’m like a bird hovering around a cage, but no longer confined by it.

  It's time to go home.

  Chapter 18

  Amber

  Adrian has taken me back to the bar where we first met as he has ‘fond memories’ of it. I’m drinking vodka and shaking my booty to the beat while secretly fantasising that he takes me home and shags me senseless. He seems to take this lust only business a tad too seriously. I want him to be a proper bad boy and break all the rules. The place is full of different groups, all here for the Christmas parties and they get loud, wild, and far too energetic and enthusiastic when Slade comes on.

  As we stand near the bar, we keep getting pushed into each other. We strain to listen to what the other one is saying. The night’s a bust as far as I’m concerned. I’m hot, sweaty and to be quite frank, bored.

  A drink is dropped on the floor. I hear the smash and then liquid drips down the back of my leg. I feel like an old lady who’s lost her ability to hold urine.

  ‘Great,’ I mutter, looking around to see who dropped it.

  ‘What are you fucking looking at?’ says a middle-aged woman with corkscrew curled blonde hair. Sweat has made wisps stick to her forehead. It’s the last I see before Adrian drags me away.

  ‘Enough of this, I've got a better idea,’ he says.

  He takes me to the big wheel, part of the festive markets. I get the words majestic erection in my head when I look at it and want to giggle. We get in, it rotates slowly and we gaze over Manchester. He snuggles into me. It’s not sexy, it's romantic, and it makes me uncomfortable.

  ‘Good idea, yeah?’

  I fix a smile on my face. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You hate it, don’t you?’

  He looks gutted, vulnerable and so damn sexy with his sad eyes. I straighten up.

  ‘It’s just me. I’m in a funny mood tonight.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yes, it’s my mood honest. I need more alcohol.’

  We drink mulled wine walking around the markets and have a hog roast sarnie. The atmosphere cheers me up and I buy several new Christmas ornam
ents to mark my first Christmas on my own.

  Then I pull him into a quiet side street filled with business buildings, the banking district, and pull him to me. We lock lips. This is better. We kiss frenziedly in the shop doorway like a couple of teenagers. He moves his hand underneath my top, closing his hand around a silky cup of my bra. He stops, breaks our kiss and looks at me. I place my hand over his, the fabric of my bra between him and skin and I move his hand to the swell of my breast, so his fingers meet flesh. That’s all the encouragement he needs. He pulls the front of my bra down and slides his hands over my tits. Our breathing gets harder as do my nipples.

  I move my hand over the fabric of his trousers where I can make out his erection, strong and straining against the zipper. I try to pull the zipper down but fumble as his trousers are too tight.

  ‘Not yet,’ he says.

  He lifts my top up at the corner and licks my aureole. Inside my legs fizzes with excitement and I push my breast further into his face.

  He tugs my top back down and repeats everything he’s done to the other side. I love the excitement, the fact we might be caught by passers-by, that we might be on CCTV somewhere while a security guy sits struggling to control himself, and might have to excuse himself to jerk off.

  Adrian pulls my top back down. He kisses me, his tongue invading my mouth roughly. His hand travels up my skirt. His fingers trail across the top of my thigh.

  ‘Not yet,’ I say.

  We break apart.

  We try to catch our breath.

  ‘Let’s get another drink,’ he says.

  We walk towards a bar called The Golden Ball and hear screams. We think nothing of it with the Christmas high jinks all around.

  A man barges into us. His face pale. ‘G-get the hell down, there’s a gun.’

  He points to the nightclub entrance in the distance where we can just see a man walking about outside. There are more screams. We dive behind a row of parked cars.

  ‘Oh my God, oh my God,’ I sob, my arms clutched tight around me. I start rocking. A fucking gun. There’s a man with a fucking gun.

  Adrian puts his arms around me. ‘It’s okay. We’ll be okay,’ he says.

  The other man trembles as he whispers, ‘He walked up to the entrance and shot someone standing outside,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘It just… I saw…’

  I try to make myself as small as possible. Although I know to be quiet, whimpers escape. Adrian keeps kissing the top of my head, reassuring me that we’ll be okay. We stay there for minutes, but it’s like time stands still.

  We hear and then see a massive police presence. A policeman comes up to us. ‘It’s okay, we’ve got him. Did anyone witness anything?’

  The man goes with the Police Officer. Myself and Adrian get out of there as quickly as we can. I’m still shaking, but now my limbs feel tired, like I have to drag myself around.

  Someone died tonight. People have lost a family member just before Christmas. I start crying again.

  ‘Oh, Amber.’ Adrian stops walking and holds me close. ‘It’ll be to do with drugs or something. We’ll find out what happened on the news.’

  ‘We could have died.’

  ‘That wasn’t very likely, it was probably a hit.’

  ‘But how do you know that? How do you know it wasn’t just a fed up man who walked around town with a gun and shot the first person who pissed him off, or looked at him, or ignored him, or—’

  Adrian lowers his head. ‘Okay, Amber. I don’t know.’

  I sit down on a bench now we’re far away from the drama. ‘If I’d died tonight, my family would find out I’d spent the evening with a married man. The last they knew of me, that I was a stupid fuck-up, with a temporary job and with a soon to be ex-husband who got his mistress pregnant. That’s what I’d have left behind.’

  Adrian tries to put his arm around me again, but I push him away.

  My voice rises. ‘What are you doing with me? You stupid man. Don’t you have a lovely wife to go home to, who’s waiting for you right now, wondering where you are? Or maybe she thinks you’re somewhere other than where you’ve told her? You’re an idiot. You need to get lost. Go home.’

  Adrian’s face is a mask of tightly controlled fury. ‘My wife isn’t at home, Amber. She left me. Okay?’

  I turn to him, my face creased with confusion. ‘What?’

  ‘You said you’d only go out with me if I was a married man. You didn’t say I had to be happily married, or have a wife at home.’

  ‘So you’re separated?’

  ‘Well I live at home and don’t know where my wife is living, so I’d say so. You’re not the only one whose life’s a mess.’

  I lean back against the bench. ‘Gosh.’

  He sits next to me. ‘This has been quite a night. Are you ready to go home now?’

  ‘Do you want to go out to dinner with me tomorrow?’ I ask.

  ‘What? Where’s this come from?’

  ‘I have an invitation to a dinner party. I thought you’d say no, want to stay covert because you’re married, but if you’re separated then it doesn’t matter, does it? So, do you want to be my plus one?’

  ‘Whose party is it?’

  ‘Oh, just some woman from work. My mate Mirelle will be there too. She’s recently had a break up with her lover, who has also been invited. Could be as explosive as tonight actually.’

  ‘Jokes already?’

  Our faces sadden.

  ‘Erm, I’m not sure about going out with people from your work.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Erm…’

  ‘See, you’ve no excuse. You’re going and that’s that. I’ll meet you outside Carluccios at seven.’

  He sighs. ‘Fine. Now let’s get you home.’

  The taxi pulls up outside my house. I turn and look at Adrian. Separated. Not exactly married. I don’t know why I took part in this stupid challenge anyway. How old am I? Somehow I need to get a handle on my life. Tonight has shown me that I’ve achieved nothing of any worth. Then the other side of me argues back. Tonight has also shown me that life is short.

  ‘Come inside with me,’ I ask him.

  Adrian pays the taxi driver and follows me into the house.

  He doesn’t even give me time to lock the front door properly.

  I’m pushed onto the sofa where he lifts my skirt up. Then he buries his face in my crotch.

  ‘Oh my God,’ I grab hold of the leather covering the sofa.

  He lifts up his head, eyes burning with lust.

  ‘Sex,’ he whispers. ‘I’m going to fuck you until you’re sore.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Now, please now.’

  Chapter 19

  Karen

  There are no lights on as I let myself into the house. I drop my case in the hallway and take in the familiar sight of my own belongings. Oh, it feels good to be home.

  Perhaps you need time away to appreciate what you have? I walk into the bathroom as it’s been a long trip and my bladder is full. As I sit there, I realise Adrian’s toothbrush isn’t in the holder. His shaver isn’t on the side either.

  I’m a little shocked, thinking he’s not at home. But then again why should he be? I ran away from him, maybe now he’s left me?

  I leave the bathroom and check the wardrobe but most of his clothes are still there and his case is at the bottom of the built in cupboard. A sigh escapes my mouth. I’m sure he’ll be back later on.

  I make myself a coffee, and as the house is nice and tidy, I unpack my case and put everything away in its rightful place. We need to talk, Adrian and I, and I need to stay in my own home, for the time being at least.

  There’s still no sign of him by nine-thirty so I run myself a bath.

  At eleven, I turn in for the night and go to bed. I leave a note on the dining room table letting him know I’ve returned, so as not to shock him when he gets back.

  I wake once in the night to go to the loo, around four am. The bed at the side of me is still
tucked in tightly. He’s not come home. I refuse to think of it and go back to sleep, but when it turns six, I can’t stay in bed any longer. Where is he?

  I get dressed and check out my appearance in the large mirror at the top of the landing. My new hairstyle has made me feel more confident. I’m just checking out my side profile when I see the spare room door reflected in the mirror. The lock has gone. The lock that has been there for several years now. I walk over to the room and fumble with the door handle, finally twisting it and push the door open.

  My daughter’s cot is no longer there.

  My daughter’s pictures are no longer on the wall.

  The room is no longer pink.

  Instead, there is a beige carpet, a desk, and a noticeboard with a map of the world on it.

  ‘The thing is, I can’t tell you what I’ve been doing just yet—it’s a secret.’

  I lay on the floor of my daughter’s old room, barely able to catch my breath as tears course down my cheeks.

  ***

  February 2009

  Manchester Royal Infirmary

  Department of Psychiatry

  Discharge Summary

  Re: Karen Louisa OWEN (nee Dornan) - DOB 07 06 71

  28 Furniss Close, Sale, Stockport.

  Date of Admission: 20 December 2009

  Date of Discharge:31 January 2010

  Ward: B2Consultant: Dr G Talbot

  Diagnosis:Puerpal psychosis

  Presenting complaint:

  Mrs Dornan was admitted to Ward B2 following an overdose of Paroxetine anti-depressant medication. Prior to admission, Mrs Dornan suffered a bereavement—the death of her daughter Genevieve at twelve weeks old, in May 2009. The patient’s husband, Mr Adrian Dornan, stated that his wife had been suffering from mood swings since the birth of their daughter, sometimes taking herself to bed for hours and other times having ‘highs’. He put this down to ‘hormones’. In recent weeks, she had talked about not wanting to celebrate Christmas and there being ‘no point.’