Another Night, Another Day (35 page)

‘Still, symbolic, getting rid of your trash.’ Leona guffaws. ‘You going to invite me in or what? I’m desperate for a cuppa.’

‘Come in.’ Michael can sense himself smiling. He’s pleased it’s her turn to visit this afternoon – he’s not been on her roster for a week and some other
members of the crisis team irritate him.

Leona follows him into the kitchen and stands looking out of the window while they wait for the water to boil. Michael follows her gaze and cringes. His wife did her best, but the back garden
remains an area of devastation. There’s a concrete slab on the lawn where the shed used to be, and what Chrissie managed to salvage of his stuff is piled up under a tarpaulin.

It’s not just an eyesore – if someone got over the wall they could make off with a stash, he thinks. Perhaps Ryan can help me build something makeshift to store it in. The task is
too much to tackle alone. But together . . .

‘How’ve you been getting on, then?’ says Leona. It’s over three weeks since Michael swam out to sea.

‘Up and down.’

‘I guess anything that involves use of the word “up” could be categorized as some sort of improvement?’

Michael scowls. He’s wary of sounding too positive. ‘I’m much worse in the morning.’

‘Lots of people say that. Trick is to rise and shine, even if you don’t feel like it.’

‘Didn’t have much choice today – Chrissie and I had to talk to the receivers, see if we can put off the sale of this place.’

‘And can you?’

‘Maybe . . . Helps that I live with her and the kids are still based here – in any event we’ve a year’s grace. We could be all right, if we can raise the capital another
way. Though God knows that won’t be easy.’

‘Hey, well done for talking to them. I bet it was really daunting.’

That’s an understatement, thinks Michael. I hardly slept last night.

He reaches for the tea caddy and two mugs.

‘You can leave the bag in. I like it almost orange,’ says Leona, so he just adds milk and hands hers over. ‘No, I don’t take sugar, thanks for asking,’ she grins.
‘Cheers.’

‘Do you want to sit in the lounge?’ Michael is conscious Leona is once more looking out of the window. ‘Ryan’s mate brought round his Xbox, but I can tell them to
stop.’ From the kitchen they can hear whoops and yelps over the sound of gunfire.

‘You’re OK, I’m fine in here. I fancy standing – seem to have spent most of the day in the car.’ Leona blows on her tea to cool it. ‘So, I know you
don’t like my asking about this stuff, but I have to. Last time I saw you, you said you felt less flat.’

‘I said I
might
be less flat.’

‘Sure. But it did seem you were beginning to feel more intensely again.’

Michael would like to explain he’s not yet felt any
joy
, but that’ll sound ridiculous, he decides. He doesn’t want Leona to think he’s expecting miracles.
Eventually he admits, ‘I think I’m a bit jealous of Chrissie . . .’ Though that sounds mad too. Who on earth gets jealous of their spouse?

‘Oh?’

‘She’s got that job, remember?’

Leona nods.

‘So I should be pleased – it’s great she’s bringing a bit of money in, and I hate us having to rely solely on benefit . . .’ Now he’s concerned he’ll
seem churlish, but he’s gone too far to retract what he’s started to say. ‘I don’t like it when she goes out to work.’ This hardly communicates the sickness he feels
in the pit of his stomach that he’s no longer able to provide for his family. For nearly thirty years he’s been the breadwinner – he spent his childhood watching his father in the
same role. Now he’s letting them all down, his dad included.

Nonetheless he’s relieved to have offloaded. It’s weird, the way anxiety is often worse than actually putting an admission out there. Especially with Leona.

‘I reckon that’s a totally normal reaction,’ she says, nodding vehemently. ‘It’d be lovely if emotions came back symmetrically, so your ability to feel sadness and
happiness were restored at the same rate, but that’s not the way depression seems to operate. You’ve had so much rubbish come up over the last few months, negativity is bound to
dominate. And jealousy’s understandable in your situation, but it doesn’t mean you can’t be pleased or maybe even a bit proud of Chrissie too.’

‘Really?’ says Michael. He hadn’t considered having several emotions at once. It seems astonishing to be having any at all.

‘And you needn’t beat yourself up if you don’t feel more positive right away. Those feelings could come later. In fact, if you berate yourself for feeling jealous, you’ll
end up hating yourself even more. You’re sensitive, man – probably a darn sight more sensitive than me.’

That’s odd, he thinks, I’ve never seen myself that way. ‘Guess I have been a bit tearful lately,’ he admits gruffly. Mostly he tries to do it when no one is around.

‘See.’ Leona knocks his elbow in jest. ‘You’re a softie, just like I said.’

At once Michael is reminded of Ali – he used to say that too. Michael wonders what’s happened to his friend. I miss him, he thinks.

‘Pretty much every human being could find a reason to hate themselves if they thought about everything as much as you do. We can be total arseholes, us humans, but we can also be angels
sometimes.’ Leona’s head bobs as she talks. She’s so tall her pompom could be used to dust the ceiling, thinks Michael, and finds himself smiling as he envisages unsuspecting
spiders being caught in her afro.

‘See, you want to smile at what I’m saying, I can tell,’ she says, clearly pleased. It would be cruel to say it’s her hairdo that’s amusing him.

He has an impulse to confess further. ‘See that pile of stuff out there?’ He points at the tarpaulin.

Leona nods.

‘I smashed up our garden shed, you know.’ He can feel himself flush at the admission. ‘S’pose it was my shed, really. That’s what Gillian pointed out.’

‘Gillian? Oh yes, the therapist at Moreland’s – you’ve mentioned her before.’

‘I still feel terrible about it.’

‘Why? It’s done now.’

That such a small heap should be all that remains of so much that was useful is criminal, and he’s appalled that he got so angry Chrissie was forced to call the police. He explains this to
Leona.

‘Sounds like you’ve got some shame going on there,’ nods Leona. Michael vaguely remembers them talking about shame in the groups at Moreland’s. He never quite grasped
what anyone meant; the way they used the word seemed odd. ‘But we’ve all behaved badly at some point in our lives. I’ll wager even Mother Teresa wasn’t a saint the whole
time. Just because we’ve temporarily screwed up doesn’t necessarily mean we’re
inherently
bad people. Our actions could be the result of stress.’

‘I suppose I was pretty wound up.’

‘Everyone can be found wanting sometimes – even us psychiatric nurses.’

I wonder if any of the staff at Moreland’s feel bad about Lillie, thinks Michael. But Leona’s eyes are sparking; clearly she’s not finished making her point. She’s
feisty, he says to himself. Reckon that’s why I like her. Plus she doesn’t soft-soap me.

‘Don’t tell anyone,’ she drops her voice, ‘but I got some points for speeding last week.’

Michael smothers another smile. As if anyone I know would be remotely interested, he thinks.

‘Obviously I don’t approve of driving too fast, especially in built-up areas. But I’ve not got used to those twenty-mile-an-hour zones, and forgot ’cos I was in a hurry
to get to a patient I was concerned about.’

Michael is losing her thread. ‘So you’re saying it was OK I smashed up the shed?’

‘Not
OK
.’ Leona shakes her head. ‘
Understandable.
’

‘Ah.’

‘Anger is a normal human emotion – a part of life. Think about it – even animals get riled.’

‘What, like say, cats?’

‘Exactly!’ She appears poised to give him a high five before thinking better of it. ‘Strange puss comes into your garden, your pet hisses and arches his back and fluffs himself
out in order to safeguard his territory. The other cat has made yours feel threatened and vulnerable.’

Like the shysters who shafted me, thinks Michael.

‘What makes us feel particularly bad is when we believe we’re acting out of proportion to what’s happening.’

‘I certainly managed that,’ mutters Michael.

‘Depends on your perspective,’ Leona shrugs. ‘Actually, I kind of agree with your Gillian, from what you’ve said of her reaction. It’s important to express your
feelings. If you’d not taken your rage out on the shed, maybe you’d have done something worse. Though the best thing you can do is talk to others.’

Typical, thinks Michael. You therapist types want us to talk the whole time.

And Leona’s still going. ‘Some people worry if they talk about what they’re feeling, it’ll heighten their emotions and they’ll lose control. In fact, from what
I’ve seen, the reverse is true. Talking
releases
emotions. Though it’s important to pick someone you can trust. Which is why it’s a good idea for you to chat to an
awesome chick like me.’ She grins and sets down her mug. ‘That wasn’t a bad cup of tea. Right you are then, best be off.’ Michael has a twinge of disappointment. ‘But
before I go, I’ll leave you with one final Leona insight.’

Any second she’s going to wag her finger at me, he thinks. Not that he really minds.

‘Anger isn’t all bad. It can provide us with the motivation to do things that otherwise we wouldn’t. Like go into politics or do a great painting or write a book . . .’
She rearranges her hair so it’s pulled tight once more in preparation for her departure. ‘Or play in a rock band . . . I dunno, you can pick your own examples.’

She could be referring to punk, thinks Michael. So much of that music was fuelled by anger. He recalls the mosh pit, the sense of release it gave him, the camaraderie and excitement.

And suddenly there it is: beautiful and unexpected, like a kingfisher emerging from the water with its catch – a burst of joy.

‘Hi, Mum.’ Karen grabs her mobile from the countertop. ‘I can’t talk now. I’m about to get the kids’ supper. Was it anything
urgent?’

‘No,’ says Shirley. ‘I just wanted a chat, and to let you know about your father’s estate. You can ring me back later.’

Oh God, thinks Karen. I can’t face more talking tonight. Today was her last full day at Moreland’s. She learned from her insurance company that they wouldn’t cover much more
treatment, so after discussion with Dr Kasdan she decided to stop day care and focus on seeing Johnnie for therapy once a week. She hopes to stay in touch not just with Abby but with Tash and Colin
too, so she took their numbers, though as they’re both much younger she doesn’t expect they’ll really want to maintain contact.

I need time to acknowledge that an important period of my life has ended, she thinks. Yet at once she feels guilty for not supporting her mother as well as she should. Then she notices it:
should.
OK, so I won’t offer to call her back, she decides, and says, ‘I can’t chat later, Mum, I’m sorry.’

‘Oh.’

Her mother sounds disappointed so Karen relents a little. ‘Perhaps you can tell me a bit about it now, and we’ll speak properly tomorrow?’

‘All right,’ says Shirley, though Karen still feels it isn’t. ‘I went to see your father’s solicitor today. And the long and the short of it is . . .’

Karen’s stomach turns over. This is when Mum asks to move in here, she thinks. Oh help.

‘. . . because he – um – died – um, sooner than we expected—’

I really can’t deal with this now, Karen thinks. I wish I’d never answered the phone.

‘ – well, it’s good news actually.’

‘Gosh.’ Karen is startled. Her mother isn’t gloomy by nature, but because of George’s condition, for years she has tended to be the bearer of bad tidings.
‘What’s the situation, then?’

‘There’s a bit more money left than I thought.’

‘Ah.’ For all the insight she’s gained on the hazards of being too future-focused, Karen can’t stop herself racing ahead. Mum’s going to suggest I buy a bigger
house with her, she thinks. Years of unremitting responsibility stretch out ahead of her. She feels a familiar weight descending: the sense of being overwhelmed, of not being able to manage.
Don’t undo the good stuff that’s happened to me
, she pleads silently. I’ve only just left day care. It was tough to make the break, but she didn’t want to get
dependent upon it.

‘Anyway, I wanted to let you know, I’ve decided to stay in Goring for the time being.’

Karen isn’t sure she’s heard correctly. ‘Really? Are you sure, Mum?’

‘Yes. I’d like to remain here while I have a proper think about what I want to do next.’

Karen’s head is spinning, but she realizes it’s important to focus on what her mother is actually saying, rather than what she feared she was about to say. ‘You mean
you’re going to keep renting that flat?’

‘Maybe. Maybe not. I could make it much nicer, if I put in some effort.’

Karen pictures the woodchip wallpaper and narrow single bed and winces. ‘Is that worth it, with a rented property?’

‘I don’t mean I’d change it a whole lot, but I could get a nicer bed, for a start.’ Karen can hear her mother getting prickly.

‘Of course you could, Mum. I’d love to help you make your place more homely. We could get some rugs to cover up that carpet, some prettier bedding . . .’

‘Yes, thank you, darling. I appreciate the offer.’

Karen gleans that her mother isn’t keen. Doubtless Mum wants to make her own mark on the flat, she thinks. I suppose it’s good she’s keen to remain independent. Still, Karen is
faintly hurt.

‘I’ve got some stuff in storage that would improve it,’ says Shirley. ‘I don’t want to rush into anything, obviously. But then I might have a look at buying
somewhere.’

Here we go. Karen braces herself. ‘In Brighton . . . ?’

‘No, I don’t think so. I don’t think Brighton is terribly me.’ Karen is so stunned she has to grip the edge of the worktop to steady herself. ‘It’s all a bit
busy and noisy. I got used to having space, in Portugal. Whereas the houses near you are so bunched up together, everyone lives on top of one another.’