The Breakdown(64)

‘I know. But they don’t bother me anymore, thanks

to the pills. I don’t even answer them now.’

Out of the corner of my eye I watch her spreading

mayonnaise on the bread, cutting the tomatoes and

slicing the cheese. ‘So how do you know they’re from him?’

‘I just do.’

The Breakdown





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She shakes her head in despair. ‘You know that there’s


no foundation for this fear of yours, don’t you? You’re worrying me, Cass. What about your job? Doesn’t school start again tomorrow?’

‘I’m not going back.’

She stops slicing. ‘For how long?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Are things really that bad?’

‘Worse.’

She assembles the sandwich and puts the plate in front of me. ‘Eat this, then we’ll talk.’

‘It might be better to wait until six o’clock.’

‘Why?’

‘Because the pills will have worn off by then and I might make more sense.’

She looks at me in disbelief. ‘Are you telling me that you spend all day like this? What on earth are you taking? Are they antidepressants?’

I shrug. ‘I think they’re more imagination suppressants.’

‘What does Matthew think about you taking them?’

‘He wasn’t too keen at first but he’s come round to the idea.’

She sits down next to me and picks up the plate,

offering me the sandwich, because I’ve made no move to take it. ‘Eat,’ she demands.

After I’ve eaten both halves, I tell her everything that’s happened over the last few weeks, about seeing the knife in the kitchen, about thinking there was someone in the garden, about barricading myself in the living room,





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about losing my car, about ordering a pram, about the things I keep ordering off the shopping channel, and when I get to the end I can see that she has no idea what to say because she can no longer pretend that I’m suffering from burnout.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she says, looking upset. ‘How does

Matthew feel about it all? I hope he’s being supportive.’

‘Yes, very. But maybe he wouldn’t be if he knew how hard it’s going to be for him in the future if I do have dementia, like Mum.’

‘You don’t have dementia.’ Her voice is firm, stern even.

‘I hope you’re right,’ I say, wishing I had her confidence.

She leaves soon after, promising to come back and

see me when she gets back from yet another business trip to New York.

‘You’re so lucky,’ I say wistfully on the doorstep. ‘I wish I could go away.’

‘Why don’t you come with me?’ she says impulsively.

‘I don’t think I’d be very good company.’

‘But it would do you a world of good! You could relax at the hotel while I’m at the conference and we could meet up in the evenings for dinner.’ She takes my hand, her eyes shining with excitement. ‘Please say yes, Cass, we’d have so much fun! And I’m taking a few days off after so we could spend those together.’

For one tiny moment, I feel as excited as her, I feel as if I could really do it. Then reality comes crashing in and I know that I’ll never be able to.

The Breakdown





245


‘I can’t,’ I say quietly.


She looks at me determinedly ‘You know very well

that there’s no such word.’

‘I’m sorry, Rachel, I really can’t. Another time,

maybe.’

I close the door behind her, feeling even more miserable than I usually do. Not so long ago, I would have jumped at the chance of a week in New York with Rachel. Now, the thought of getting on a plane, of

leaving the house even, is overwhelming.

Craving oblivion, I go to the kitchen and take another pill. It wipes me out so quickly that I only wake up when I hear Matthew calling my name.

‘Sorry,’ I mumble, mortified that he’s found me coma-tose on the sofa. ‘I must have fallen asleep.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Shall I make a start on dinner while you have a shower to wake yourself up?’

‘Good idea.’

Getting groggily to my feet, I go upstairs, have a cold shower, throw on some clothes and go back down to the kitchen.

‘You smell nice,’ he says, looking up from where he’s unloading the dishwasher.

‘Sorry I didn’t get round to doing that.’

‘It’s fine. But did you put the washing machine on? I need my white shirt for tomorrow.’

I turn quickly. ‘I’ll go and do it now.’

‘Having a lazy day, were we?’ he teases.

‘A bit,’ I admit.





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I go through to the utility room, sort the shirts from the rest of the laundry and load them into the machine.

But as I go to switch it on I find my fingers hovering uncertainly over the row of buttons trying to remember which ones to press because, frighteningly, it has gone from my mind.