‘The traffic was crazy,’ she explained as he got up and gave her a strong hug.
This was why she loved Christmas. Her dad was normally too busy for anything other than work, but this time of year was always different. He pulled away, ruffled her hair and sat back down, reopening his magazine. His state of relaxation usually lasted until at least Boxing Day, so they’d have time to talk later. George lay on the big sofa, stretching himself out along the length of it, listening to Lenny Henry talking to them from the television set. Laurel took in the almost bazaar-like feel the house underwent for a few weeks each year.
As always, red, gold and green was the festive colour scheme and the Christmas tree stood by the window, weighed down with lights, baubles, plastic beads and tinsel so thick she could barely see the white plastic branches underneath. Brightly coloured foil garlands hung from all four corners of the ceiling, drooping back to the centre where they were stuck to the light surround. It was bright and colourful and it made her smile. She hadn’t really realised until now just how much she’d missed this house too, as well as the family in it.
Laurel opened the door connecting the living room to the kitchen and was greeted by the usual pre-Christmas chaos. The good plates and glasses from the attic were stacked by the sink waiting to be washed, the surfaces were littered with baking paraphernalia, the windows were steamed with condensation and John Lennon sang about war being over. Her mum sang along and, despite it being played at every available opportunity over every Christmas Laurel remembered, Alice always missed out half the words and got the other half wrong.
‘Hi, Mum,’ Laurel said, interrupting her singing.
‘Hello, love.’ Alice turned and smiled back. Without breaking her stirring for a second, she beckoned Laurel over with her free hand for a hug.
Considering the frosty goodbye Laurel had taken with her to London, her homecoming had been a nice surprise so far. She let herself relax into her mum’s one-handed hug and looked down into the pan. She could almost taste the mince pies already - the filling sweet and tangy under a layer of perfect pastry and doused in vanilla custard. She’d joked with Kim about dry turkey and stinky sprouts, but Christmas dinner was her absolute favourite.
‘How are you? Everything alright?’ Alice asked.
Laurel turned to lean against the sink and stuck the plug in before turning on the hot tap. ‘Yep, everything’s good.’
‘How’s your course going?’
‘Great,’ she nodded enthusiastically, squirting a jet of washing up liquid into the water. ‘My lecturer’s really good, and it’s fun. I’ve learned loads already.’
‘I still think you should’ve gone to Bristol.’
Laurel held down a sigh as the water foamed. Her mum had used every opportunity to tell her this whenever they spoke on the phone. She should have known that Alice wouldn’t turn down the chance to do it in person, but she’d only been back five minutes.
‘Bristol was never what I wanted, it was what you wanted. Photography is what I want to do, I always have.’ She turned off the tap, determined not to let Christmas be ruined already. ‘This course is amazing, Mum. It’s a great school, I have a great lecturer and you know what? I’m good at it. Really good.’ She shook her head a fraction. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t become the first in the family to go to university. I’m sorry I let you down, but this is my life and this is what I want to do with it.’
She heard the spoon being stirred in the pot behind her, but Alice stayed silent. John Lennon had given way to Wham!, and Laurel’s heart beat loudly in her chest. She hadn’t shouted, but her voice had been firm. She’d never spoken to her mum like that. She’d never dared to. But for the first time ever, she’d managed to say what she really felt and what was long overdue.
Laurel took a plate from the top of the stack and put it under the soapy bubbles without turning around. She was proud of herself for defending her position so well, but she daren’t look at her mum’s face.
‘You don’t have to do that,’ Alice said. ‘I’ll do it later.’
Laurel shrugged. ‘It’s fine.’
She turned a little to look at her mum. She couldn’t say it now after that outburst, but she’d never realised just how much her mum had actually done before - running the house with a full-time job and two kids under her feet. Laurel felt like she was constantly cleaning, cooking, laundering and studying, and it was only her and Nico.
‘For the record, I’m not surprised at all.’ Alice’s wrist circled non-stop, deftly stirring the mincemeat in the pan. ‘I know you’re good at it.’
She did? Laurel slid the plate into the wire rack on the draining board. Her mum had never said anything encouraging about her photography before. Not once, not ever.
‘I’m not blind.’ Alice took the pan off the hob. ‘I just wanted you to have the best chance in life - both of you. And apparently you’re both doing well enough so…’ She wiped her hands on a tea towel. ‘I still don’t agree with your decision. I think you made it far too quickly, but you’re an adult now and you’re making it work. I’m proud of you.’
Laurel blushed and looked down into the sink. For once, they were talking to each other as adults, and she liked it.
‘Thanks, Mum.’
They exchanged a smile before Alice pushed her hair back. ‘Just remember that this is still your home. You can always come back if you ever need or want to.’
Laurel nodded, clutching onto the comment and storing it in an easily accessible mental drawer that until recently, she’d never imagined she might need.
Alice opened the fridge and took out a cling film covered bowl. ‘I saw Kim the other day. She looks awfully thin.’
‘I’m going to see her on Boxing Day.’ Laurel sighed. ‘I don’t know what to do, Mum. I’m worried about her. I think she might be really sick.’
‘Have you spoken to her about it?’
Laurel shook her head. ‘Not really.’
‘I can speak to her mum, if you like?’ Alice offered, but Laurel shook her head.
‘No, I think it’s better if I try to talk to her first. I just don’t know how. She’s so sensitive about her weight, I don’t want her to think I’m criticising her.’
Alice took a lump of cold pastry from the bowl and put it down on the chopping board.
‘That’s what friends are for, Lorie. If your best friend won’t tell you when something’s wrong, who will?’
Laurel knew she was right. It was her duty to say something but that didn’t make it any easier, or help to put the right words in her head. She said nothing else about it as she washed the stack of plates and glasses before drying and placing them upturned on the table, ready for tomorrow while her mum finished the mince pies. Along with Christmas pudding, all Alice had to be responsible for this year was the turkey. Since Nico’s dad was a chef, he’d be bringing the rest tomorrow and the two families would feast together.
Laurel smiled to herself in anticipation. When she woke up tomorrow, the annual Christmas traditions would kick off in full swing. Presents would be opened with mugs of steaming hot tea and the television playing in the background. After that, George and their dad would disappear while she and Alice pushed the sofas back to roll around on the carpet doing exercises under Felicity Kendal’s expert instruction on her Shape Up and Dance LP. Her mum always joked that it pre-burned the calories for the day. It was a ritual that would mark the start of feasting, from bacon sandwiches and French toast for breakfast, to their turkey centred dinner and beyond. And of course, there’d be the EastEnders special, as well as Top of the Pops. She couldn’t wait.
If there was one thing she was worried about, it was whether Nico would fit into it all. For her, Christmas was always about fun and family, even if they got on each other’s nerves sometimes. But Nico had only complained so far, about the expense, the stress, the inability to work. She got the feeling that he would rather be in London where he could work himself into the ground and was blaming her for d
ragging him back to their parents. As if everything that was wrong in the world was all her fault.
Laurel hung the damp tea towel to dry and tried to shrug the feeling off. Being back with their families was a good thing. She already felt better after only an hour and was certain that Nico would too. Being back where it had all started between them would be a good thing. It would bring them closer together again, she was sure of it.
SEPH
Eighteen
‘I got you vanilla, chocolate and mint. Hope that’s alright,’ Nico slid a glass bowl across the tiny table. ‘It’s the best gelato in London.’
Less than an hour after calling Nico and asking to meet, Seph slid into a tiny chair opposite him. Just like the last time, she’d caught the Tube to Covent Garden, the central point between her home and his office. But, unlike last time, they were surrounded by a riot of colour in the quirky and compact surroundings of Neal’s Yard. The aroma of fresh pizza wafted out from the restaurant next door and from behind Nico, she caught the mellow tang of essential oils from Neal’s Yard Remedies. Maybe she should have stopped in there first to get something to calm herself down.
Seph put her bag on her lap and tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘We need to talk about this bipolar stuff.’
‘Straight in with the heavy stuff today, eh?’ Nico’s eyes flicked up as a couple walked past them. He fiddled with his tie for a second before looking back at her. ‘What do you need to know?’
She looked down into her bowl. The balls of gelato were already starting to melt in the sun, their colours melding into each other as their physical structure changed. She knew the feeling. Lately, she seemed to be shifting from one thing to another herself.
‘How is it? I mean, what is it? I mean, I know what it is but what I don’t know is...’ she took a breath and closed her eyes. Why did her tongue feel so thick? It was stopping her from getting the words out. Seph opened her eyes again, looking at Nico. ‘Was it the reason you got in touch? Were you in some kind of manic phase?’
‘What? No, of course not.’ Nico reached across the table but seemed to think better of touching her. He laid his hand on the wrought iron surface instead. ‘My wanting to know you has nothing to do with anything else.’
‘But bipolar doesn’t just go away.’ Her eyes searched his. ‘Was it really why you left?’
He shook his head slowly. ‘It’s not as simple as that. It was part of it, sure. But, I was also a massive arsehole.’
Seph raised her eyebrows and leaned back in her chair. It was a brutally honest self-assessment.
‘I wasn’t a good boyfriend back then, let alone a good dad. I didn’t know what was wrong at the time but what I did know, was that I couldn’t look after a girlfriend and a baby when it was so hard to look after myself.’
‘But you’ve got a family now. So what changed?’
‘Medication,’ he replied simply. ‘I was diagnosed after I left. I wanted to tell your mum but I couldn’t. I’d made such a big mess of things. It wasn’t an easy thing to admit to.’
‘So she didn’t know you had it at the time?’
‘If I had no idea then she definitely wouldn’t have. It wasn’t as talked about back then as it is now. And even if she did somehow know, I doubt it would have made much difference. I’m fairly sure she still hasn’t forgiven me.’
Seph shook her head. ‘Probably never will.’
‘It’s not always easy being with someone who’s got this, especially when its undiagnosed. We were young and she tried, really hard. We both did, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was.’
‘Not even love? Or a kid?’
‘Nothing. Not when I was up and not when I was down.’
Seph blinked. He was honest, if nothing else. Part of her reasoned that it was nothing personal, but his comment stung. Seph poked the small plastic spoon into the pool of multi-coloured melting gloop in front of her. The air it was exposed to had created strange pockmarks in its texture. Looking at it made her stomach turn and she pushed it away.
‘But now you’re on medication and everything’s super nice and bright and rosy?’ she mumbled.
‘Sometimes. And sometimes it’s pissing it down and thorny.’ Nico tilted his head to one side with a tiny fraction of a smile. Clearly he’d caught the hint of bitterness behind her remark. ‘The medication helps. It’s been a long road to finding the right one with the right dosage, but it helps. I’ve got a family and a job that just about pays the bills. The days when I lie in bed depressed for weeks on end are few and far between, thank God. Same goes for the days when I’d go mad maxing out my credit cards and buying everything I set my eyes on. I can live a normal life. I do live a normal life, most of the time. It’s not as exciting as it used to be and I don’t always get it right, but it’s mine.’
‘Was it always bad?’ Seph asked.
‘God, no. Those highs…’ He shook his head with a small smile and leaned back in his chair. ‘Sometimes, it can make you feel like you’re on top of the world. That’s hypomania. I tell you, there were days when I felt like I could’ve done anything. I probably could have. The sheer amount of energy and drive…’ He shook his head again. ‘I felt invincible.’
‘So why take medication?’
‘Because it’s a fine line between hypomania and full blown mania. Hypomania is milder, like that feeling you get when you have a run of good luck. For me, it was what helped to get stuff done and push things forward. You know those days when things just seem to go your way?’ he asked, and Seph nodded. ‘I’d have those all the time. I’d get an idea, put a plan together and then, boom. It would happen. The roads would be empty when I needed to get to the other side of town, I’d get money when I needed it. Things would just fall into place. But mania is a different animal. Mania makes you do things you can’t take back. It takes things out of control and you don’t care about consequences because you don’t think there are any. It’s like that point between being happily drunk and having that extra shot that tips you over the edge. Until the hangover of depression kicked in, which it always did.’ He visibly shuddered. ‘You know what the messed up thing is, though?’
Seph shook her head.
‘Even with all of the bad stuff, and there was a lot…I still don’t think I’d wish it all away.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Really?’
Nico nodded. ‘It’s part of who I am. I think it’s even made me who I am. You wouldn’t believe how many other people I’ve met with bipolar who say the same.’
‘Sounds complicated.’
‘That’s because it is.’ He tilted his head to one side. ‘Was there anything else you wanted to know?’
She shrugged, shifting on her chair. His direct gaze was uncomfortable on her skin. It gave her the feeling that he could see right through her. As if he could see for himself just how ridiculous she’d acted yesterday with Ben, and that she had no idea why.
After their argument, she’d sat alone in the bedroom seething with resentment and picking over everything they’d said to each other. It had been like looking into a mirror and seeing the very worst of herself reflected back. She’d been unreasonable and irrational, unable to stop her path to destruction and saying things she knew she’d regret.
‘Is it something you’re worried about?’ Nico asked.
‘Should I be?’
‘They say that kids of parents with bipolar or depression are more likely to get ill themselves. It’s something we’re conscious of with Alexis.’
Seph shook her head. ‘I’m not worried. I’ve never had any problems like that.’ She picked up the spoon and twisted it in the gelato. ‘Well, there was the time after my uncle died, but that was different.’
‘George?’ Nico leant forward with his eyebrows raised. ‘He died?’
‘Yeah. Almost seven years ago, now.’ Seph pushed the paper cup away and looked at Nico. ‘Didn’t Mum tell you when you met?’
Nico shook his head a little. ‘No, she didn’t. She
didn’t stay very long. How did he die?’
‘Cancer. It was pretty quick.’
‘He was a good guy. We didn’t always see eye to eye, but he was. I’m sorry.’
Seph scooped her hair around her shoulder. ‘Thanks.’
She rubbed her arm as tiny goosebumps peeped up on her skin. Being the one to tell someone who’d known George that he was dead was strange. She’d never had to do it before. As another pizza was delivered to a table behind her, she caught the scent of oregano. Along with colourful surroundings and the London summertime, oregano was one of George’s favourite things. She liked to think that the presence of all three meant that he was somehow close.
Nico cleared his throat. ‘So what about after he died? You said you had some problems?’
‘Not really. I mean, it was hard, of course. I was at uni at the time. It was a lot to cope with.’
She could’ve told him about the way everything had been wrong back then, or how empty she’d felt inside –empty and yet somehow simultaneously filled with anger and despair. She could’ve told him that she’d dropped two dress sizes from not eating or the one thing she’d never told anyone else before: that at one point when it had felt so bad, so painful and black, she’d considered ending it all.
She pulled a box of cigarettes from her bag. What would be the point in going into all that now? It had been a normal reaction to grief, and it was a lifetime ago. Things were better now.
‘And since then?’ Nico prompted.
‘Oh, I’ve never had anything like that since. Just normal ups and downs, like everyone else.’
He nodded, keeping his eyes on her as she lit up. ‘I thought you said you’d quit?’
‘I had.’
‘It’s a tough habit to kick. I’ve quit a thousand times before.’
‘Want one?’ She offered the box to him, but he shook his head.
‘Nah, I’ve quit.’
Seph laughed, leaning back in her chair. ‘Seriously?’
What Goes Down: An emotional must-read of love, loss and second chances Page 19
