‘Actually, I prefer to call it a disorder.’
‘Oh, sorry.’ Michael’s cheeks flush.
‘It’s fine,’ says Abby. ‘I’d much rather you asked about it than were too embarrassed, and you’re right – it’s hard because Callum doesn’t
look any different from other kids. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve had to cope with people assuming he’s being naughty or slow or lazy or rude, when . . . frankly,
he’s just being Callum.’
‘That must be frustrating.’
‘It is.’ Abby raises her eyes to the ceiling. ‘There you are, trying to catch a child who’s like, running round a cafe blowing out the tea lights on all the tables or
something, which can be hard as, trust me, Callum is fast on his feet. Then you get some busybody mum or dad – I don’t know why, but it’s often the dads – telling you to
control your son.’ She shakes her head.
Life can be so unfair, thinks Michael, reminded of his dealings with Hotel sur Plage. ‘People can be such pigs.’
‘Yes, they can.’ Again Abby sighs. ‘So, that was your wife, was it, in just now?’
‘Chrissie, yes.’
‘She seemed nice.’ Abby smiles.
Michael senses she’s inviting him to reveal more. He pauses, wondering what to say about Chrissie, then shares the first thought that springs to mind. ‘We’ve been together
thirty years.’ He has a tiny burst of pride. It’s been ages since he’s felt proud of anything he’s accomplished.
Abby nods. ‘That’s a long time.’
Oops, how tactless. Abby only just said she and her husband are separating.
See,
he says to himself,
you’re no good at this
. He adds, ‘We’ve had our ups and
downs, of course.’ And this is one almighty down, he thinks.
‘You wouldn’t be human if you hadn’t. Have you got any children?’
‘Er, yes, Ryan and Kelly.’ He feels another surge of pride, but hesitates. Given Abby’s situation, it seems crass to enthuse.
‘How old are they?’
‘Ryan’s twenty-one, Kelly’s nineteen.’ Michael tries to hold back, but the mere mention of their names means he can’t help himself. He feels so bad about letting
them down that he’s tried to block off thinking about them, but now he can’t resist. ‘Would you like to see a photo?’
‘Yeah.’ Abby swivels so she’s sitting upright. ‘I’d love to.’
He stands to access his trouser pocket and pulls out his wallet, then unclips the popper and flicks it open. Behind the small plastic window designed for ID is a snap of the pair of them.
It’s a few years old, so faded and battered, but it captures them nonetheless. Ryan has inherited Michael’s strong features and dark hair, whereas Kelly looks more like her mum,
red-haired and delicate.
‘That’s Ryan on the right,’ he says, stating the obvious, and hands Abby his wallet. She peers closely at the image.
What a fantastic holiday that was, Michael recalls. They were camping in Scotland, but were blessed with the weather. The kids caught the sun, which is why Ryan is tanned and Kelly so freckled
in this photograph. Both of them are smiling at the camera; Kelly is beaming, unselfconscious, but Ryan’s grin is slightly awkward –
Dad, do you have to?
it communicates.
Nonetheless Michael treasures the photo. Whenever he so much as glances at it, he senses they’re smiling at him.
* * *
‘Wait, you two!’ cries Karen, but Molly and Luke are excited and race on ahead. They push open the door of the ward and rush over to Lou’s bedside.
‘For you.’ Molly thrusts the tulips at her, arms rigid.
The leaves are a touch slug-eaten, the petals are crushed and they’re wrapped in silver foil, but Lou looks delighted. ‘Thank you.’
As Karen approaches with Anna, she can see the baby at Lou’s breast.
‘Hold on a minute, poppet,’ she says to her daughter. ‘Sorry,’ she says to Lou. ‘Molly, can’t you see, Lou isn’t able to take those right
now?’
‘Oh,’ says Molly.
‘She’s got the baby just there,’ Karen explains. From Molly’s height he is probably not visible, wrapped in a blanket. Karen gets a glimpse of dark hair and a scrunched-up
face. ‘Oh, Lou, he’s gorgeous!’
‘Can I see him?’ says Molly.
Karen lifts up her daughter and Lou carefully edges down the cover to reveal his face more fully. His skin is all red and blotchy and his brow is damp, yet Karen can see her friend is overcome
with love.
‘He’s got
lots
of hair!’ says Molly, impressed.
‘It’s really dark,’ says Luke.
‘I can see red in it,’ says Karen, now the baby is in more light. ‘Though it’s likely to fall out.’
Molly looks worried.
‘It’ll grow back,’ Lou assures her. ‘That’s what happens with newborns.’
‘You had very dark hair when you were a baby, and look at you now,’ says Karen. Molly tosses her blonde curls; she’s aware of her assets already, thinks Karen. ‘You must
be wrung out,’ she says to Lou. ‘Well done, you.’
‘Now he’s here, it’s all been worth it.’
‘He’s beautiful,’ says Anna, peering too.
‘Thank you.’
‘Look at his tiny fingers,’ says Anna. ‘They’re so small and perfect. And those nails – wow, they’re paper-thin, aren’t they?’ She inhales.
‘Ah . . . He even smells new.’
Just then Adam arrives with two cups of tea.
Anna turns to him. ‘Congratulations.’
Adam beams. ‘Did you want me to get you some?’ he asks, putting down the cups. ‘The machine’s down the corridor.’
‘No, don’t worry,’ says Karen. ‘We won’t stay long – I need to give these two their supper. But they were desperate to see the baby.’
‘Has he got a name yet?’ asks Anna.
‘We think so,’ says Adam, and Lou nods. ‘We’re going to live with it for a few days, before we let everyone know.’
‘Are you Lou’s boyfriend?’ asks Molly.
Karen shakes her head. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve tried to explain.’
‘No . . .’ says Adam. Thankfully, neither he nor Lou seems fazed. ‘But I am the baby’s daddy.’
Molly frowns, perplexed.
‘I blame Disney.’ Karen drops her voice. ‘She’s determined to find a prince for everyone. I’ll have another go at helping her understand.’
‘It’s OK,’ says Adam.
‘You know, I think he looks a bit like you,’ says Anna. ‘He has a similar hairline.’
Adam appears so chuffed it’s as if he might burst. At once Karen thinks of Simon, how he was when Luke was born, here in this very hospital. She can picture him now: his big, bear-like
presence such a contrast to the tiny, fragile bundle in his arms, his face shining with happiness.
‘Hey,’ says Lillie. ‘When I was home at the weekend, I heard something really bonkers.’
‘What?’ Karen and Tash lean forward.
‘There’s a new family moved into the same apartment block as me and my sister and guess what their kids are called?’ Lillie grins. ‘You’ll love this,
Michael—’
Karen glances over. Michael looks unconvinced.
‘Firstly, there’s a girl; she’s called Infinity.’
‘Bit hippy,’ says Rick.
‘Oh dear,’ says Karen. ‘That’s not terribly fair on the poor child, is it?’
‘Hope she’s good at maths,’ says Tash.
‘But—’ Lillie splutters, ‘ – the best one is the son. You’ll never guess what his name is—’
‘What?’
‘Box,’ she says, deadpan.
‘
Box?
’
‘Yup. B-O-X. Box.’
Rick guffaws.
‘You’re kidding,’ says Tash.
‘Oh my goodness. Brighton parents can be a bit peculiar, can’t they?’ Rita, who lives in more conventional Worthing, looks concerned.
But Abby and I are Brighton parents, thinks Karen. Though she knows what Rita means.
Michael coughs. ‘Good job they didn’t call his sister Cardboard,’ he says.
That’s the first time I’ve heard him crack a joke, Karen notices, as their laughter fills the room.
‘My, you sound like you’re all having a good time,’ says Johnnie, striding into the room and folding his long limbs onto a chair at the opposite end of the lounge. He beams.
‘Welcome, everyone. I believe we’ve all met before.’
What a difference a week makes, thinks Karen, recalling her fear seven days earlier. Even so, when Johnnie says, ‘Let’s start with check-in and goal-setting,’ she has a flurry
of nerves.
‘I went home at the weekend,’ says Lillie. ‘It was weird to be back after so long in here.’ She scans the group. ‘I hung out with my sister and played with my
nephew Nino and I love doing that. The lithium dosage seems to be working so I’m more level – I didn’t feel manic at all. It’s good.’ As she shakes out the spirals of
her hair, Karen is reminded of her daughter. ‘The only downside is my appetite has increased. I’m definitely putting on weight.’ Lillie pinches the teeniest bit of flesh
disparagingly. If only I had that amount of fat to worry about, thinks Karen. ‘Anyway, my aim is to leave this Friday and become a day patient for a bit.’
‘That’s great to hear, Lillie. Who’s next?’
Off they go: Rick has cut back on caffeine and has a thumping headache; Rita is still having panic attacks but vows to meditate more; Tash is feeling better knowing she has the safety net of
being a day patient; Colin has finished with his girlfriend.
‘Worrying about her dumping me was doing my head in,’ he says. ‘I’ve decided to focus on getting myself better first.’
There’s a pause and Karen is poised to speak when Michael cuts in. ‘I had a chat with my wife at the weekend – or rather, she had a chat with me.’ He cracks a laugh.
‘She suggested I should – how did she put it? “Talk to people, Mickey!”—’ he adopts an exasperated voice, ‘ – so I’m trying hard to do
that.’
‘He’s been doing pretty well.’ Abby nods at him.
‘I’ve got a one-to-one with Gillian after this, and I’m going to try and be a bit more, um, open.’ He sits back on the sofa, clearly relieved to have got this speech over
with. Karen catches his eye and smiles at him.
‘My turn?’ Abby asks. ‘I’m OK . . . Better than last week, but I’m worried about being in here beyond, say, Friday. I’d like to go when Lillie
does.’
‘Ten days in here is no time,’ says Colin.
‘But I want to get home and look after my son.’
‘I met him,’ says Lillie. ‘Lovely boy.’
‘Try not to race ahead into the future, or judge yourself against others,’ says Johnnie. ‘How are you feeling right now?’
Abby jiggles her legs. ‘Impatient, I guess.’
‘And what’s your goal – not for Friday, for today?’
‘Hmm . . . Maybe
not
to think of the future, then?’
‘It’s almost impossible not to think of it
at all.
Though that sounds like a good aim.’ There’s a pause. ‘That leaves you, Karen?’
‘Oh . . . yes.’ She’d been miles away. She lets out a long sigh. ‘I was just thinking of Troy.’
The room falls quiet. As far as Karen is aware, Troy shared little of his experience in combat with any of them. Nonetheless surely everyone has seen Afghanistan often enough in the news to be
able to picture him in some way: crouching down in the dust as a booby trap explodes feet away; sweltering in layers of protective clothing having not showered for days; sharing a sixteen-man tent
in the middle of the wilderness; taking refuge from sniper fire behind a rock, even firing a machine gun himself.
‘It made me realize I’m lucky to be here.’ She glances round. They all look very serious. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring everyone down.’
‘It can be hard when a member of the group leaves.’
‘I suppose I connected with him because I think about death a lot . . .’
Johnnie nods.
‘Perhaps my aim today should be not to.’ Karen gives a half-hearted smile, though inside she is shaken. She is surprised to glance up and see Michael is gazing straight at her.
‘He’s a brave man going back,’ he says.
* * *
There’s a respectful pause, then Johnnie stands to pick up a marker. ‘Thank you. A couple of things struck me just now. Firstly, when I was listening to you, Abby,
it occurred to me that this is an example of anxious thinking. Why is that?’
‘Because it’s future-focused,’ says Lillie.
‘Indeed. If you’re feeling fearful, overwhelmed and that you can’t cope, that’s anxiety.’
Those are my symptoms, thinks Abby.
‘On the other hand, if your thoughts tend towards regret and guilt about what’s happened, broadly speaking, that’s depression. Another thing I noticed – and it was subtle
– is a touch of what is often called
people pleasing
. It came from you, Karen.’
‘Oh, gosh.’ Karen blushes.
‘There’s no need to feel bad.’ Johnnie writes the two words on the board. ‘Everyone does it. When you mentioned Troy, you apologized for bringing the group down, which
was considerate. It’s only that if we spend our time feeling responsible for others and putting their needs first, it can result in not getting our own needs met, and this is why it can be
linked to depression.’
‘You did it last week too,’ Lillie says to Karen. ‘You apologized to everyone for crying.’
‘Did I? I’m so sorry.’
Lillie laughs. ‘Stop apologizing!’
By now Karen is puce. Abby feels for her – Lillie’s only teasing, but it can’t be pleasant being held up as an example.
‘If friends have told me once I’m always putting other people before myself, they’ve told me a hundred times,’ says Karen. ‘I did it at the weekend, too.’
Johnnie asks, ‘Would you mind telling us what happened?’
‘Though don’t do it just to please him.’ Colin chuckles.
‘It was on Saturday afternoon. We were driving back from the allotment, and I was tired and looking forward to putting my feet up, when someone rang to say a friend – a good friend
– had had a baby. And my kids were desperate to see the baby, and my other friend, who I was with, wanted to go too, so I agreed to drive us all to the hospital.’
‘Even though you didn’t want to go?’
Karen frowns. ‘No, I
did
want to. It wasn’t as if I was coerced. Not remotely. I’d probably have gone the next day if it had purely been up to me, but I didn’t
want to disappoint the children.’
‘Still, it shows how somewhere, in your list of priorities, you’re lower down than your children and your friend,’ says Johnnie. ‘You were driving?’