A Note of Madness

  Rami had been on the phone for the last twenty minutes. ‘Are you sure it’s necessary?’ he kept on asking.

  Sprawled out on the sofa, arm behind his head, Flynn gazed at Chris Tarrant waving a cheque to his sweating contestant and tried to catch snippets of Rami’s conversation with Dr Stefan. The prescription lay on the kitchen table. He’d had to give Dr Stefan permission to discuss his condition with Rami and now Rami was going on about the benefits of sodium valproate versus carbamazipine versus lamotrigine . . . For some reason he seemed thrown by the lithium.

  Rami finally got off the phone, came back in and sat down next to Flynn’s feet, running his hands through his hair in a gesture that Flynn had not seen since Rami’s days at medical school.

  ‘Which European city hosted the 1992 Olympic Games?’ Flynn asked him.

  ‘I dunno – Madrid?’ Rami gazed unseeingly at the television screen. ‘Well, Doctor Stefan seems pretty certain that lithium is the right drug for you, so perhaps you’d better give it a try—’

  ‘It can’t be Madrid, that’s not one of the options.’

  ‘I don’t know then, but Flynn, listen—’

  ‘It’s Barcelona, I’m sure it’s Barcelona. Oh no, the stupid woman’s going to go for Berlin. It isn’t Berlin!’

  ‘Flynn, just listen a minute, will you?’

  Flynn’s smile faded. ‘I am listening, but it isn’t Berlin.’

  ‘Did Doctor Stefan mention possible side-effects?’

  ‘Yeah, feeling sick and feeling tired.’

  ‘Well hopefully it won’t be too bad but with all medication there are side-effects and the important thing is that you persevere. Doctor Stefan can always lower your dose if you’re feeling bad but you have to give the drugs a chance – this kind of thing can take several weeks, even months, to have an effect, so you’ll need to be patient.’

  ‘Why were you asking Doctor Stefan about those other medications? What’s wrong with lithium?’

  Rami appeared to hesitate fractionally. ‘It’s – it’s a powerful drug. It can be difficult to get the dosage just right and you’ll need to go for regular blood tests to check the lithium levels in your blood. The therapeutic level is often precariously close to the toxic level and the side-effects can be pretty lousy to start with.’

  ‘What if it doesn’t work?’

  ‘Then he’ll try you on something else. There are other mood-stabilizers, not just lithium.’

  ‘What if the other stuff doesn’t work? What if nothing works?’ It was an effort to keep his voice steady.

  ‘There are lots of different medications out there. Sometimes it’s a question of trial and error. You try one thing, then you try another. You lower the dose or increase the dose or you try different combinations. But lithium works for most people, Flynn. I’m hopeful it will for you.’

  ‘What if it’s not bipolar disorder? What if it’s something else? What if it isn’t an illness at all? What if it’s just me?’

  ‘Doctor Stefan knows what he’s talking about, Flynn. It fits. To be honest, bipolar was something that crossed my mind too.’

  Flynn glared angrily at his brother. ‘That’s stupid. I’m never manic.’

  A small smile touched Rami’s lips. ‘Not now you’re not. But you can get pretty hyped up. You’re just not aware of it. According to Harry, you stay up all night composing, you go running for miles and miles, you practise for days on end—’

  ‘That’s just energetic and inspired!’ Flynn protested.

  ‘Well, you’re more energetic and more inspired at times than most people. Put it that way.’

  ‘So I am mad.’

  Rami seemed to hesitate for a moment, then his face broke into a smile and he ruffled his brother’s hair. ‘Mad as a hatter,’ he said. ‘Always have been.’

  And so he started taking lithium, that warm evening in May, at his brother’s house in Watford, sitting on the edge of the bath with a tooth-glass in his hand, gazing down at the white pill nestling in his palm. He was supposed to have been playing in a high-profile concert, was supposed to have been out celebrating with his friends, was supposed to be a student in London and out partying every night. But instead here he was, diagnosed with a mental illness, taking pills to try to regain his sanity, and normality, as he knew it, had disappeared.

  Flynn watched the last blob of butter melt on his toast and steadied his head on his hand. He was aware of Rami and Sophie watching him covertly across the table but could not bring himself to take a bite or even think of an excuse to get out of the kitchen. Day five of the lithium diet and things had not got any better. His face had a heavy-lidded, puffy look of resigned exhaustion and the sight of food turned his stomach. He wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed.

  ‘Just try and eat half of it,’ Rami was saying. ‘Half a slice of toast is not going to make you throw up.’

  Flynn shook his head faintly, struggling to keep his eyes open.

  ‘When are you going back to see Doctor Stefan?’ Rami asked.

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘What d’you mean, you don’t know? You must have made an appointment with him!’

  Flynn rubbed his face. ‘Just leave me alone, Rami.’

  ‘Why don’t we all go for a walk?’ Sophie chipped in brightly. ‘It’s a beautiful day!’

  He went to the park with them because he did not have anything better to do. The sun was high in the sky, filling the air with a bright, white light. It was supposed to be summer now and there were boys in shorts sailing boats on the lake, little girls in summer dresses pushing dollies in prams, and pregnant mums in flip-flops waddling after toddlers playing in the sand.

  Sophie, holding Rami’s hand and swinging his arm exuberantly, suggested they have an ice cream. Rami resembled an American tourist in his khaki shorts and stripy T-shirt with his sunglasses hanging off his collar, carefree and smiling. Flynn could only think how he was spoiling their rare day off together and wished he could just disappear.

  He felt cold despite his thick jumper and could not stop shivering. He was a mess: everything about his dishevelled, drugged, unhappy appearance was an embarrassment; he was a misfit and an eyesore in this whole happy-clappy scene. Rami and Sophie only wanted him to lighten up, smile occasionally, chat to them and try to act vaguely normal, tasks which seemed completely beyond his reach. An impenetrable fog seemed to encompass him, rendering even the simplest functions – standing, walking, looking, listening – unbearable. He craved the shelter of the car. Better still, the hideout of his bed – a bunker and a safe house against the harsh sun, the blue sky and the loud, bright-eyed people spilling out of everywhere, filling the park with their tangible, boisterous happiness.

  They sat down on a bench, watching the remote-controlled boats weaving around the ducks on the pond. ‘Shall I get you a hot drink to warm you up?’ Rami asked.

  Flynn shook his head. His shivering had intensified, but he could not tell whether he was feeling cold or just frightened by the sight of all these people, all this life, reinforcing the aching emptiness he felt inside. Rami got up to get coffees for himself and Sophie while Flynn, elbows on knees, continued to stare at the sunlight dancing on the water, the little wavelets lapping against their concrete shore. He flinched at the touch of a hand on his back.

  ‘It will get better, you know,’ Sophie said.

  He rubbed his cheek in embarrassment, jarred by her show of concern.

  ‘The first few days on a new drug are always horrid but the side-effects will have worn off by next week and then I’m sure you’ll begin to feel yourself again.’

  Flynn forced a wry smile. ‘That’s hard to imagine.’

  ‘You’ll be back at uni in no time and it will be as if none of this had ever happened.’

  Flynn continued to rub his face. He doubted that somehow.

  ‘I know Rami can be a bit of a pain sometimes,’ Sophie went on doggedly, ‘but he’s a good brother to have in a crisis. He’ll drag you to all the to
p doctors in the country until you feel better again. He won’t give up till you’re back to your usual, cheerful self . . .’ A pause. ‘He adores you, Flynn.’

  Two small boys were trying to fix a propeller on their motorboat with a piece of string. The younger one held it in place while the older one carefully tied the string into a single knot, his eyes narrowed in concentration. Flynn stared at them, biting his tongue against the threat of tears.

  At the end of the week he went for a blood test. Rami drove him to the hospital and sat with him in the waiting room, because he was likely to get lost just walking down a corridor. They had to wait for nearly an hour. Rami read the paper. Flynn stared at the top right-hand corner of a black square of lino. When his name was called, Rami had to nudge him.

  The nurse was talkative and irritating. She put the needle into his left arm but couldn’t get at the vein. She put the needle into his right arm with no success either. Then she made some joke about him not having any veins as she tried taking blood from the vein on the back of his hand. As the nurse inserted the needle, the dark red blood finally shot up the thin tube.

  This sucks, Flynn thought. This really sucks.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘HARRY CALLED AGAIN.’ Rami lowered his paper as Flynn walked through the door, dropping his rucksack to the floor and collapsing into the armchair. ‘That’s the third time this week,’ Rami added.

  Flynn let his head fall back and rubbed a hand over his damp, burning face. ‘It’s boiling outside!’

  ‘You’ve been here almost a month. He’s going to think I’m keeping you hostage. Perhaps you should call him back.’

  ‘It’s too hot. I don’t like it here when it’s hot. England’s supposed to be a cold country.’

  ‘Shut up about the weather for a minute and listen to me. Are you going to call him back?’

  Flynn sat up reluctantly and began untying his laces. ‘I don’t like speaking on the phone.’

  ‘Then go and see him. Jennah’s been trying to contact you too. Perhaps you should go back for a bit. Sounds like they’re missing you.’

  Flynn’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. ‘Don’t be stupid.’

  Rami sighed and folded his paper. ‘Flynn, it’s been nearly a month. You’re only seeing Doctor Stefan once a week now. Don’t you think it’s time you tried going back to uni?’

  Flynn felt his pulse quicken. ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t look at me like that. You know Sophie and I love having you here. And you can always come and stay whenever you want. But I can see you’re beginning to get bored. You have your own life – the Royal College, your music, your own flat, your friends . . . Don’t you miss all that?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you worried things are going to go back to how they were before?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Because they won’t, Flynn. You’re better now, you’re far more stable. You’re being treated for bipolar, you’re on medication, going to therapy. You don’t need to hide out here any more. I think you’re well enough to go back.’

  Flynn stared at him hotly, trying to come up with a reply that would not brand him in the role of clinging younger sibling. There was a silence.

  ‘Are you worried about your friends’ reactions?’

  Flynn flushed at his own transparency. ‘No.’

  ‘Harry and Jennah know about the bipolar, Flynn.’

  ‘What?’

  Rami cleared his throat, looking slightly uncomfortable. ‘You know that they called several times asking to speak to you. They’ve been very concerned about you, obviously. You were really unwell at that point, so I had to explain.’

  ‘You didn’t have to! You could have said I had glandular fever or – or something!’

  ‘I don’t think they would have bought that, not after the episode with the window. It’s better they know the truth.’

  Flynn ran his hands through his hair distractedly, mind reeling. ‘Jesus, Rami! They’ll think I’m mad! They’ll think – they’ll think—’

  ‘They’ll think you’ve been ill, which you have,’ Rami said quietly. ‘It’ll be all right.’

  They manoeuvred into an unlikely parking space, just metres from the front door, and sat in silence, engine still humming. ‘D’you want me to come in with you?’ Rami asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘OK, I’ll pick you up on Friday for your appointment with Doctor Stefan and you can come back and have dinner with us afterwards.’

  Flynn nodded, gnawing his thumbnail.

  Rami dug into his pocket and pulled out four crumpled £20 notes. ‘Here’s some cash to keep you going. Try at least to remember to eat.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Rami gave him a playful shove. ‘Sod off then!’

  The flat was empty. It was Sunday afternoon so Harry was probably out with Kate. Flynn didn’t know if he felt disappointed or relieved. But as he put the key in the lock and heard Rami drive off behind him, a wave of abandonment washed over him, like being left on the first day of school. He found himself walking aimlessly around the living room and kitchen, his heart thudding, quickly averting his eyes from the pile of letters addressed to him on the counter. He was afraid he was going to lose it again. The kitchen phone had been removed from the wall. He found it in the living room, in the place of the one he had broken. The closed piano lid looked dusty and the sight filled him with fear. He had no idea what to do. At Rami’s he hadn’t been doing anything much, but he couldn’t do ‘nothing much’ here. The end-of-year exams were only a few weeks away and the closed piano lid was like an accusing scream.

  Harry stopped dead in the doorway, keys dangling from his hand, his face breaking into a slow grin.

  ‘Blimey, it’s you!’

  Flynn smiled self-consciously. ‘Hi.’

  Brushing the hair from his eyes, Harry perched on the arm of the sofa, staring at Flynn and still grinning. ‘I didn’t know you were coming back today. This is a surprise! We were beginning to wonder whether we’d ever see you again! Rami hasn’t been volunteering much information.’

  Flynn could not think of anything to say.

  ‘Hey, it’s good to have you back. The flat’s been lonely without you and Aural’s been seriously dull without you there to wind up Peterson.’

  Flynn smiled faintly.

  ‘Are you OK now?’ Harry asked, suddenly looking uncomfortable.

  ‘Yeah.’

  Harry was examining the floor. ‘Rami mentioned that you . . . that you’d been ill . . . Anyway, I’m just sorry that I didn’t realize . . . a-and that I wasn’t any help.’ He glanced up awkwardly, then jumped up. ‘Hey, shall I call Jennah? She’s been asking me every day if I’ve heard from you.’

  ‘OK.’

  Harry bounded off into the kitchen. Flynn sat back and switched on the TV. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad to be back after all.

  He came out of his stupor but found himself in an area he couldn’t quite define. Had the despair lifted or had he simply entered a realm where every emotion was dulled and every painful thought was hijacked as it went through his mind? The torpor of depression had somehow lifted, but he wasn’t back in the real world yet. This seemed to be some kind of temporary stage, like that transition between sleep and wakefulness, where the emotions all ran together and thoughts had their own absurd logic. His mind felt sluggish yet anaesthetized and his thoughts had slowed but were still tinged with darkness. He had crawled out of the abyss, for now at least, but still had a way to go.

  At university, people he barely knew came up to ask him how he was feeling. No one mentioned the concert, not even Professor Kaiser. The Rach Three was abandoned and they went back over some old Mozart. Harry gave him a pile of photocopies. Lecturers were exceptionally nice to him. Everyone was talking about exams. Flynn continued taking his lithium. It was working, Dr Stefan said. Flynn no longer felt like running in the middle of the night; no longer tried to write operas. Nor did he want to knock himself out with alcohol and sleep all
day. He was able to go through the motions of being a normal student for the first time in ages. But he felt dead inside.

  BrainTeaser seemed to hold a new fascination. As dry and repetitive as it was, it allowed him a certain refuge from the jarring emotions of the soaps or the bolshie glitz of the pop-star wannabes. It permitted him to remain in his torpor, hypnotized by the scrambled letters . . . Flynn could not remember ever having watched so much TV before, apart from when there had been some big sporting event on perhaps, but since his stay with Rami he seemed incapable of doing much else. There seemed little point in practising now, not just some silly little Mozart pieces, neither was he particularly interested in reading through Harry’s huge pile of notes. Running was out of the question – his first day back at the Royal College had left him feeling utterly drained. Exhaustion pressed down on him like a powerful, invisible force and even sitting up had become an effort.

  On the phone, Rami kept assuring him that the exhaustion was a side-effect to the lithium which would soon wear off, but it was impossible to know where the depression ended and the lithium began. So much for the wonders of modern medicine. Rami kept insisting he had to give it time, but Flynn couldn’t help wondering if he would ever feel normal again. The feelings of panic and horror seemed to have dulled but he felt as if he were only barely existing. Everything had become an unbearable effort, even thinking, while Harry rushed around infuriatingly, bouncing from one activity to the next in a tireless whirl of energy. In the hour since his return he had managed to cook himself dinner, eat it while retelling anecdotes from his day, wash up humming to the radio, call Kate for twenty minutes and had now started cello practice in his bedroom. During this time, Flynn had remained glued to the sofa.

  BrainTeaser ended; a kids’ cartoon began. Flynn could not be bothered to lean forwards and pick up the remote from the coffee table.