Come Back to Me (19 page)

It had been a long week since Alex had got home. Christmas had passed excruciatingly slowly, his parents and Jamie tiptoeing around him, realising something was wrong but not knowing exactly what. Until tonight.

His mother found him alone in the kitchen, snacking on biscuits after the others had gone to bed. She sat down next to him.

‘Alex?' she began, reaching for his hand.

He wanted to snatch it back, but didn't want to hurt her, and although his hand felt uncomfortable on the table he focused his energies on keeping it there.

‘What's happened?' she asked gently.

The indefinable soothing quality in his mother's voice broke him, and he began to sob softly into his hands.

‘Oh my darling,' his mother crooned, moving her chair next to his, and pulling him into her body to cradle his
head against her as though he were just a small child.

The whole story tumbled out. By the end of it, Alex was pacing the kitchen, and his mother was watching him, horrified, tears in her own eyes.

‘Oh, Alex, why on earth have you kept this to yourself for so long?'

‘I didn't want to burden you.'

As he said it he found that was partly it, but perhaps it was also that he had thought he could hide from it by not telling people. How ridiculous that suddenly seemed.

‘Alex, that's crazy, we're your family. We're here to share your load; to help you.'

It was as though she knew what he was thinking – that he never wanted to see her crushed again like she was after the onset of Jamie's schizophrenia. He wanted to protect her.

‘We go through good and bad
together
,' she added firmly. ‘That's the most important thing. Oh Amy, the poor thing. It's just beyond words.'

‘I know.' Alex sat down, feeling an enormous sense of relief at finally being able to talk things through with someone. He ran his hands across his face to try to stave off the exhaustion that seemed to hit him like a blow. He looked at his mother. ‘So, what should I do?'

 

Alex's father was waiting by the door the next morning. He had told his mother he would get the train, but she'd insisted that his dad drive him, and wouldn't brook any argument. He had given in, even though he wasn't sure what he and his father would find to talk about on the long drive.

But, of course, this was his dad. He patted Alex's back as they headed out the door, then for the entire journey proceeded to talk about whether he should sell his shares, whether they should unplug everything in the house before midnight on New Year's Eve in case the Millennium bug struck … and that they should make sure all their files were backed up … and they should know exactly what was in their accounts … He was like a droning mosquito in Alex's ear as he stared out the window, biting down the impulse to tell him to shut up – because they were never that impolite in their family.

It was less than an hour from their door to Amy's. Geoff parked the car on the road, and said, ‘I'll wait here for you. Doesn't matter how long,' and nodded towards the Sunday paper in the back.

‘Thanks,' Alex replied, then got out and headed up the path.

At the door, he took a deep breath, lifted his hand and knocked.

It didn't take long for Ray to answer.

‘Hello, Ray. I'm sorry just to turn up like this, but I wondered how Amy is doing.'

Alex was immediately encouraged as he spoke. He had expected Ray's face to be dark with anger, but he seemed almost friendly.

‘Alex, hello. Amy's doing … okay. She's getting a little better every day.'

He made no move to invite Alex in, so Alex had to ask, ‘May I see her?'

Ray paused, stared down, took a breath, and looked up
steadfastly into Alex's eyes. ‘She's asked me to let you know that she doesn't want to see you at the moment. I'm sorry, pal. Just give her a bit of time, eh.'

Frustration expanded in Alex's chest. ‘Look, Ray, I don't want to be shut out. I want to support her.'

‘I know,' he said, coming outside and closing the door behind him. ‘But I think the best way to do that at the moment is to give her some space.'

And then Alex lost it. ‘AMY,' he yelled up towards the windows. ‘AMY, PLEASE, LET ME IN.'

‘Alex,' Ray barked, his eyes going to the neighbours' houses, ‘there's no need …'

Alex ignored him. ‘AMY,' he shouted, wandering across their front garden, shouting up to blank-faced windows. ‘I'LL KEEP ON SHOUTING TILL YOU LET ME IN.'

Ray lost his patience and marched up to Alex, grabbing his arm. ‘Listen, son,' he hissed, ‘if you won't go away and keep making a scene, I'll call the police.'

Alex vaguely heard a car door slam as he pushed Ray away harshly and watched him stumble. Barely registering how shocked and angry Amy's dad looked, he marched towards the front door, but before he could get there a pair of strong arms grabbed him from behind, hauling him back and holding him still.

‘Just stop and think for a minute, Al,' his dad said. ‘Don't make it any worse.'

Alex shrugged him off, but his words were registering, and the anger was passing into upset before he could hold on to it. Distress weakened him, and he put his hand up to his face as his eyes blurred, trying to stifle the sob.

‘Come on,' his father said. Geoff turned around to Ray, who was still standing in the garden, looking grim. ‘I'm so sorry about everything, it's just that Alex is very upset. I'm sure he and Amy can get in touch when a bit of time has passed.'

‘Why won't you just let me see her?' Alex implored Ray as his dad tried to drag him back to the car.

Ray looked at him sadly. ‘She doesn't want to see you, mate,' he said softly. And his face was guileless.

Alex closed his eyes, trying to get a grip on himself. He opened them and took one last beseeching look at the door and windows. They all stared back, impassive, empty, then he thought he saw a shadow pass behind one at the front and his heart gave a painful throb.

She must have heard him, he thought. If she wanted to, she would come out. Ray must be telling the truth.

He was glad he had written the letter now, though he'd hoped it wouldn't be needed. He reached into his pocket and passed it to Ray. ‘
Please
,' he said, ‘give her this.'

Ray looked at it, then at Alex, and nodded.

When her father had gone out through the door, Amy had walked quietly into the front room and listened; although she could have stood in the back garden and still heard Alex's pleading voice.

But her father was right. She couldn't face him.

When she had been in hospital, she'd thought it might be different when she left. When they had come home, she thought she might feel comforted by her childhood surrounds. She was sure her mother and father had been hoping this too.

But every day was getting a little worse. Each time she went to sleep she hoped that during the night she would be able somehow to escape what had happened, and wake up feeling a little better – and every time she woke up, as she came to consciousness a black cloud floated quickly down to smother her, so she had to leap out of bed and away from it just to avoid screaming.

She didn't want to see anyone. She didn't want to go anywhere. She didn't want to eat. She didn't want to wake up in the mornings.

A counsellor had been around to the house twice since they had got home. Both times she had talked to Amy through her locked bedroom door.

Her Christmas presents were still unopened. She had told her mum she'd open them when she felt a bit better. She knew she wouldn't be able to summon up the effort to look thankful at the moment, however lovely they were.

Every day she stood in the shower for what seemed like hours. Although her shoulder was still strapped up, most of her bruises had evolved from garish purple to pastel greens and yellows. She was amazed at her body's capacity to heal despite the predations of her mind.

She looked at the letter on her bed, and even though each time she read it she felt more lost, she picked it up again.

This time, reading Alex's words gave her courage. For she had made a decision.

First, she needed to talk to her dad.

 

She picked her moment, when her mother had gone to bed.

‘Dad?' she began.

He quickly put down his book. It had been rare for her to initiate conversation in the past few weeks, and each time she did people jumped to attention.

‘I need to go away,' she told him.

‘Well, we can take a holiday …' he began immediately, but she held her hand up.

‘Alone, Dad.'

Her dad opened his mouth straight away to protest, but was then lost for words, so Amy continued.

‘I just need to get away for a little while, on my own. I know you're all trying to help, but it's making it worse. I need to sort myself out with some space away from everyone, or I'm going to go mad.'

‘Amy, I know you might feel like that, but you can't. You're not thinking rationally at the moment, love. Just let us look after you.'

‘No, Dad,' she cried, trying to keep her voice low enough that her mother wouldn't hear. ‘You don't get it. How can you? You've never been in this position, for god's sake. You have no idea.' And then she played her trump card. ‘If you don't let me go, you might well come in one morning and find me hanging from the ceiling.'

‘Amy!' Her father looked horrified at her words. ‘Don't
say that, love. Look, it's early days, we'll sort something out. Tomorrow we'll get that lady round again, you need to talk to her …'

‘Dad, you're not listening,' she told him. ‘Unless you tie me up and lock me in, I'm going. This is what I have to do.'

‘No, Amy, you're not,' he said.

She stormed out, and headed up the stairs, and a few seconds later he was behind her. ‘Look, get a good night's rest, and we'll talk about this in the morning.'

‘Okay,' she said, knowing all conversation was pointless.

She waited till four a.m. She figured that after what she had said her dad would be paranoid about her leaving, so he wouldn't get to sleep for a while. She wasn't wrong. Even though the house was quiet and dark, the keys to the front and back doors were all missing, even the ones she'd put in her bag in the hall.

She left two notes on the kitchen table. Then she climbed out of the kitchen window, her shoulder throbbing, pulling her small bag through with her. Just a few clothes, her passport and bank cards, Alex's letter and Bug-Eye. She had no idea where she was going; but she knew she needed to go – her sanity depended on it.

As she moved through the back garden she hesitated, then diverted her course for a moment. Her eyes were adjusting to the dark, and the moon was three-quarters full, so she could recognise the outline of the little garden quite clearly. She could still remember the first time she had seen it, when she was six years old, on a night like this. Her dad had brought her here in her pyjamas, and as they had drawn close, she could see a few tiny lights near the ground. She
had blinked sleepily, trying to make out where they were coming from, though the light only served to cast all about it in shadow. It was only when they'd been less than a metre away from treading upon those little beacons in the darkness that the wondrous moment of clarity had occurred. There, within an enormous willow-woven basket, was a tiny, exquisitely crafted garden, perfect in every detail, from its minute thicket of trees in one corner, to its flower-lined paths and a small wishing well in the very centre. On another grassy knoll was a tiny bird table and bird bath, each less than the size of a postage stamp. ‘So the fairies can come and visit,' her father had told her.

As she thought back to the joy she had felt then, she wanted to sit down and weep, but instead she pulled the little wishing well out of the centre, and put it in her bag. A talisman to ensure that she was linked to home. To her parents. To her dad. She didn't know why she felt as if she needed it. She didn't imagine that she was going away for long, just for a short time while she got herself together.

Then she headed up the side path, taking care that the gate clicked softly, and soon she was walking along the road, away from home. She had made her escape.

The pub was dark, and full of nooks and crannies that made it hard to find people. Mark was hoping he'd done the right thing in coming. He was never all that enthusiastic about socialising with work colleagues, but Susan was nice enough, and her husband, Terry, was a banker who was often prepared to pass on invaluable advice on shares, and talked of little else, so Mark knew at least there would be someone to listen to. He felt he should make an effort to be sociable for such a significant New Year's Eve.

It looked like half the office had turned up – minus David and Neil and his father, of course, who he knew for a fact were all attending a well-known barrister's dinner party tonight and toasting the Millennium with sherries and glasses of Cristal. He was a bit dismayed to see that some of the secretaries were also here. Mark didn't think it was a great idea to fraternise with subordinates, it made it more
difficult at work, but Susan had always been a soft touch with everyone, bosses and cleaners alike.

He waved his hellos to people and got a drink. By the time he sat down, the only space available was next to Charlotte, who seemed quite tipsy already as she leaned over him and slurred hello, giving him an expansive view of her considerable cleavage in a low-cut sparkly top. Then Risto joined him by pulling a chair up to his crowded booth, and they tried to make small talk over the din of chatter.

Mark had half an eye out for Chloe, but didn't think she was coming – he had heard her mention to Susan that her brother had invited her to a party, so she probably wouldn't make it. Yet part of him was hoping she would turn up.

He did feel badly about avoiding her. He could tell she was confused, but he didn't know what to say; and he felt that if he spent too long in her company, he might succumb to her sweet charm and end up back at square one. And his father was right. They were still young; there was so much time ahead for all that; but only one chance to send his career hurtling skywards and set himself up for life. He didn't just want to be a run-of-the-mill solicitor – he wanted accolades, mentions in parliament, everything. That's why he'd stayed behind in the office to offer sincere apologies to both David and Neil, and to promise that he would never let them down again.

Yet, he missed her. He'd wanted to contact her on Christmas Day, at least, but he knew that any gesture he made might be seen as reconciliatory, which would start them down the wrong path once more.

Charlotte was patting him on the knee and trying to
tell him something. He smiled and played along, though he couldn't really make out what she was saying. She leaned closer to him, and her hand slid a little higher up his leg. Mark turned to look at Risto, but he'd moved off to the bar and become embroiled in a discussion there. Everyone else in their booth was in deep conversation.

Mark thought about moving her hand off his leg, but was momentarily stunned by the vast cleavage positioned right under his nose, pushing against his chest. As her hand reached almost up to his groin, which was stirring despite his best intentions, he finally heard her as she slurred ‘handsome' against his cheek, and then her face was blurrily in front of his, her breath saturated with wine, and to his surprise she leaned forward and kissed him.