Blink(41)

The pharmacists had always shelled out his tablets like sweeties, no questions asked. There was no reason to believe it would be any different here in Nottingham, if I wanted to continue to submit his prescriptions.

I often wondered if the government wanted people like Andrew to just disappear from public view and quietly fade away in their own private, medicated bubble. At the time, I’d almost envied Andrew his invisible chemical shield. That buffer from the pain and trauma of the real world.

I could really do with a pill now.

I looked down at my fingers and saw that I’d bitten my nails so low that a couple of them were actually bleeding. This level of anxiety was no good. If I didn’t do something, it would get a hold of me and I’d find it difficult to function.

I unzipped the small compartment in my handbag and took a tablet to calm my frayed nerves. Just the one.

It was no shame to admit I needed help coping at the moment. Even the most sorted person needed a helping hand now and again. But I didn’t want it documented at the GP surgery, have gossipy clerical staff knowing all my business. I didn’t want anti-depressants. I’d heard all the horror stories about how easy it was to get hooked and become a zombie.

On the face of it, society seemed to be getting more open and tolerant towards mental illness, but privately, words like ‘nutter’ and ‘freak’ were still whispered behind the backs of those who suffered.

I knew for sure the stigma was still alive and well in the workplace. Anxiety or depression on a medical certificate was still widely regarded by some employers as skiving, and it was this hidden loathing that would always stop me seeking legitimate help.

I watched Evie, now half-heartedly slotting her bricks together. The savagery had gone from her play since Mum had left, but there was no denying she was far quieter than usual.

The pain of Evie’s suffering felt sharp, like fine needles sticking in my skin. I couldn’t bear to acknowledge she was so desperately unhappy. That hadn’t been the plan in moving here.

On a whim, I picked up my phone and fished out Tara’s letter from my handbag. I tapped in the number and waited. She picked up on the third ring.

‘I’m so happy you called me, I could cry,’ she gasped, and we laughed at her being so corny. Within five minutes, the years had melted away and we were just us again.

I told her about my bad day.

‘You know, Toni, we’ve been through enough that things like disagreements at work really don’t mean anything. Just ignore your bitch boss.’

It was good advice . . . when I was feeling this brave.

I tried to discuss her illness, the multiple sclerosis.

‘Don’t want to talk about it,’ she said firmly. ‘This call is about you and Evie, I want to know all about your fresh start.’

So I told her all about our crappy house and how Mum was driving me up the wall and how I was just making such a mess of everything and we laughed some more. Twenty minutes later, I finished the call and felt like I’d been on a spa break after all the stuff I’d offloaded to Tara. My heart rate had steadied somewhat, I felt lighter inside and I was beginning to think a little more logically.

Evie was happy in her own little world for the time being, so I climbed the stairs and headed for my bedroom. If I could begin to make inroads into getting the house organised, it would give me a sense of achievement instead of the sense of foreboding I got every time I put the key in the door.

I opened the bedroom door and stared at the piles of bin bags in there. Immediately, I felt like turning round and going back downstairs, but I didn’t. That would get me precisely nowhere. I took a few steps forward, trying to cultivate a non-existent feeling of determination from somewhere. I stopped dead and looked all around me, my eyes scanning every inch of the floor space.

Something felt different about my bedroom.

It had looked just the same at first glance but . . . I don’t know, the air just felt different in here, somehow.

When I’d packed up our stuff, I’d tied the tops of the bin bags in loose knots. A few of them were untied now. The hairs on my arms prickled.

I walked over and peered inside. As far as I could tell, everything seemed to be there. It was difficult to determine amongst such chaos. All manner of stuff had spilled out when the bags were transported upstairs from the living room.

I shook my head, smiling ruefully at my imagination. Maybe this was how the descent into madness began. When you became utterly convinced of a certain reality and the people around you nodded and smiled indulgently but threw concerned glances at each other the second you turned away.

I closed the door and walked back downstairs, holding on to the handrail as the bottom step looked a bit fuzzy from up here.

I felt nothing but relief that Evie’s first week at school was finished. Hopefully, over the weekend, we’d be able to spend some time together, and once Evie felt more relaxed, I would gently broach the subject of school again. I felt sure I could coax her to reveal what was troubling her. The first few weeks in any new situation were bound to be difficult, everyone knew that. Evie was no exception and I was probably worrying too much.

That was my trouble: I worried too much about everything.

Just as I picked up my barely touched crime novel to read while Evie played, the phone began to ring.

I snatched up the cordless handset. ‘Hello?’

‘Mrs Cotter? Harriet Watson here, from St Saviour’s. I’m just calling to discuss how Evie’s first week went at school.’