Another Night, Another Day (26 page)

She picks up her bag with a grimace and carries on up the stairs, but when she gently kicks open the door of her bedroom with one foot, anger rises in her yet again. The bed is unmade, and
Glenn’s dirty laundry is thrown over the chair in the corner.

I can’t believe he’s slept in here, she thinks, shocked.

Although they made no specific agreement, she’d assumed Glenn would continue using the attic. Yes, the sleigh bed is bigger and more comfortable and his clothes are still in the wardrobe,
but it seems disrespectful, given that he’s not slept in the room for months. I bet he was going to change the sheets and pretend he’d been upstairs all along, she fumes.

Like the mist in her photographs, a familiar sensation begins to creep over her.
Don’t be swamped by it
, she tells herself, and sits down on the bed.
Deep breaths, Abby. In
through your nose, out through your mouth
. . . Gradually she feels the anxiety subside.

As she inhales she notices a scent – unfamiliar, cloying. Maybe Glenn has a new aftershave. She leans down to the pillow. There is a distinct aroma of flowers. Perhaps it’s a
different washing powder.

Then she lifts her gaze.

On the bedside table – by the side of the bed she always sleeps on – is her favourite white porcelain mug. She picks it up, examines it more closely and her heart stops.

There it is on the rim, bright pink and pucker-marked, unmistakable.

Lipstick.

* * *

Dr Kasdan checks his paperwork and looks up. ‘So how are you doing?’

It’s a question Karen was expecting the psychiatrist to ask; she has the answer ready. ‘I’ve been much less tearful. I reckon I’m starting to understand what’s
caused me to feel so down.’

‘That’s good to hear. What’s been helping, do you think?’

‘Well, the groups are great. Meeting other people who feel similar to me in one way or another is very comforting. I often get as much from what they say as when I share stuff
myself.’ She stops. I mustn’t make light of my problems, she thinks. If I’m too effusive he’ll conclude I’m better and can stop coming to the clinic. The security of
being a day patient is keeping Karen grounded and able to function; without it she fears the slightest breeze might carry her back to where she was.

Just then Karen feels her mobile phone vibrating in her handbag. I hope it’s nothing to do with the children, she thinks. She’s tempted to answer, then reminds herself she only has a
few minutes with the doctor – whoever it is will have to wait.

Dr Kasdan continues, ‘I recall that we discussed antidepressants before, but you wanted to hold off.’

Karen nods. ‘I’d like to keep them as a fallback option, if you’re agreed?’

‘Sounds sensible.’ The psychiatrist reaches for his pen. ‘I’ll recommend you continue coming twice a week for another month. We’ll reappraise the situation in a
fortnight.’

The prospect of having less support in the not-too-distant future is upsetting, but Karen reminds herself she has come a long way already. ‘OK . . .’ She rises from her chair.
‘I’ll see you then.’

Outside in the corridor, she reaches for her phone.

Abby
, says the missed-call display.

* * *

‘It’ll pass . . . It’ll pass . . . It’ll pass . . .’
Abby is murmuring like a mantra. Yet however hard she tries to remind herself that
it’s a physical reaction brought on by emotions she can’t control, the power of panic is stronger.
Breathe . . . breathe . . .
What is it she’s been told to do? Ah yes, a
paper bag . . . She stumbles down the stairs from the bedroom, rummages in the drawer by the sink, fingers shaking and twitching, pulls out reams of carriers – all plastic.

She sits down. No, that’s worse. She can feel her heart thumping in her chest –
BA-BOOM, BA-BOOM
. . . She stands up. That makes her giddy. Perhaps walking? She paces across
the kitchen, down the hall, and back again.

She tries to pluck out a single thought, make it form a line of logic, but her head is a jumble:
Glenn’s-been-havingsex-with-someone/who?/in-my-bed/
our
-bed/how-longhas-this-been-going-on?/just-when-I-thought-we-weremaking-progress/was-it-a-one-off?/is-he-having-anaffair?/I-hope-to-God-he’s-not-in-love-with-her/I-couldn’tbear-that/I-know-it’s-over-between-us-but-ouch-it-hurts/all-those-late-nights-at-the-office/I-should-have-known/how-could-he?/the-
wanker!
/was-Callum-in-the-house?/what-about-Eva?/the-other-carers?/I-feel-so-stupid/thehumiliation/I’ll-never-get-better-now/the-sheets-ugh!/I-must-wash-them/he’s-still-my-husband/we’re-not-even-formally-separated/why-here?/couldn’t-he-go-somewhere-else?/is-he-trying-to-send-me-crazy?/I-
am
-mad/I-need-to-go-backto-Moreland’s/but-what-about-Callum?/I-can’t-leavemy-son-here-now/he’s-not-safe/I’m-not-safe/I-can’tcope/I-need-help/my-heart’s-going-to-burst/someoneshould-take-me-to-hospital/who-can-I-possibly-ask?

* * *

How strange, Karen frowns. I wouldn’t have expected Abby to ring me yet; she knows I’m in Moreland’s all afternoon. Perhaps she dialled me by accident. But
then she sees there’s a voice message
.

‘
Karen, I’m really sorry to ring you but I didn’t know who else to call. Something horrible has happened and I could really do with talking to someone . . .
’

She presses call return and Abby picks up straight away.

‘Oh Karen, thank you,’ she says, and bursts into tears.

‘Hey, hey.’ Karen steps rapidly down the corridor in search of a room where she can talk privately. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you before – I was in with
Dr Kasdan.’

‘So you were.’ Abby is breathless, gulping back sobs. ‘Sorry. Did I interrupt your session?’

Karen sees the little lounge is free. ‘It’s fine, we’re finished,’ she says, taking a seat. ‘What’s happened?’

Out it pours in a garbled mess; nonetheless Karen gets the gist.
I could murder this Glenn
, she thinks, though it won’t help to say so.

‘Maybe I should come back to Moreland’s,’ says Abby when she’s reached the end. Her voice is barely audible.

Karen pauses for a second. ‘I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,’ she says slowly. ‘It sounds like you’re panicking, and we know from the group sessions that
it’s not the time to make a decision. I worry that if you come here without sticking it out at home at all, you’ll go right back to where you’ve been, and you’ve come such a
long way.’

‘But I don’t think I can cope.’ Abby is still breathless.

Karen calculates fast. She’d been planning on staying for Relaxation, so she’s not due to collect Molly and Luke from the childminder for another two hours. ‘What number house
are you?’ She already knows which street Abby lives on.

‘Eight.’

‘I’ll come round, we’ll chat then.’

‘But Glenn will be here at 4.30 with Callum and I’m not sure I can face him. Not yet.’

‘Ah . . .’ Karen is already heading out of the building. ‘I’ll be with you in half an hour. So I’ll scoop you up and you can come back to ours.’

Abby is silent. Karen can hear her gasps coming short and shallow down the line.

‘Abby, are you OK?’

‘Yes, sorry, I was just thinking . . .’

‘Don’t think,’ Karen orders. ‘Say yes. We can work out what to do next over a cup of tea.’

More silence, then Abby says, ‘A cup of tea. That would be nice.’

‘I’ve got some cake . . .’

‘SOME COW DRANK OUT OF MY FAVOURITE CUP!’

Karen winces. ‘You can bring the cup and smash it against my garden wall if you like.’

Abby sniffs. ‘I might just do that.’

‘Good. Have you unpacked?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Well, don’t bother,’ says Karen. ‘Bring your case to mine. You can always stay over if need be.’

‘What about Callum?’

Oh, crikey, yes. Glenn should look after him, thinks Karen. With luck he will. ‘We can always have him here later on tonight too,’ she says recklessly. Though she worries how
he’ll interact with Molly and Luke, this is not the time to be precious. ‘Let’s see how we go once we’ve smashed a few cups and saucers, OK?’

‘OK,’ says Abby. Karen can hear that her breathing has slowed to a more normal level. ‘And Karen, thank you.’

‘It’s nothing.’ Karen waves the air as if Abby can see her. ‘I’ll be with you in a bit.’

Not until she’s speeding along the A27 does she pause to consider:
Here I go, looking after someone else again.

* * *

Abby strips the bed with an efficiency fuelled by rage. She bundles the sheets into her arms, grabs the offending mug and hurries down the stairs. She’s sorely tempted to
smash it as Karen suggested and leave the pieces on the kitchen table as a message to Glenn, but worries that Callum might get to the broken china first and hurt himself. Instead she scrawls a
hasty note:

Came home early but gone to a friend’s. Thanks for leaving the house in such a tip. I’ll be in touch re Callum later.

She doesn’t bother to sign it, simply props it up on the lipsticked mug in the middle of the table so Glenn can’t be in any doubt that she’s aware what’s been going on in
her absence. Then she charges back upstairs, picks up her bag again – it seems lighter now she’s so enraged – and carries it back outside.

She locks the front door and goes to sit on the garden wall between the yew tree and the holly bush so she can see Karen’s car coming down the road. Shouldn’t be long now.

As the taxi pulls up at Sunnyvale House, Chrissie comes hurrying over to greet Michael. ‘I’ll walk and meet you there,’ she’d said when he’d
phoned with the news he was being discharged and ferried to the hospital. ‘It’s only a mile or so and I could do with a bit of fresh air.’ Michael knew she was being diplomatic;
she had no choice but to come on foot or by bus since their car was surrendered to the creditors.

She opens the door of the taxi. ‘Hello, love.’

Michael slides himself out of the back seat and almost falls into his wife’s embrace. His nerves were far too jangled to stay for the afternoon group at Moreland’s; that would have
involved saying goodbye to people he’d grown to like. Instead he went to his room to pack, and less than an hour later he’s here, though he’s no more able to process the
transition than he was in Phil’s office.

He glances up at the building over Chrissie’s shoulder. The walls are not in fact white but pale grey; the windows are tiny and appear not to open, and high netting encloses the
surrounding lawns. It looks more like a prison than a hospital.

The young man who comes out to welcome them seems far from warden-like, however. He introduces himself as Akono with a giant smile. Michael’s got used to being beamed at lately; at least
Akono seems to be expressing genuine warmth. ‘Let me show you to Seaview,’ he says, then seeing Michael’s confused expression, adds, ‘That’s what we call the general
men’s ward. I’m afraid I’ll have to take you through Meadows to get there. We’d not normally have to go this way, but we’re doing work on the main entrance.’ He
leads Michael and Chrissie round to the side of the building.

Meadows, Michael gathers as Akono unlocks a series of doors, is a euphemism for the secure unit.

‘You’re a filthy lesbian!’ someone shouts as they make their way down a corridor. Michael sees a wiry young man in pyjamas heading towards them. ‘She’s a filthy
lesbian!’ As they cross paths, the young man leers at Chrissie.

But she’s holding my hand, thinks Michael.

Akono remains calm. ‘Just ignore Jez and follow me. Calls me a nigger all the time at the moment, but it’s only because he’s unwell.’

Nice
, thinks Michael. Then he recalls Tash with her Tourette’s. Perhaps Jez is similar and can’t help it.

They pass a big metal door with a grille through which Michael glimpses wall-to-wall grey foam. In the middle of the space the foam is raised into a platform to form a sort of bed.

‘What’s that?’ he asks.

‘Seclusion,’ says Akono.

Padded cell
, in other words, thinks Michael. Chrissie squeezes his hand.

‘I’ll show you your room first,’ says Akono. ‘Then you can leave your case before I take you to the lounge.’

‘This isn’t so bad,’ says Chrissie as they step into a newly painted room with colour-coordinated shelving, drawers and a single bed. ‘I thought you’d have to
share. It’s good you don’t, isn’t it, Mickey?’

‘I like these blue rooms best,’ says Akono.

‘There are other colours?’ asks Chrissie.

‘Red and yellow and green, depending on the ward. This is the most relaxing, I think.’

I’m supposed to be grateful, thinks Michael, but the room reeks of disinfectant. ‘Is there a bathroom?’

‘The unit’s down the hall,’ says Akono.

Unit
, thinks Michael. Previously he had an en-suite with a bath and shower.

He drops his suitcase and it lands with a thud; the floor is covered in lino, not carpet. Fleetingly he can hear Gillian’s voice. ‘
Don’t get caught up in negative thinking,
Michael
.’ He can imagine her persuading him he doesn’t need fresh flowers and his own TV to get better. I’m trying my best to be positive, he argues, but this seems like a
bad dream.

He moves around the space in an effort to adjust, goes to the window, looks out. Directly below is a ping-pong table; a couple of men are playing, he wouldn’t mind a go at that. And
there’s a group of patients standing smoking – he’s used to this from Moreland’s. ‘The Bads smoke
way
more than the Mads,’ he remembers Lillie pointing
out.

‘OK,’ he says to Akono. ‘Perhaps you could show me the lounge?’

Michael is braced for minimalism, and sure enough, a CD player, television and stack of dog-eared board games appear to be the only niceties. True, in the corner is a kitchen area, but the
counter is covered in used teabags, plastic spoons and spilled sugar, and the vinyl floor makes everything echo so that even their footsteps sound loud. The room is large but there are only a
handful of men taking advantage of the space. Two of them are silently absorbed in a game of Scrabble, nearby a young lad about Ryan’s age is scratching his arms and muttering something that
sounds like ‘Ugh! Dalmatians under my skin,’ and an elderly man with hair like cobwebs has a wooden chair pulled right up close to the TV. He is watching the horse racing, and is the
only one to acknowledge their presence with a nod of his head towards them.