A Note of Madness (17 page)

‘For heaven’s sake, stop yelling! Surely I’m allowed to invite
my
girlfriend back to
my
flat, for crying out loud!’
Harry was not easily rattled but now his eyes widened in outrage.

‘Why tonight? Why does it have to be tonight? I’m not spending the whole evening making stupid small talk to bloody Jennah and Kate!’

Harry’s voice was low, angry. ‘Hey, easy, Flynn.’

‘Fine, you have dinner with them but count me out!’

‘Fine, I will! Just because you’re miserable all the time doesn’t mean everyone else has to be too! Perhaps if you just made an effort for a change, perhaps if you weren’t always so damn self-involved, you wouldn’t feel so shitty!’

Flynn stared at him, the blood hot in his cheeks. It was sobering to see Harry so angry.

‘For God’s sake,’ Harry went on, ‘you never want to do anything any more – you never come out to the pub, you never just hang around with us after lectures. It’s no wonder you feel depressed – anyone would be, cooped up indoors all the time, practising all day.’

Flynn felt a small pain start at the back of his throat. ‘D’you really think I have a choice?’

‘Of course you have a choice!’ Harry exclaimed. ‘Nobody’s chaining you to the piano! Nobody’s forcing you to be miserable all the time! You could have dinner with us tonight, you could come out with us once in a while, you could practise a reasonable amount of time and start sleeping again, like a normal person!’

‘You have no idea what you’re talking about!’ Flynn yelled. ‘You have no idea what it’s like! I’m sick of
this! I’m so fucking sick of feeling like this all the time!’

‘Feeling like what? Are you stressed about the concert? Come on, mate, you know you’ll be fine.’

‘It’s not the concert!’

‘Then I don’t understand—’

‘I’m not asking you to understand! I’m asking you to leave me alone!’

‘OK then! I’ll tell Jennah and Kate you don’t want to see them. See how that makes them feel. Maybe
then
Jennah will finally stop lusting after you!’

Flynn stormed out of the room. He crashed into his bedroom and threw himself face down on his bed, breathing heavily into his pillow. Red blotches flashed behind his closed lids against a sea of darkness. His pulse raged in his ears. Waves of sickness flooded him. It hurt to breathe. He had never yelled at Harry before but now suddenly he hated him. Suddenly he hated them all. He hated them for their normality, their shared kindness, their naïve generosity, their simple acts of goodwill. But most of all he hated them for not understanding.

His heartbeat faded to a dull, painful thud, his breathing still snatched and ragged. He rolled onto his side and gazed over at the curtains. Another night and another full day. Alone. His parents would be coming, eager and excited. Mum would be all emotional, Dad beaming with pride. He closed his eyes, wished desperately for sleep, but knew his bed could no
longer offer him that refuge. It was now just a place of torment, of crazy thoughts and restless meanderings, of bitter frustration as the hours crawled by.

After a while, he was aware of the sound of crockery from the kitchen. Harry was going ahead with his curry. Flynn fought back a fresh wave of fury. There was something wrong with him that he should explode at his flatmate just for inviting a couple of friends over. There was something wrong with him that he should feel like yelling at the slightest provocation. There was something wrong with him that the prospect of performing in a concert should fill him with such horror. Was he going mad?

Then, as the thudding of his heart began to die down, a new thought occurred to him. What was it that Harry had said before Flynn charged out of the room?
Maybe Jennah will finally stop
lusting
after you?
He looked down at the white, crumpled sheet, the patch of golden sunlight staining the bed. What a joke. Not in a million years would anyone lust after him – least of all Jennah. He was a loser, a screw-up, a faker who hid behind hours and hours of practice to make up for his lack of talent, then freaked out at the thought of playing in public. What was Harry
doing
? Having a laugh? Jennah would have scoffed at Harry’s outrageous suggestion, would have pitied Flynn for entertaining the idea even for a second, would wrinkle up her nose at the mere thought of being attracted to such a socially
inept weirdo. But Jennah wasn’t like that . . . Jennah would never be so unkind . . . Jennah would only feel sorry . . .

Flynn pressed his hands against his face and felt hot tears trickle between his fingers. He wanted everything to go away. He wanted everything to stop. As long as he lived, he would never escape himself. How much more could he endure? Another fifty years, another sixty? How could he endure the weeks, the months, the years, when he couldn’t even get through the hours? It was only a matter of time. Only a matter of time before he reached the end of his tether and found himself incapable of carrying on for another day. He would not make it through a lifetime. Not like this . . .

How easy it would be to end it all now, he thought. If he did it right here, right now, he would not even have to bother about the concert. He might be unable to change the pain of his existence but that did not mean he was forced to endure it. He would not live like this any more. There was always another option, always another option. Either he would defeat the pain or he would bow out. Sitting on his bed in a pool of evening sunlight, Flynn contemplated death while, in the next room, Harry started cooking to the beat of Kiss FM.

‘Do you want to give me a hand with this?’

Harry showed no surprise when Flynn returned to the kitchen nearly an hour later, showered and changed, wearing a sheepish smile.

‘OK. What shall I do?’

‘You can do the carrots.’

‘Ooh, such responsibility.’

Flynn started chopping and was silently grateful to Harry for not probing. While he had been sitting on his bed in a pool of late-afternoon sunlight, a new emotion had suddenly thrust itself over him – fear. The sudden realization that all that lay between life and death was the catch on his bedroom window, the sudden realization that following his thoughts to their logical conclusions would lead him to jump, the sudden realization that it would be so easy to smash himself down onto the concrete four storeys below. The phrase
He is a danger to himself
suddenly held new meaning. How easy it would be to turn into a murderer,
his
murderer. And suddenly he was scared. Scared of his own company. Scared of himself.

Harry threw open the window to let out the cooking smells, and the cool touch of blue-grey dusk floated in on a blanket of birdsong. It was almost summer, supposedly a time of such hope and promise, bringing with it every reason to be happy. He was going to have dinner with friends and then tomorrow he would do a final run-through. In the evening he would play in a concert and he would be all right, everything would be all right, he would
will
himself to be all right. He wasn’t going to think of his bedroom window, he wasn’t going to think of his smashed-up body lying in the morgue, he wasn’t going to think how unbelievably quick and easy it
would be to die . . . A cold sweat broke out across his arms and back from the effort. He was mad, he knew that now. He was so mad that he was frightening even himself. Normal people didn’t go to pieces about playing in a concert, normal people didn’t start screaming because their friends were coming to dinner, normal people didn’t think about hurling themselves out of a window at four o’clock on a sunny spring afternoon.

At the stove, Harry was humming, a beer can in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. Harry was thinking about his curry, about Jen and Kate coming over for dinner, about a chilled weekend of football and practice lying ahead. Flynn wanted to be like Harry. He wanted be normal and cheerful and relaxed. If he couldn’t be normal then he could
pretend
to be normal. Perhaps it might work . . . It
had
to work . . .

Flynn grabbed the four-pack from the fridge. ‘D’you want a beer?’

‘Please. Have you finished with those carrots?’

‘These carrots?’ He flicked a piece at Harry’s head.

Harry grinned. ‘Now don’t get childish, Flynn.’

Flynn flicked another piece over.

‘You want a fight? If I send this curry in your direction, things could get nasty!’

‘Ooh, I’m
scared
!’

Flynn set the table at lightning speed. ‘OK, done. Give me something to do – carrots really aren’t challenging enough.’

‘It’s more or less ready. You can taste it if you want
and tell me if it’s OK.’ Harry pulled himself up onto the counter and picked up his beer. Flynn went over to the stove.

‘Is Rami coming tomorrow?’ Harry asked.

‘Yeah, and so are my parents but, you know what, I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care!’ He took a deep swig of beer and laughed. ‘I’ve actually got to the point where I don’t care about a single thing! I’d recommend it, it’s utterly liberating!’ He sang along to Justin Timberlake, and Harry gave him an uncertain smile.

‘Surely it’s a good thing that your parents are coming?’

‘I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care!’ Flynn sang.

Harry laughed. ‘OK, point taken. Perhaps you should stop stirring that curry now before you pulverize it into soup.’

‘Curry soup, we can have curry soup! Hey, aren’t you meant to put beer in curry? Liven it up a bit?’ He lifted his can over the pot.

‘Hey!’ Harry’s laughter held a hint of alarm. ‘Don’t you dare.’

Flynn began to tip his can threateningly. ‘Do I . . . ? Do I . . . ?’

‘Flynn, put it down—’

Flynn started to laugh at Harry’s growing concern and splashed a little more beer into the curry than he had intended. Harry was off the counter in a flash, elbowing Flynn out of the way. ‘Keep away from my food!’

Choking with laughter, Flynn grappled with Harry, grabbing him by the shoulders. The laughter hurt his throat, made him want to retch, but it seemed to fool Harry and maybe, if he tried hard enough, he might even end up convincing himself too. Harry hung onto the side of the counter, red in the face, as Flynn tried to hook his leg and knock him to the ground.

‘Flynn, you nutter, stop, get off, this is going to end badly!’

‘For you, I think!’

The bell went, saving Harry from a humiliating defeat.

‘You get it.’

‘No, you get it.’

‘Give me your beer can then.’

‘Fine, take it!’

‘Thank you, I will!’

Voices in the hall – Jennah and Kate. Harry was taking their coats, ever the gentleman, asking them about their day.

‘Mm, smells lovely,’ Jennah said, coming into the kitchen. Her hair was windswept, her smile very bright. ‘I didn’t know you guys could cook! Hi, Flynn.’

‘It’s the only thing that Harry
can
cook but, yeah, this is really good curry.’ Flynn went over to the stove, dipped his finger in and sucked it. ‘Kind of tastes of beer, though.’

Harry’s eyes latched onto the newly opened beer can in Flynn’s hand and widened. ‘You didn’t!’

Flynn started to laugh again as Harry leaped over to the stove.

Jennah and Kate exchanged amused glances. ‘What’s going on?’ Jennah asked.

Harry grabbed Flynn’s wrist and tried to wrestle the beer can out of his hand. ‘How much did you put in? How much did you put in?’

‘Oh, just a drop!’

‘That’s an interesting recipe!’ Kate began to laugh.

‘No, no, no!’ Harry was red in the face. ‘There was not meant to be beer in the curry!’

Jennah gave Flynn a grin. ‘Are you trying to sabotage Harry’s culinary efforts?’

‘No, improve. It’s a good tip, adds a certain
je ne sais quoi
! Let’s go and put some decent music on.’ He swung round and headed for the living room.

‘I’m gonna kill him,’ he heard Harry mutter behind him.

Moments later, Jennah followed, glass in hand, and sat down on the couch. Flynn emerged from beneath the side table, pulling piles of CDs out with him. ‘What d’you fancy? I’ve got Bob Dylan, Aerosmith, Queen, Manic Street Preachers, U2, Kylie – Harry’s, not mine – REM, Meatloaf, Oasis—’

‘I really don’t mind.’

‘Massive Attack, Coldplay, Travis, Lauren Hill . . .’ He continued to reel them off, chucking each CD case into the middle of the floor as he finished with it.

‘Or how about some hip hop? We’ve got Doctor Dre, 50 Cent, Eminem, Notorious B.I.G.—’

‘Flynn, Flynn, I really don’t mind!’

‘You’ve got to choose! What about Snoop Dogg, Gang Starr, Obie Trice, Missy Elliott—’

‘OK!’ Jennah leaned forwards and snatched one off the carpet. ‘What about this one?’

‘No, you picked it randomly. You have to put some thought into this. Choosing which music to listen to is a very important decision, especially when you’ve got friends round, especially when you’re eating. Choose the wrong music and you could get severe indigestion. Huh – see, did you ever think of that? D’you want to end up with a stomach ache?’

‘All right, all right. Let’s have Queen then – definitely goes with curry.’

‘Are you sure? Because if it’s the wrong choice . . .’ He tailed off, looking at her, breathing hard. He seemed to have forgotten the rest of his sentence. He started chucking the CDs back under the table. Spun each one so that it hit the bottom of the wall with a satisfying thud. Once he had started, it seemed imperative that he give each case the same treatment. The trick was to get each CD to land on the pile. If he missed he had to start again. His jaw ached with concentration. As the last CD spun out of his hand he turned to face Jennah. She watched him, her folded arms resting on her knees, chewing the corner of her lip.

‘
What?
’ Flynn demanded, his voice sounding very loud.

‘Nothing,’ she replied.

Flynn looked around for the Queen album. Then he began to laugh. Jennah’s eyes widened.

‘Oh no, d’you know what I’ve done?’ He was laughing so hard he could hardly speak.

Jennah smiled uncertainly.

‘I’ve chucked the CD back under the table! Oh, shit, it’s back to square one!’