What My Best Friend Did (19 page)

“No, really.” I closed my eyes and exhaled as I tried to concentrate. “I don’t …”

He stopped kissing and looked at me. “Are you saying I’m special?” he teased.

I laughed. “Very. But just stop talking. Kiss me again.”

“Alice?” Gretchen said. “You need to press ENTER on the menu to start the movie.”

I shook my head and sat up a bit in my chair, dragging my attention back to the TV screen. I picked up the remote and pointed it quickly at the machine.

“You don’t have to sit here with me like this, you know. I’m sure you’ve got somewhere else more fun you could be,” she said as I pushed PLAY, then I shook the remote and banged it on my palm before trying again. The opening titles finally began.

I shook my head determinedly. “I want to watch this movie with you,” I said, and turned it up. If truth be told, I had been invited to a launch party by a client that I ought to have gone to, but I knew Gretchen was just sitting in on her own, and Bailey had made a point of asking me to drop by and see her.

I’d expected her to go straight to their parents’ home once she’d come out of the psychiatric hospital, as I would have done in her position, but Bailey had quietly explained that wasn’t an option.

“They’ll just clash,” he explained. “Mum will try and take over, which will be fine at first, but then she’ll start making all these plans for Gretchen—with the best of intentions obviously,” he held up a hand, “but Gretchen won’t be able to handle it. It’ll just blow up, Gretch will take off again … It’s just not worth it—at least if she’s here I know where she is.”

“So she’s going to live with you?” I asked, slightly surprised.

He nodded. “Very short term though. She’ll start getting better and stronger as the medication kicks in—then she’ll get bored and want to go back to her own flat. That’s what happened last time. It won’t get in the way of us having … space … together. I promise.”

“I wasn’t worried about that at all,” I said quickly. Jesus, if coming out of a psychiatric hospital wasn’t enough to earn you everyone’s full focus, care and attention I wasn’t sure what was. She had every right to be coming first as far as he was concerned. If it were Phil, or Fran, I’d be doing exactly the same thing.

“She’ll be gone before you know it,” he said and pulled me to him.

“I’m sorry to be here, getting in your way,” she said one evening, about two weeks into her living at Bailey’s. I’d gone over to see her after I’d finished work because she’d sounded particularly low when I’d rung her earlier in the day. She was dressed but had no makeup on and I wasn’t entirely sure she’d brushed her hair. By the side of the sofa there were several half-full bowls of cereal and almost-empty mugs that had stinky cigarette ends floating on the surface. She climbed over them and settled back into position, tucking a blanket back around her even though it was a pleasantly warm evening.

“How can you be getting in my way when I’ve come to see
you?”
I teased gently, sinking into a chair to her left.

“Oh?” she said. “So you’ve come to see me? I assumed it was Bay you were after.”

I hesitated. She seemed to have come out of her earlier low mood only to move into a rather touchy one. “It’s always nice to see both of you,” I said reasonably, to make her feel less like an invalid at hospital visiting time, but equally, valued. “Anyway, you can do what you like, it’s your brother’s flat.”

“But your boyfriend’s,” she countered swiftly.

We lapsed into silence.

“Shall I open the curtains? It’s a bit gloomy in here.” I half got to my feet.

She shrugged noncommitally and then winced as I drew them back and bright evening sunshine flooded the room.

“So what have you done today?” I asked, sitting down.

She glanced at me, then back at the TV. “Not much. Had a therapy session. You?”

“I took a photo of a dog sitting next to a bag of feed. Big day.” I smiled.

She smiled so briefly I barely saw it.

“So, any calls from your agent?” I plowed on determinedly.

She nodded, picked up the TV remote and flicked channels. “She’s still in damage-limitation mode. We’re going with the story that I’m taking time out to address a booze problem. I can’t host like this.” She motioned down at herself with disgust.

“You can’t just … tell the truth?” I suggested. It was hardly her fault she was ill; after all, no one would expect her to be working if she’d got pneumonia or something.

“People don’t ‘get’ mental illness,” she said flatly, still flicking, images and colors jerking around on the screen in front of her. “They say they do, but they don’t. They can’t see it—you look normal, so you can’t be ill, right? Anyway, a booze problem might apparently make me more interesting, more edgy, less kiddie-friendly.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Which is pretty fucked up.”

At least she wasn’t going to be out of work forever though, by the sound of it, which had to be a good thing, surely? Her mobile began to ring on the blanket next to her, she picked it up and glanced irritably at the screen. “Oh fuck off, Mum,” she breathed, looking at the number and then letting it drop heavily back down beside her.

“Answer it if you like,” I said, “don’t mind me.”

“I don’t want to speak to her,” Gretchen said tonelessly and stared straight ahead.

“So where’s Bailey?” I said, finding that I needed another conversational avenue to explore. It was hard to find neutral topics that weren’t controversial—she’d not really done anything with her day that she could talk about.

“He had some stuff to pick up from the library. He said he’d be back by seven. So what are you two up to tonight then?” She looked at me briefly and then turned back to the TV.

“Not sure, just a meal I think.” I deliberately downplayed our plans as I felt guilty to think we’d be going out and leaving her on her own. “How about you?”

She laughed. “Me? Well tonight I’ll be watching TV and answering the phone to my bloody parents, who will be ringing every five seconds, as you can see.” She waved in the direction of her now silent phone. “Mum’s hosting some sort of thespian gathering in our garden tomorrow—they’re doing a play next year and this is the pre-rehearsal get-together. She wants me to go. In fact,” she changed channels again with energy, “she wants me to be in the play.”

“What?” I wrinkled my nose.

“Yup,” she gritted her teeth. “Because after eighteen-odd years in the business, that’s really what I’ve been aspiring to—some sad amateur production of ‘We’re All Crap in a Village Hall!’ Apparently, it will ‘do me good.’ She won’t stop going on and on about it. That’s why she was ringing just then—trying to wear me down. She’s going to fucking finish me off at this rate.”

I didn’t know what to say. Poor Gretch.

“You see?” She turned to me. “Just in case you were wondering why I didn’t tell you about my illness, this is why … because no one bloody understands. She thinks I want to be like this!” She gestured wildly around her. “If I could do something about it, I would. She has no fucking idea.” She glowered and crossed her arms fiercely, flicking the channels violently before finally flinging the remote away. “I just need a little space and time to get through this bit, that’s all.”

I tried hard not to, but I felt a little hurt at being lumped in with everyone else. “You could have told me,” I said eventually. “I wouldn’t have liked you any the less and I could have helped. Been there more for you.”

“Helped me?” she pounced immediately. “Helped me do what?”

Thrown by her directness, I didn’t know what to say. “Listened?” I hazarded. “Helped you find better treatment?”

She looked sideways at me, tiredly. “Don’t make this about you being annoyed that I didn’t tell you, please. I can barely deal with my own feelings. You’ll have to sort all that out yourself.”

My mouth fell open with embarrassment and shock. “I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were. I’m not saying it’s wrong, Alice. It makes people feel good about themselves, being needed.”

Hurt and completely chastened, I closed my mouth. The intensity of her mood was making the room small and uncomfortable. I decided it would be better to go and leave her alone.

“Sorry,” she said two seconds later, as I was about to make my excuses. “That was shit of me. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. You have helped, you’ve been there loads.” She shot a quick look at me. “You’ve been amazing, coming around after work all cheerful, even when I’ve been a totally miserable bitch. Like now.”

“You haven’t been, you’ve been ill.”

“Yes I have actually. I didn’t want to tell you,” she said, looking down at the blanket. “It’s been very hard to keep friendships going alongside my … more reckless phases. Friends in the past have found my behavior hard to cope with, even when I’ve been honest with them. I’ve found it easier on the whole to try and keep it under wraps. I didn’t want to lose you too.” Her eyes filled and she looked quickly away, her voice bleak. “It’s not the best, feeling like you’re the only one going mad in a world full of sane people.”

I felt an overwhelming rush of affection and sadness as I watched her internal struggle. I just wanted to hug her. I got off my seat and knelt down next to her, moving a cereal bowl.

I picked up her hand and grasped it firmly. “There’s nothing you could do that would make me not be your friend,” I said firmly.

She couldn’t look at me. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, tears spilling over. “I’ve let you all down so badly.”

“You haven’t at all,” I said gently.

“I’m so embarrassed and ashamed. That night at your place … I would never, you know, with Paolo if …” She trailed off, face flaming. I tried to hide my shock. She’d slept with him? I just shrugged and half smiled. “These things happen.”

“I know I shouldn’t have stopped taking my medication,”she fiddled with the edge of the blanket urgently with her other hand, “but I missed the hypermania. I like the person it makes me become. You feel beautiful … all lit up inside like a human firefly, flitting from place to place—everything you touch bursts into life. It’s like being in a plane while reaching out of the window at sunset and touching the underside of a sunburnt cloud; I can just feel it flow through my fingers.”

But at what cost?

She twisted the edge of the blanket up into an agitated peak. “The lithium makes me thick and numb. I don’t feel anything—I just want to feel again. And I’m boring, people who used to ring me haven’t rung me for ages and I can’t ring them because I’ve got nothing to say … mostly because I’ve done nothing, felt nothing.” She looked desperately sad.

“You’ve got me,” I said. “And Bailey.”

“I know,” she sniffed, “but that’s not fair either. Bailey’s always had to be there, no matter what I’ve done. I don’t deserve him.”

I suddenly wondered if our getting together had made things worse, two of the people she relied on starting something new and exciting. Had she felt left out, lonely?

“Are you OK with me and Bailey being together?” I asked eventually.

“Of course,” she said quickly. She pulled her hand back and reached for a tissue. “It was me who set you up, remember?”

I smiled at her and she almost managed a smile through her tears.

“I hate that you’re seeing me like this, all pathetic and crying like a baby,” she said. “But I’m also so glad you’re here.”

A
lice, what the fuck are you doing?” Gretchen exploded, as I picked up a plate she’d left on the sitting room floor to take it out to the kitchen. I’d arrived at Bailey’s late on Friday night after an exhilarating shoot in Barcelona, desperate to tell him all about it, only to find him out getting takeout, her in her usual place on the sofa and the sitting room in a tip. It wasn’t exactly the start to the evening I’d had in mind. Was it only two months since she’d flipped out? It felt more like two bloody years.

“I thought I’d make us a cup of tea, so I’m taking the plate out as I’m going to the kitchen. It’s no big deal,” I said, as calmly as I could manage.

“I’ll do it in a minute!” she said crossly. “I’m not an invalid, despite what everyone thinks.”

I bit my tongue, put the plate back and sat down. These new bursts of bored, irritable self-absorption were pretty trying. While I was glad that she was noticeably less depressed, appeared to have more energy and was becoming restless—all of which could only be good signs—I wished she’d hurry up and get there faster.

“Sorry,” she said immediately. “I’m just bored, really crazy bored—I know you were just trying to be helpful. How was Barcelona?” She attempted to look interested.

“Oh, amazing!” I began, my eyes lighting up. Then I saw the wistful and sad look on her face. “But very tiring,” I lied, “and uncomfortably hot.” I racked my brain for a more neutral topic. “Hey, guess what? I found out my sister is expecting her first baby!”

Fran’s news was the talk of the family, particularly with Mum, who was over the moon. She’d rung to summon me for lunch, incandescent with family pride.

“I thought you could bring this new Bailey with you,” she’d said, magnanimous in her disapproval, “as long as he doesn’t mind having to meet Frances and Adam at the same time too. I’m doing lunch for them because Frances is in that totally exhausted stage, you’ll know when it happens to you, and I’m doing a veggie pasta because she can’t bear the smell of cooking meat. Already! Amazing, isn’t it?”

I was pretty certain “this Bailey” absolutely didn’t want to be subjected to meeting the majority of my nearest and dearest to talk babies, especially so early in our relationship. Neither did I particularly. Being around family was all we seemed to do.

“Wow, that’s great news,” Gretchen said uninterestedly, clearly not caring less about Frances. We lapsed into silence for a moment and then she suddenly got up quickly. “I think I’m going to stay at my place tonight.” She slipped a foot into her shoe. “I know Bailey thinks I’m not ready yet, but I am.”

I folded my optimistically shaved legs up and under me. She wasn’t going to hear any argument from my corner. It would be a novel experience to have a Friday night on my own with Bailey. Showing up at his flat after a long day at work, craving a big glass of wine—and sex—only to find Gretchen curled up on the sofa, miserable, refusing all food except the odd biscuit and staring at the TV like she wasn’t really seeing the picture, was seriously losing its appeal. And because I was her best friend, it wasn’t even like I could say, “I’m sick of your sister hanging around at yours all the time, can’t you tell her to give us some space?”