Another Night, Another Day

  ‘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.

  26

  ‘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 pro
tective 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?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So actually, you were the most important person, as if you weren’t up to making the journey, then you weren’t obligated to make it.’

  ‘Er . . .’ Karen scrunches up her nose. ‘It’s difficult when you’ve got kids.’

  I bet Johnnie hasn’t got children, thinks Abby. ‘I’m sure lots of mums would do as Karen did,’ she says.

  ‘Of course,’ says Johnnie. ‘But it’s also important to learn to say no – even to children.’

  ‘I do find it hard,’ says Karen.

  ‘If we always say yes to everything, it’s exhausting, isn’t it?’

  Karen nods. ‘I have been awfully tired lately.’

  ‘Perhaps you need to put yourself first more often,’ says Lillie.

  ‘I don’t let my children get their way the whole time, though. Otherwise they’d be horribly spoilt.’

  I bet she’s a great mum, thinks Abby. She seems kind and generous, but I reckon she’s no fool.

  ‘Setting boundaries is a vital step in taking responsibility for yourself and your life,’ says Johnnie.

  Sounds like he’s reading from a textbook, thinks Abby, irritated. Just like the therapist I saw at college.

  ‘But surely it’s a good thing to help others,’ interjects Rita.

  ‘Sometimes I think we don’t help one another enough,’ says Tash.

  ‘Exactly,’ Abby mutters, hackles rising as she recalls how often people look away when she’s having trouble with Callum.

  ‘I’m always very grateful when people stop to help me.’ The silk of Rita’s sari rustles as she strokes her troublesome leg.

  Tash nods, bright-pink hair serving to emphasize the gesture. ‘If the world was full of everyone looking out for themselves, no one would ever lend Rita a hand to get on a bus.’

  Rita and Tash smile at one another, pleased to be in agreement.

  ‘Perhaps I wasn’t being clear,’ says Johnnie. ‘I’m not saying we shouldn’t help each other, not at all, and getting a response from someone if we’re kind to them can be very rewarding too.’

  Again Abby thinks of Callum. She’d love more response from him; often she craves it.

  Johnnie continues, ‘But putting other people first continually can be a sign we’re depressed. If we never say no, or our boundaries aren’t firm enough because we’re always doing things for others, including our children, what is the danger?’ He looks round at them all.

  ‘We end up not knowing who we are?’ says Lillie.

  ‘Precisely. We lose our sense of self.’

  Lillie nods. ‘I read somewhere it’s important for children to have boundaries so they learn about their mum’s needs, too.’

  Suddenly it strikes Abby. They’re talking about me! she thinks. Yet they sound so smug and judgemental. It’s one thing for Johnnie to be a know-all – he’s in charge – but to be lectured by Lillie is galling. Anyone who can spend that long getting ready each day clearly doesn’t have the kind of demands on them Karen and I do. Does she think I wouldn’t love to say no more often so I could spend time nurturing myself? I used to enjoy experimenting with my hair and dressing up before Callum was born. People would say what quirky style I had, tell me I had a great figure. When I was at college I used to dance, go clubbing, I was quite the hedonist. Imagine what would happen if I started acting more selfishly now – the speed at which my son operates, he could break a couple of TV screens in the time it takes to paint my toenails. And there’s already one parent being belligerent around the house; if I started saying no as much as Glenn does, all hell would break loose.

  ‘When you’re a mother it’s not always possible to put yourself first,’ she says tightly. ‘It sounds as if you’re saying there’s something wrong with Karen making her children a priority, or me wanting to get home to look after my son as soon as I can. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it at all.’

  ‘But you can’t look after anyone else properly until you can look after yourself,’ says Lillie. ‘You shouldn’t let others define you.’

  Abby’s anger rises. ‘It seems you’re telling Karen and me how to parent. You know my little boy can’t even say the word “no”? He understands it, but still, you haven’t a clue how difficult these things are with him. Just because he accepted those stickers you gave him on Saturday, Lillie, you think he’s always like that?’

  ‘No, Abby, please, I wasn’t—’

  ‘I’ve spent the last seven years putting my son first – I’m his mother, for fuck’s sake, and if I don’t, who else is going to? Not the bloody authorities, let me assure you.’

  Lillie’s mouth falls open, but Abby doesn’t care.

  ‘When you have a child, they’re like an extension of yourse
lf. They’re part of you. Unless you have kids, you can’t possibly know that.’ She looks pointedly at Johnnie, then Lillie.

  Lillie grips the seat of the sofa. Her face drains of colour.

  ‘It’s OK,’ says Rita, who is sitting on the adjacent armchair. She reaches over to squeeze Lillie’s arm and drops her voice. ‘She doesn’t know.’

  Know what? thinks Abby, as Colin jumps up and goes to crouch at Lillie’s side.

  ‘She doesn’t, Lil,’ he says.

  Oh God, thinks Abby, what have I said? But before she can ask, Lillie has leapt to her feet and run from the room, black rivers of mascara streaming down her face.

  27

  Michael sits down in the chair opposite Gillian. ‘My wife wants me to talk to you properly,’ he says.

  Gillian nods. There’s a silence, then she asks, ‘What about you, Michael, do you want to?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ He pauses. ‘Yes, I do want to. It’s just I’m not sure if I can.’

  Gillian clasps her hands together. ‘It’s difficult for you, Michael, I understand that. Sometimes the worst bit is getting started, then it becomes easier, as with a lot of things we’re afraid of.’

  Michael looks down at his cuticles. He sees a loose bit of skin that needs picking, but he stops himself. ‘I don’t know where to begin.’ He shrugs.

  ‘Well . . . How about you tell me about the circumstances that brought you in here?’

  The last few weeks were so awful, I can’t possibly unravel them into anything coherent, thinks Michael. He says nothing. He can hear the clock ticking on the wall.

  Eventually Gillian coughs. ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying, but before . . . you mentioned a shop . . . ?’

  It’s as if he’s been kicked in the gut, and next thing he knows, out the story spews. It still feels so raw it could be happening to him right there and then.

  *

  ‘Right. That’s me done,’ Michael says to Ali, clicking the padlock together to secure the grille across the window. He looks up at the Bloomin’ Hove sign.

  ‘Oh mate, I’m so sorry.’ His friend’s dark-brown eyes glisten with tears.