Nearest Thing to Crazy (4 page)

‘I hope so.’ She continued to talk while gazing at the view across the woods and to the hills beyond. Above us I could count four jet trails, little white scars criss-crossing the perfect blue ceiling. I sipped my wine and sank down in the chair, closing my eyes as I listened.

‘Before I came down here so much in my life was going wrong. I got awful depression and then I couldn’t write so I knew I had to do something to try and sort myself out.’

I opened my eyes and glanced over at her, but she was still staring dreamily into the distance. I didn’t quite know what to say; I mean, I hardly knew her, and she’d been so good over lunch at deflecting any personal questions. I felt both surprised and vaguely awkward that she was being so open about herself. ‘God . . . I’m sorry to hear that. But the move, coming here, do you think it’s helped?’

‘Yes, I really do. Especially knowing there’s people like you around. Lovely warm people who are prepared to welcome this stranger into their midst. I feel so lucky. I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t be talking to you like this. I can’t imagine your life being anything other than perfect, living here in this beautiful place, surrounded by good friends.’

‘Yes, I suppose I am lucky. But depression, it’s an awful thing. Especially when people expect you to just snap out of it and pull yourself together. And of course you’d love to, but you can’t, can you?’

She looked across at me. ‘No you can’t. You sound as though you know what it’s like.’

I took a deep breath. ‘After Laura was born I had it. It wasn’t diagnosed for ages and I just thought what a really terrible mother I was, just hopeless at not being able to cope. Actually, it was all so dreadful that I try not to think about it. I just want to forget it ever happened. But you do get through it.’

Ellie picked up the bottle and refilled my glass.

‘God, how awful. But you seem so capable now. I can’t imagine you ever not being a good mother.’

‘That’s kind of you to say so, but I wasn’t. I think something in the bonding process eluded me. It wasn’t at all how I thought it was going to be, it was just a fog of exhaustion, a screaming baby and no clue as to what I was supposed to do. I wasn’t what you’d call a natural.’

‘And what about your husband – was he supportive?’

‘As much as he could be. It was hard for him. I mean he just didn’t know what to do. He was scared of what was going on – we both were – scared I might do something to myself . . . or worse . . .’

‘Worse?’

I shuddered, suddenly feeling cold, despite the balmy afternoon.
‘It was all a long time ago.’
‘But you know . . . you understand what it’s like to feel really low, desperate, even . . . I can’t tell you how good it feels to talk to someone who knows, who’s not going to judge me for being pathetic.’ Her hand drifted over towards me and she rested it lightly on my arm as she stared directly into my eyes. ‘I don’t know if I should really ask you this, and tell me to piss off and mind my own business if you wish, but did you ever feel like ending it all?’

Her hand suddenly felt very hot, burning into my skin uncomfortably, but I felt too embarrassed to push it off, as it would have appeared like a rejection, a literal brush off. I didn’t want to talk about it. Even now, after all these years, it was still a place I chose not to revisit, but I didn’t know how to back-pedal without appearing rude. And if she was really feeling vulnerable it might even be dangerous to upset her.

‘Perhaps I thought about it, at times.’

‘And was there anyone you could talk to?’

‘My doctor, my psychiatrist . . .’ I laughed drily. ‘There’s an army of help available when it’s almost too late. I was lucky – we were all lucky – that it wasn’t too late.’

I swear that Ellie’s eyes had filled with tears as she continued to stare at me. I squeezed her hand and lifted it gently from my arm.
‘But I’m okay now. Thank God.’

‘Yes, thank God. And amazing to have an understanding husband who stood by you.’

‘Amazing,’ I echoed. ‘I think Dan used to worry that I’d have some kind of relapse. That’s the worst of it, people wondering if you can ever really be better. But I know I am and I know that he knows I am. But it took a long time to shrug off the suspicion that you’re somehow a bit flaky.’

‘Well you don’t seem remotely flaky to me. You seem like the least flaky person around.’

‘Thanks. But I could say the same about you. I mean, you just appear so sorted, with your career and everything. You seem really successful and together.’

‘Well doesn’t that go to show?’

‘Show?’

‘What you see on the outside. My front, everybody’s fronts, are only what we choose to show. Underneath, well, who knows?’

‘I’ve always thought of myself as being rather open. Dan says I wear my heart on my sleeve. Always have done. Pretty much what you see is what you get, I’m afraid. Straightforward old me.’

‘But you’re not exactly straightforward, are you? As you’ve just told me.’

She was staring at me again, but this time she made me feel uncomfortable, as though there was some hidden meaning behind her words, and it bothered me somehow. It just felt, I don’t know, maybe not quite right. ‘All of that is so far back in the past I tend to forget it ever happened. And I never talk about it, not with anyone. I can’t believe I’ve been boring you with it. I suppose I thought it might help for you to know that you weren’t alone, that I could understand the concept . . .’

‘Concept?’

‘Of depression.’

‘Oh yes, my depression. Of course it does. I knew there was something about you that I could connect with. You’re a very warm and caring person, aren’t you?’

‘Golly. I don’t know. I suppose I’d like to think so. Wouldn’t we all?’

She made a sound like a derisory snort. ‘Some more than others, believe me.’ And then she gave me a rather enigmatic smile, and I sensed the shadow of some deep hurt, a feeling that she was emotionally damaged in some way. I didn’t really know what to make of her. On the one hand she displayed an almost disarming honesty and openness and yet, on the other, I still felt I knew hardly anything about her at all. Maybe it was the wine clouding my judgement, but she seemed lost. I placed my hand over hers. ‘Listen, Ellie. I do know what it’s like. More than you think. Any time you want to talk . . . Please, you must feel able to . . . I’m only down the road after all.’

‘Oh God . . .’ now her tears really did start to flow. ‘Sorry . . .’ she choked. ‘I don’t know about you, but I find sympathy really hard to deal with.’ She pulled a tissue from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes.
‘I’m much better when people are being foul.’

I smiled. ‘I know what you mean. But would you like to talk about it?’

She nodded. ‘You don’t mind?’

‘Of course I don’t mind. I’d be flattered that you felt able to confide in me.’

‘Perhaps it helps that I hardly know you.’

‘Perhaps . . .’

‘I’ve run away.’

I felt my eyebrows shoot skywards, but I didn’t say anything.

‘From London, from a man . . . obviously. That’s why I came here, to this lovely village, where I don’t know anyone. I found the barn on a property website and I just thought it looked perfect and I could move in straight away and I’d be safe. So I did a runner.’

‘Golly. How dramatic.’

‘My boyfriend, live in lover, whatever you’d like to call him . . . bastard . . . was violent. I thought he was going to kill me.’ She pulled her hair up from her shoulders and I could see faint blueish-purple marks around her neck. ‘See these – three weeks ago and you can still see where his bloody hands were.’

‘Oh Ellie, poor you. But why?’

‘Drink. And drugs. I refused to give him money and so he thought he’d show me what he thought of me. Luckily I managed to fight him off and call the police. But the worst of it is that they didn’t catch him.
I’m just praying that he’ll fall down drunk somewhere and they’ll realize who he is . . . That, or – God I can’t believe I’m saying this – he’ll find another victim.’

I must have looked horrified because she quickly shook her head and said, ‘No, no, I promise I didn’t mean that. But I just want it all to be over, to get my life back. I can’t tell my friends where I am – my family, anyone – just in case they let it slip. It’s a complete nightmare . . . like . . . well like something you’d read in a bloody novel, not in real life. I just can’t believe it’s happening to someone like me.’

‘Neither can I. Sorry, but I’m finding it hard to believe.’

‘I know. It’s just ghastly. But you must promise me, please, not to breathe a word of any of this to anyone – even your husband. Will you promise me?’

‘Well, of course I will. I won’t tell a soul.’

‘Then you must say it.’

‘Say it?’

‘Say “I swear, Ellie, not to tell a soul”.’

It felt vaguely childish but as she seemed so intense I repeated, ‘I
swear that I won’t tell a soul.’

‘Good. Thanks. He’s very clever, you see – when he’s sober. He’ll trick people into telling them the smallest thing they know. He can be very charming, obviously, which is why I fell for him in the first place. He’ll no doubt say he’s really worried about me, that he loves me, he wants to look after me . . . God only knows what he’ll come up with but I’m sure it’ll be something good. So I do feel pretty scared, to be honest. And I am so glad I’ve got you up the road.’

‘Anything I can do, anything at all . . . Just call me, pop in, whatever.’ I grasped her hand and gave it a giant squeeze. ‘Poor you. It all just sounds terrible.’

‘Thanks. You are very sweet.’ Ellie slipped her hand away from mine and stood up. ‘I’m sorry. I’d love to talk some more, but I’d better take that stupid dog for a walk seeing as she’s been shut up for so long.’ I drained my glass and realized that we hadn’t talked about her garden or next week’s tour. It all seemed rather trivial compared to what she’d just told me. But I reasoned a little trip might cheer her up a bit.

‘I almost forgot. I was thinking, if you were interested, I’ve got a spare ticket for a garden tour next week. Sally was coming, but now she can’t. We see three gardens, have a good lunch, these things are usually quite jolly in a gentle way, and if you were thinking about picking up some ideas, you might get inspired . . . next Tuesday?’

‘Tuesday?’

‘I could collect you, around nine.’

‘I’d love to. How kind of you.’ We passed through her sitting room on the way to the front door. She picked up the paperback copy of
Rebecca
and held the book towards me. ‘Here, scribble your number down for me on the inside cover. I’ll need to double check my diary, but if you don’t hear from me, then assume “yes please”.’

I handed the book back to her after I’d written both my numbers down. ‘I loved it . . . I remember the brooding Maxim and the evil Mrs Danvers.’

‘Danny . . .’ she corrected me.

‘Yes. Danny. Hmm, it’s a while since I’ve read it. I always felt so sorry for the poor nameless wife, terrified she’s losing her sanity, treated like a child by her husband, haunted by the ghastly Rebecca –’

‘I
adored
Rebecca, not giving a damn what anyone thought of her, attacking life, taking what she wanted, all that sexual power . . .’

I was taken aback. ‘Maybe that explains its enduring qualities, the way we can either relate to one or the other. I must admit I’d always thought Rebecca was evil incarnate.’

‘Really?’ She smiled a rather knowing little smile and I couldn’t shake off a really uncanny feeling. Perhaps I’d had too much wine. ‘I think I might leave the van here, and walk back, if you don’t mind. I’m probably way over the limit. Maybe Dan’ll pop up later to get it for me.’

‘No problem.’

As I walked back down the lane I resolved to do whatever I could to help my new friend. I couldn’t begin to imagine how scared she must be feeling, and she was putting on such a brave front.

She picked me up. That was nice of her. I have to say when I opened the door I didn’t have a clue who she was. She seemed familiar but I suppose as I hadn’t talked to her much at Sally’s lunch then I had no cause to put a name to her face. I only really remembered the husband, Dan. Anyway, it was kind of her to stop for me. I suppose if you were to ask me to describe my first impressions, I’d call her typical of her type, if you know what I mean. Country housewife, a bit worn around the edges, cosy and comfortable. Not going to set the world alight, but nice. Nice with a capital N. My mother always used to say that you should never use the word nice. It’s a sort of shorthand, isn’t it, when you say, ‘They’re terribly nice.’? Like, God, they’re really dull and straight. But she was. Just Nice. Nondescript, but pleasant. Ordinary, without wishing to sound rude. Just goes to show, doesn’t it? One would never have guessed . . .

But then, thinking about it, she did hint that she’d had problems. Depression, possibly even suicidal thoughts. I was a bit uncomfortable the way she disclosed all that. Seemed a bit early in our friendship, but then I wasn’t going to tell her to shut up or anything because you don’t know what people might do, do you? So I decided I’d just be sympathetic. I got the impression she needed a good ear and I felt I could easily provide it. I really did have the best of intentions towards her, I honestly did. Her husband, Dan, came up later to collect her van. He apologized for disturbing me, but I said I didn’t mind, was glad of the company. He had a quick glass of wine and said, ‘Don’t tell, or I’ll be in trouble.’ We gossiped about the locals, from memory. I found out who their closest friends were,
useful stuff like that. I thought I might talk to her friends, to see if she was okay, just in case she really did need help.