Another Night, Another Day (18 page)

That’s rough, thinks Michael. I bet he’d rather have been treated at home. It’s hard enough being here anyway, I’d hate to be so far from my family. No wonder he’s
been so negative.

Michael clears his throat, then says, ‘Good luck, mate. I’ll be thinking of you.’

‘Thanks.’ Troy nods.

He looks scared shitless, thinks Michael.

Next into the lounge is Rita, who makes slow progress to her favourite armchair. Then in come Lillie, Colin and Abby. Lillie is dressed in an eye-poppingly short skirt and angora jumper, Colin
is
still
in his slippers, but Abby has changed from the worn tracksuit she’s been wearing all week into jeans and a boldly striped top. She’s got more colour in her cheeks,
Michael thinks, as she takes a seat next to him and murmurs, ‘Hello.’ Not difficult, given how washed-out she was on arrival, but it’s good to see her looking a little better.
Finally they are joined by two people Michael doesn’t recognize – a middle-aged man with a weather-beaten face and gnarled hands, and a young woman with a shock of bright-pink frizzy
hair, who he’d guess is around his daughter’s age.

‘Hello,’ says Lillie. ‘I’m Lillie. And you are?’ She reaches over and holds out her hand.

‘Tash,’ says the woman and jerks her head. ‘Fuck off.’

‘Oh.’ Lillie recoils. ‘Didn’t mean to offend.’

‘Sorry,’ says Tash, and twitches again. ‘Tourette’s.’

‘Ah. Not to worry, now I know. You’re in good company with us lot. We’ve all sorts of conditions here.’

‘Arsehole!’ says Tash, blinking several times in quick succession. ‘It’s not Tourette’s specifically that’s brought me here – it’s my mood swings.
Hopefully my tics will diminish once I’m more settled.’

‘Sure.’ Lillie turns to the middle-aged man.

‘Rick,’ he says. His jaw is clenched and his throat is so tight he can barely say his own name. He looks ever so stressed, thinks Michael. Funny how it’s easier to see in
others.

‘Morning, everyone.’ It’s Beth. She slips off her cardigan, introduces herself to Tash and Rick, then picks up a pen and goes straight to the whiteboard.

‘Today our focus is on the connection between mental and physical health.’ She yanks the top off the marker with her teeth and Michael settles back into the sofa. ‘We’ll
be considering how looking after ourselves physically helps us stay well. It’s important if you’re to help your own recovery that you understand how our minds and bodies
interact.’ Beth draws a circle on the whiteboard. ‘Who here is familiar with the Hot Cross Bun?’

‘Fuck off,’ says Tash.

‘I’ve wanted to say that to Beth for months,’ says Colin, and winks at Tash.

What on earth have hot cross buns to do with anything, thinks Michael. Some of the stuff these therapists come out with is crazier than we are.

Beth draws a cross in the circle, dividing it into four. ‘Perhaps someone can say what goes at these intersections?’ She holds the pen expectantly.

‘Up there is Thoughts,’ says Lillie, and Beth writes ‘Thoughts’ at twelve o’clock. ‘Then to the right is Emotions, at the bottom Physical Sensations and
Behaviour is on the left.’

‘Perfect,’ says Beth. ‘As those of you who aren’t familiar with the Hot Cross Bun will find out, this is one of the pivotal models we use in cognitive behavioural therapy
or CBT.’

More
initials, thinks Michael. It’s so hard to keep track of what they all mean.

Beth continues, ‘The word
cognitive
simply refers to our thoughts, and this kind of therapy looks at how our behaviour influences our thoughts, and vice versa. Who can explain the
other links?’

‘It’s because our thoughts affect our emotions or moods which in turn affect our behaviour and the way our bodies react physically,’ says Colin.

‘Exactly. If we get into a negative way of thinking, we then start to feel bad emotionally. So if we believe something awful is going to happen, our brains pick up these messages and
translate them into a physical response. Who here suffers from anxiety?’

There’s a unanimous murmur of ‘me’.

‘And what physical sensations do you get?’

‘I feel sick,’ says Rita.

‘My nerves tingle, all down here.’ Abby holds out her arms and wiggles her fingertips.

‘I get shaky,’ says Rick. ‘In fact, I’m shaky a lot of the time.’

‘Me too,’ says Lillie.

‘My tics get worse,’ says Tash.

There’s a pause, and Michael decides he has nothing to contribute.

‘I was particularly anxious on Monday when I came here for the first time,’ says Karen. ‘I think that’s why I got so weepy. Does that make sense?’

‘Sure,’ says Beth. ‘Anxiety and depression often go hand in hand.’

‘I felt bad about it afterwards.’ Karen glances round. ‘I hope I didn’t bring the rest of you down.’

‘Not at all,’ says Rita. ‘It’s good to know other people feel like I do.’

Beth writes the symptoms – including
weepy –
beneath the Hot Cross Bun, then turns to face the group again. ‘This is why it’s important to take care of our
bodies. Obviously I don’t expect you to be saints. Physical evidence suggests I’m partial to the odd bun myself. However, it does make sense not to give our systems even more to deal
with when we’re anxious than faulty thinking brings about already. Certain types of food and drink can exacerbate anxiety. What in particular might we try to reduce or avoid?’

‘Alcohol,’ says Troy.

‘Coffee,’ says Colin.

‘Yes.’ Beth pulls up a chair and sits down. ‘It can be tempting to reach for more stimulants when you’re feeling stressed so you can keep going, or else have a few drinks
to help you wind down at the end of the day, but in excess neither is a good idea.’

‘
Aah.
’ Rick leans forward. He has grasped something, thinks Michael, though surely much of this is obvious. ‘So do you think the fact I’ve got a bit of a coke
habit might be contributing to my, um . . . levels of anxiety, and making me feel worse?’

Michael is stunned. No
wonder
Rick is shaky and looks like he’s lived so hard. Michael had assumed he must be a builder or some such, and work outside.

Even Beth looks fazed. ‘Er . . .’

‘Wow. Coke,’ says Troy, in his deep American drawl. ‘That’s not good.’

‘What do you mean by a
habit
?’ asks Lillie. ‘’Cos this is the group for people with mental health issues like depression and stuff, but if you’re doing a
lot of Charlie, maybe you should be in the addiction therapy programme rather than here. Don’t you agree, Beth?’

‘Hang on a minute, Lillie. Let Rick speak.’ Beth appears disconcerted, thinks Michael. I reckon there’s been an administrative cock-up.

‘Not
that
kind of coke,’ says Rick. ‘I meant Coca-Cola.’

‘Oh,’ says Lillie, and everyone roars with laughter.

Beth smiles, visibly relieved, and waits for them to settle. ‘Ah, but it is worth talking about, all the same. When you say you’ve a coke habit, Rick, how much Coca-Cola are you
drinking?’

‘I drink it every day.’

‘Coca-Cola causes cancer,’ says Rita.

‘No, that’s
Diet
Coke,’ says Lillie.

‘What would you say you get through each day?’ asks Beth.

‘Ooh . . .’ Rick stares up at the ceiling while he calculates. ‘A couple of bottles?’

‘You mean the small ones? It might be an idea to cut down.’

‘Oh
no
. I mean two this size.’ Rick holds his hands one above the other, about eighteen inches apart. ‘What are they? One and a half litres or something?’

Beth sits back, stunned. ‘Goodness! So you’re telling me you drink
three
litres of Coke – a
day
?’

‘Yup.’

‘There’s a hell of a lot of caffeine in Coke,’ says Troy.

‘Maybe Rick can switch to caffeine-free,’ says Karen.

‘I’d give it up if I were you, Rick,’ says Lillie. ‘You could save yourself a
lot
of money. Are you paying to be here at Moreland’s?’

‘Ye–es . . .’ Rick looks confused as to the connection. ‘And it’s rather more than I spend on Coca-Cola.’

‘But imagine if your
anxiety
were to be eased a lot by cutting out Coke.’

‘Ah.’ Rick grins. ‘That would be good.’

‘Then you could save yourself the exorbitant fees of being a patient here, which would make you feel better emotionally too.’

Because behaviour and feelings are connected, thinks Michael. Perhaps there’s some truth in this hot cross bun, after all.

‘Henceforth my body is a temple.’ Abby nods at her plate of fish and chips. ‘Let’s start as we mean to continue.’

‘Good for our minds,’ says Colin, who’s ordered the same.

‘That’s oily fish, not cod in batter,’ says Lillie.

Colin shunts a large forkful into his mouth and closes his eyes. ‘So what if it’s not exactly brain food? It’s delicious.’

‘Thank you ever so much, Sally,’ says Lillie, as a plate piled high with salad is brought to her.

‘Hark at you,’ says Colin.

‘Beth
would
be impressed,’ says Abby.

‘Teacher’s pet,’ says Colin.

‘You’re only jealous ’cos you fancy her,’ says Lillie.

‘I do not!’ says Colin. ‘She’s far too old for me.’ But his cheeks redden.

Abby is poised to push him further when she spies Karen hovering on the periphery of the dining room. Today is the first time Abby has seen her since Monday and they’ve not spoken outside
of the groups yet. On first impression Karen seemed vulnerable, bursting into tears at the initial check-in, and Abby was too close to the edge herself to cope with someone else’s misery. But
the woman she saw in the session this morning seems less likely to rock her own fragile stability, and she gets to her feet so Karen can see her.

‘Come and join us. There’s plenty of room.’

‘Thanks.’ Karen smiles as she sits down at the table between Abby and Colin.

She has a kind face, thinks Abby. Not pretty, or beautiful – her features aren’t regular enough for that – but her expression is warm and open, and as for that hair . . . Again
Abby has a twinge of envy.

‘So how are you finding your first week?’ Lillie cuts straight to the question before Abby has a chance to ask.

‘Well, it’s only my second day,’ says Karen.

‘Ooh, remember that, Colin?’ says Lillie. ‘Your second day . . .’

‘Seems
years
ago.’ Colin rubs his chin as if he were a pensioner recalling his boyhood.

‘How long have you both been here?’ asks Karen.

‘Since November,’ says Colin.

‘Gosh,’ says Karen. Abby knows what she’s thinking because she had a similar reaction when Colin volunteered this yesterday.
But that’s months of being an inpatient
and you’re not better yet?

‘And he’s
still
in his slippers.’ Lillie winks.

‘Have you . . . er . . . been outside?’ asks Karen tentatively.

‘In the garden, yes – with you, on Monday.’

‘Haven’t you ever left the clinic?’

‘Can’t be arsed,’ says Colin.

Abby can tell Karen doesn’t believe him either. He’s in danger of becoming institutionalized, she fears. No wonder his girlfriend is fed up.

‘He gets his fresh air on the balcony,’ says Lillie. ‘Smoking.’

‘Whereas
she
—’ Colin tilts his head towards Lillie, ‘ – is in and out of here like a jack-in-the-box. So it’s not a question of how long, but how
often.’

‘I’m a right tart.’ Lillie wriggles and adjusts her miniskirt.

‘This is the fifth time she’s been banged up,’ says Colin.

They’re like Tweedledum and Tweedledee, thinks Abby. She is growing to like Colin and Lillie a lot – they’re able to see humour in their circumstances, and it’s catching.
But she catches Karen frowning. ‘Don’t you worry. Not everyone here is as addicted to Moreland’s as these two.’

‘So do you think it works, then, the treatment here?’ asks Karen.

‘Ooh,
yes
,’ says Lillie. ‘They’re absolutely brilliant.’

I know, I know
, Abby yearns to say to Karen.
Total contradiction.
Though it’ll have to keep. She doesn’t want to push these two too far. She’s grateful to
them for taking her into their care.

‘So do you mind my asking what brought you here?’ Karen is addressing Abby.

Abby gulps.

All of a sudden her hands are trembling so much that a piece of cod falls from her fork. Help, she panics. I hoped I was through such awful anxiety – the last couple of days have been a
false reprieve. She is forced to lay down her cutlery.

‘I . . . er . . .’ She has a surge of nausea and can feel the food she’s just swallowed rising up in her throat.

‘Oh, goodness, I’m sorry. You don’t have to say if you don’t want.’ Karen’s eyes are full of concern. She reaches over and gives Abby’s hand a
squeeze.

Abby swallows again. I don’t know why I thought I was immune from other people’s interest, she thinks.

‘It’s OK,’ she says, even though the room is whirling and she’s longing to run away and go and lie down on her bed.

I have to face this
, she tells herself. I don’t want to end up like Colin, in here for months – I need to get back to Callum. I need to show everyone that I can cope. And
Karen seems to mean well, she really does.

Three expectant faces tilt towards her – she’s not divulged much to Lillie or Colin either. Where on earth should she begin?

‘I’ve had a dreadful few months.’

Karen sighs. ‘Tell me about it.’

‘It’s been awful. My whole life feels like it’s falling apart.’ She surprises herself with the honesty of this admission.

There’s a silence. Abby fears she’s put something too huge and overwhelming out there. Still, at least the room seems to have stopped spinning. Perhaps if she breaks the situation
down it will help her to explain. She grips the table to steady herself.

‘My husband and I are separating. Our son Callum – he’s seven – has autism. He’s at the severe end of the spectrum.’

‘My sister’s son Nino has Asperger’s,’ says Lillie.

‘Ah well, you’ll know a bit about it, then. Callum doesn’t speak, and he takes a lot of looking after – he goes to a special school, but all the same . . . and Glenn
– my husband – can’t seem to cope with it any more . . . Well, he never really has been able to.’ She exhales. She can hear the breath leave her lungs, feel the release of
tension. ‘Which means I’ve got to start again, I guess. Find somewhere for Callum and me to live. Get a job. Re-establish who I am.’ She shakes her head. ‘’Cos God
knows who that is.’