Swimming Upstream (25 page)

“We’re not having the party now, anyway,” I said. “There’s
been a change of plan.”

“Oh. Okay. Well look, the numbers for my friends
from college are in my address book. Just ring Sally and she’ll call everyone
else. And if I can’t get hold of Martin and he turns up, can you just tell him
what’s happened and where I am? We’re going back to the hospital now.”

“Of course.”

I made several phone calls while Zara sat and
stared out of the window. Then we sat down to watch a movie. I noticed Zara was
drifting off, so I switched off the TV and made her a cup of tea.

“Sorry,” said Zara, taking the cup. “It’s hard to
focus still.” She grinned. “I really
am
losing the plot.”

I smiled. “You’re better than you were a few weeks
ago. And that’s the main thing.”

“You know the funny thing,” said Zara. “I knew I
was talking rubbish, even while I was doing it. But I had no other thoughts to
replace it with, if that makes any sense.”

I nodded. “Yeah. It does, actually. It sounds like
those dreams when you’re doing strange things. Running round naked or
something. But you know you’re doing it and it’s only a dream.”

“Except it isn’t,” said Zara. “More like a living
nightmare.”

“Yeah. Of course. I’m sorry.” I sipped my tea. “So
what’s it like, the illness?”

“Well, in the manic stage you think you can do
anything. You can get any job, or become famous, do anything you want, so there
are no worries about money. The ego’s out, and you can get any man you want. But
then you will slowly come down over a few days or even hours, and start to feel
cut off from everyone, frightened. You don’t want to go out, you can’t face
anything. You lose your inner world. You have no stability, no trust in
anything or anybody. You’re watching out for any negativity, you’re hyper-sensitive
to any comment by anyone. I thought you were angry with me for dating a
terrorist.” She paused. “And then I stopped defending it and became it, if you
see what I mean. When they put me in hospital I thought it was because I was
bad. I started to identify with James, or what I thought he was. I thought I
was ruthless and had a murderous mind, that I was on the same frequency as
these people.”

“You were thinking all of that?”

 She nodded. “I was dating a bad guy. Guilty by
association. And you start to read into things to prove your own point: if
there was a yellow car outside it meant another bomb was coming. If an alarm
went off in the hospital it meant they knew I was involved and they were trying
to shake me up. And then even with normal thoughts, things that were real, I
would doubt and second doubt myself so much …”

“So what started it? The psychosis? Did they tell
you that, at the hospital?”

“Yeah. That’s just my brain. It’s how it’s wired. But
it’s triggered by the mania, by getting too high… So now I take drugs in the
morning to stop me going too high. And, inevitably, they make me feel really
low. Until around this time of day. I don’t feel too bad at the minute.”

I squeezed her hand. “That’s good.”

She said, “It was triggered by the stress of
studying. My exams, of course. Like last time. But it goes deeper than that. I
think it was also triggered by what happened when I was a child. It’s like I
had to re-create the old feelings of rejection from when I was a kid and re-live
them.”

I nodded. “I’m sure that would have something to
do with it. Did you talk to them about it?”

“They don’t really talk to you, psychiatrists. They
just give you drugs.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

She shrugged. “Anyway, I suppose it’s always been
there with me, since I was a kid, just bubbling away under the surface, till
the pressure just set it off. I suppose that’s what happens to feelings. They’ve
got to go somewhere.”

I nodded. “Or come out in different ways. Ways you
don’t expect.”

“Like depression,” said Zara. “Either that or you
kill someone.”

 “Mad, bad or sad,” I said.

“Yeah,” said Zara. “Only I was all three.”

I laughed and hugged her tight. She clung to me
again and put her head on my shoulder.

I said, “You weren’t bad. And James isn’t a
terrorist.”

“I know that now,” she said. “But I don’t think
he’s ever going to want to see me again.”

“But why?”

“I scared him,” she said. And then she said, “He’s
not like you.”

There was a knock at the door. I looked out of the
window. There were four strange men standing on my doorstep.”

When I opened the door, Shelley popped up from the
midst of the crowd on the pavement like a fairy out of a cake. “Hi!” she shrieked.
“Party time!”

I stood on the doorstep with my mouth open. I
looked back over my shoulder.

“It’s okay,” said Zara from behind me. “Really.”

Shelley introduced everyone. They were Gavin, and
friends of Gavin, all wearing suits and short haircuts. They all looked exactly
the same - one amorphous mass of grey pin-stripe and garish ties.

“You don't mind?” Shelley asked me.

“No,” I lied. “I don’t mind.” Someone had to eat
all the food, and drink the punch, I supposed.

I opened the door dutifully and they all poured
in. Gavin's friend Giles hung back in the hallway.

“So.” There was a pregnant pause and a slight
raising of one eyebrow; Giles was evidently a Roger Moore aficionado. “This is
your pad.”

He eyed the decor with seeming approval.

“Well, yes,” I said, hesitantly. “In a manner of
speaking.” Giles was now eyeing me up in the same way he'd been looking at the
Gauguin prints a minute earlier. One of them was of a naked woman reclining
under a tree. He looked from me to the painting and back again, and smiled.

I sidestepped him into the already crowded
kitchen. I looked for Zara, and spotted her leaning up against the fridge
behind Shelley and Gavin and Gavin's friend, Anthon. Malcolm handed me a glass
of punch, and gave one to Giles, who had come up behind me.

“Good stuff, this,” said Malcolm.

“Yes, well,” I said. “I’m not quite sure what’s in
it, to be honest. My friend made it. Vodka, I think.”

“Ah,” said Giles. “But it's the fruity bits that
make all the difference, wouldn't you say?” He winked at me as if this was
supposed to mean something.

Shelley was handing round bowls of nibbles.

“Nuts?” she said.

“Over here,” said Zara, and actually smiled. I
caught her eye and winked at her.

Malcolm took a peanut from the bowl in Shelley’s
hand and popped it into Zara’s mouth. I smiled at her and raised my eyebrows. Zara
giggled, and I felt relieved. Maybe this was what she needed after all, to lift
her spirits.

Giles took my glass out of my hand and topped it
up again with punch, before handing it back to me.

“So, what do you do?” I asked generically, from
where I stood in the middle of the kitchen. I was feeling like some stage had
been missed out in the bonding process.

Malcolm chose to answer me. “Gavin's a rep for
Gateway Pharmaceuticals,” he said. “The rest of us are bankers.”

I started to giggle, suddenly, and found I
couldn’t stop. Something went the wrong way down my windpipe and I started to
cough.

“It's not that funny,” said Malcolm.

Shelley thumped me on the back. “Everyone listen. It's
Lizzie's birthday,” she announced.

“Happy Birthday,” everyone chorused.

“Shall we sing?” asked Malcolm.

“Please don't,” I said, putting my hands over my
ears.

“I know,” said Giles. “Let’s
play some party games instead.”

The party games - which were actually drinking games -
ended somewhere around midnight. I had fallen over backwards into the punch
bowl, which had been placed on the floor. Zara had gone to bed in Catherine’s
room. Shelley was running around with a tea towel and sprinkling salt onto the
carpet when the doorbell rang. I tried to get up but failed, and landed up
somehow sprawled in a beanbag with Giles on top of me. Someone went to the
door, and a minute later Martin walked into the living room.

“Hello Martin,” I heard Shelley say. “Catherine’s
not here. Would you like a drink?”

Martin came nearer and glanced around the room, at
Malcolm and at Anthon on the sofa, at Shelley and Gavin on the floor, and at me
lying in the beanbag with Giles on top of me. We all watched him in silence; it
was like a scene from a Western. He looked as though he were about to draw a
pair of pistols from his pockets and turn the room into a bloodbath.

After what seemed like a very long time, Martin
said to Shelley, “A beer would be nice.” Then he smiled and sat down.

Some time passed by, or maybe it was only minutes;
it was hard to tell. I was lying in the beanbag still and the lights were way
too bright. I tried to sit up, but only in my head, it seemed. Then people’s
legs were walking past me and I heard the front door slam.

“Hey,” I said. “Where are you all going?”

“Shhh,” said a voice beside me and then a mouth
descended on mine and began to kiss me. I gave my brain a second or two to
engage, but it was all too blurry and too much like hard work, so I closed my
eyes instead.

And then something woke me again, but this time I
was in my bed and there was daylight seeping through a gap in the curtains.

Something wasn’t right. I turned my head and saw
that there was someone next to me, sleeping. I lay there for a moment, trying
to work out who he was and how he had got into my bed, and also how
I’d
got into my bed, come to think of it. And then I realised that I was naked. And
that the body of the man next to me was naked too. And just as the enormity of
the whole situation was beginning to hit me and bring me smack bang back to my
senses, he stretched, and yawned, and turned towards me.

“Morning,” said Martin, and smiled.

Martin moved closer and put his arm round my waist. I
froze, involuntarily then shifted slightly and pulled away.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “What are you doing
in my bed?”

“Oh, come on,” he said, half laughing, half
annoyed. He held out his arm. “Come here.”

“Don’t.” I pushed him away. “Don’t touch me.”

I wanted to get up and get dressed but I didn’t
want him to see me naked. Although I was guessing that that part had already
happened.

Martin sighed. “Oh come on,” he said again. “Don’t
play the innocent.”

“What do you mean?” I pulled the covers up to my
chin and tried to sit up. My head swam, and I immediately lay back down again.

“You know you wanted it,” he added. “You were up
for it.”

“Up for w
hat
?” I cast my mind back to the
previous evening but I couldn’t remember anything at all after around midnight
apart from laying in a beanbag with Giles. “What exactly happened last night? And
how did I… did
we
get in here?”

Martin snorted and sat up. “Right. We’re going
down that road, are we?”

Fear began to prickle inside me. Martin was
staring down at me, looking directly into my eyes, in a searching but menacing
manner, and I knew with a jolt to the stomach this was not going to end up
well.

“I need you to go,” I said, quietly. My mouth was
so dry, I could barely speak. My stomach was in knots. “I need to get dressed.”

“Right!” Martin threw back the bedclothes and
stood up. I caught a glimpse of his broad, lean back as he rose, and hastily
shut my eyes. I slunk down further under the bedclothes and waited. I could
hear him silently moving around, picking up his clothes and zipping up his
jeans.

Suddenly, I heard my chair screech across the
parquet floor. There was an audible thump against the wall, followed a split
second later by a thud landing heavily on the pillow next to my head. My head
bounced slightly and I opened my eyes, startled. Martin thumped the pillow
again and I jumped.

“You bitch,” he snarled. “You led me on.”

I shrunk back under the bedclothes. I noticed
fleetingly that my doll was no longer on the chair where Zara had put her the
previous day. I glanced down and saw her face down on the floor near Martin’s
feet, her raggedy checked skirt tipped up over her head. Martin followed my
gaze and with one swift kick sent the doll flying across the room.

“Please,” I said. “Don’t. My dad gave me that.”

Martin turned and kicked the bed, and I jumped
again.

“Zara’s in Catherine’s room, you know,” I added,
hastily. I hoped desperately that that was still true.

Martin stopped moving around and glared at me. “What
are you on about?” he said, nastily, but more quietly.

“She stayed the night,” I muttered.

Martin looked uncomprehendingly at the adjoining
wall to Catherine’s room, looked back at me again and then sat down on the bed
and put his head in his hands. He clearly hadn’t planned on there being a
witness. He leaned forward slightly and didn’t move. I could see he was
plotting his next move. Finally, he picked up his shoes and put them on.

He turned and looked at me.

“You say anything to Catherine, about this,” he
said. “And I’ll tell her you seduced me. I’ll tell her it was all you. And you
won’t see her for dust.”

“Martin, I was legless!” I objected. “How could I
lead you on?”

“How? For months. From the start. You were at it
the day I met you.”

I started to laugh, then stopped myself.

“Just try it,” he hissed, leaning over the bed. He
grabbed my jaw with his thumb and forefinger and pushed my head sharply back,
so that my mouth was all squashed up and my lips pursed stupidly. “You just try
it. Say a word to her - and see what happens next.”

It felt as if I had frozen into a block of ice,
except that my face was burning and my heart was pounding heavily against my
ribcage. Martin’s face was right up close to mine. Then he let me go, suddenly,
and pushed me sharply at the same time, so that I fell back and hit my head
hard against the wall. I closed my eyes again and waited for the ringing in my
ears to stop.