A Voice in the Distance

'Describe your surroundings to me,' she says. 'I want to be able to close my eyes and see you.'

  I cannot reply.

  'Flynn?' she says softly. 'I'm looking at the moon. Can you see it too?'

  I drag my sleeve over my cheeks and heave for breath.

  'Oh, Flynn,' Jennah says.

  There is another long silence during which I try unsuccessfully to stem the tears.

  'D'you want to call me back later?' Jennah asks.

  'No,' I gasp.

  'OK. Well then, shall I tell you about my day?'

  ''Kay.'

  Jennah launches into a description of her train journey up to Manchester, complete with wrong platforms and missing tickets. I don't know if she is elaborating just for my benefit, but I am grateful. I sit there, the phone glued to my ear, clawing at my cheeks, trying to pull myself together, a task not made any easier by the sound of her voice.

  'Jennah?' I say eventually.

  'Yes?'

  'Are you going to come and see me?'

  'Of course I am. I'm going back to the flat on Saturday night, and so I'll pack up some of your stuff and take the train down on Sunday.'

  Sunday is six days away. I won't survive.

  'Jennah?'

  'Yes?'

  'I'm really sorry!'

  'You don't need to be sorry. Just concentrate on getting better. That's all I want, Flynn. Try your hardest, my love, just try.'

  * * *

  Back in my bedroom, I turn off the light and lie on the bed, staring up at my small barred window. If I close one eye slightly, I think I can make out the moon.

  Chapter Ten

  JENNAH

  My mother is doing my head in. I crumbled as soon as I saw her and ended up telling her all about Flynn and the bipolar disorder on our way back in the car. When we got home, Alan went out to give us some space, and Mum and I had dinner together and talked well into the night. For once she just listened. I could see the shock growing in her eyes, as well as the look of hurt that I had kept so much from her. We went to bed in the small hours of the morning and I slept for a very long time. When I awoke, it was three in the afternoon and almost dark again. But Mum looked as if she hadn't been to bed at all. 'Just tell me one thing,' she said to me, her voice low and scared. 'Has he ever been violent?'

  I wasn't sure how to answer that question. I didn't know if she meant violent towards me or just violent in general. My hesitation was a big mistake.

  She hasn't left the topic alone since. 'Bipolar disorder is a very serious illness,' she informs me the following morning as she sits in front of the computer in her little makeshift office at the end of the kitchen. 'It says here that bipolar disorder tends to run in families, and there is strong evidence that it is inherited.'

  God, she is so transparent.

  'I'm not exactly trying to get pregnant,' I point out acidly, pouring cereal into a bowl.

  'And it says here that people with bipolar disorder will spend as much as a quarter of their adult lives in hospital, and a quarter of their adult lives disabled,' Mum continues, ignoring me. 'Have you done any research on the Internet? Some of these facts are really quite sobering.'

  I say nothing and pour milk forcefully into my bowl, sloshing some onto the table.

  'And did you know that one in five patients with bipolar disorder actually succeeds in committing suicide?' Mum asks, in a voice that would be more suited to describing the weather.

  'Oh for God's sake!' I slap my spoon down onto the table.

  Mum looks over at me, all bewildered and surprised. 'I just thought you might be interested to know, Jennah. There seem to be an awful lot of websites about it. Shall I print some of this out for you?'

  'No!' I exclaim. 'God, what's the matter with you?'

  She gives me a hurt look. 'I just want you to be aware. For example, did you know that children of a parent with bipolar have a thirty per cent chance of inheriting the disorder?'

  'Fine!' I snap. 'What are you trying to say? That I should just break up with him?'

  Mum gives me another of her pained looks, making me feel like the unreasonable child that I am. 'No,' she says quietly. 'I just want you to know what you're letting yourself in for.'

  'Well, thank you very much, now I know,' I retort. 'Can we talk about something else?'

  'Of course we can. But, Jennah, I really think you should do some research into this. There are a lot of very good sites. This one here has a question and answer section. Shall I print it out for you?'

  'Mum, no!'

  'Look, this is interesting,' she goes on as if she hasn't heard me. 'It says here that lithium has a response rate of only forty to fifty per cent.'

  I take a deep breath to counteract the urge to scream. 'Mum, please! Just stop it!'

  'Jennah, I just—'

  'Yes, yes, I know.' I cut her off at the pass. 'You just want me to be aware. Well, guess what, I am aware! I do have the Internet at home, you know!'

  'Yes, but have you really thought about it? Have you really thought about how this could affect the whole of your future, the rest of your life?'

  'Mum, as far as I know, Flynn hasn't proposed!'

  'Yes, but can't you see the path you're on? You're living together now; it's not just some piddly school thing. And the longer you're in this relationship, the harder it's going to be to extract yourself, especially if he has suicidal tendencies—'

  'Oh my God!' I want to tear out my hair. I've tried shouting, I wonder if crying would help. 'So what do you want me to do?'

  'I just want you to think!'

  'I have thought!' I shout. 'I've thought and thought. Basically, what it boils down to is that I have only two options. To stay with him or to break up with him. Do you agree?'

  'Jennah, you really—'

  'Can you see a third option?' I shout. 'What's the third option then? Tell me, tell me!'

  'Jennah, stop being so belligerent.' Mum is pulling her downtrodden-mother act now. I want to hit her.

  I try to lower my voice a fraction. 'Mum, really, I would love to hear a third option. Please tell me what it is.'

  'Well, I don't really think there is one.'

  'Thank you,' I say angrily. 'So out of the two available options – stay with him or break up with him – which one do you think I should choose?'

  'Well, if you put it like that' – Mum refuses to be mollified – 'I suppose I would say you have to think of yourself, of your future, of what you want. If someday you might want a family—'

  'So basically you're saying I should break up with him.'

  'Well, not necessarily.' She tries to back out.

  'So you're saying I should stay with him then?' I goad her.

  'No!' she exclaims vehemently. 'Not unless you're prepared to live like this – with suicide attempts and hospitalizations and the risk of having children with the same illness and going through the whole cycle again with them.'

  I knead my head in exasperation. 'Mum, stop beating about the bush. You're basically saying I should break up with him, aren't you?'

  Mum gives me a long look. 'I just want my daughter to be happy,' she says quietly. 'I want her to have a partner who is stable and able to hold down a job and provide her with the emotional security and companionship that I never had.'

  I drop my head onto my folded arms. In her own infuriating way, she has given me her answer.

  On Saturday I take the train back to London, armed with a sheaf of Internet printouts, courtesy of my mother. I figured it was easier to just take them than to argue. When I get back to the flat and unpack my rucksack, I stuff the wad of pages into a drawer without even glancing at them. It's not as if I haven't looked up this stuff already. But I refuse to reduce my relationship with Flynn to a list of statistics and start playing devil's advocate. We just don't know what is going to happen in the future, no matter what the statisticians have to say.

  I grab a holdall from the top of the wardrobe and start gathering some of Flynn's things together. I
can't find any clean jeans so I put a wash on. I find myself packing the bag with the care of a mother sending her child to holiday camp. I look around the flat to see what else he might need. Some books, his iPod, his mobile phone charger, the Rachmaninov score he is working on at the moment. Rami has already been by to pick up the laptop and the keyboard. I feel as if I should bake – something homemade, something personal. Only problem is, I'm not much of a cook. I pick up the phone and dial Harry's number to ask if he's got a recipe. He says he'll drive round and bring me his cookbook. While I am waiting for him to arrive, I pop out to the supermarket and do a quick shop.

  Harry arrives while I am putting the food away. He gives me a hug and says, 'Happy New Year.'

  'Well, it can only get better,' I say with a wry smile.

  I leaf through Harry's cookbook and choose a recipe for brownies that doesn't look too labour-intensive. Harry tells me about his Christmas with Kate and her family while I crack eggs into a bowl. He then asks me more about Flynn's hospitalization and I fill him in. He looks grave. 'So I guess the lithium's just not working for him any more.'

  'Well, according to my mother, lithium only works for forty per cent of sufferers,' I reply.

  Harry winces. 'You told her?'

  'Had to.'

  'What was the reaction?'

  'Not good. She's as worried as hell. Tried to scare me off with the hundred and one most depressing facts about bipolar disorder. I think she's terrified he's going to turn out to be a violent bastard like my father was.'

  Harry gives me a look. 'And what do you think?'

  'I don't know.' For a moment I am at a loss. 'I don't want to break up with him. I love him. It seems so stupid, to finally find someone who you really care about, only to let them go.' I look at him. 'Would you break up with Kate if she had a mental illness?'

  Harry hesitates. 'I would like to think not,' he says. 'But the reality – the reality could be different. I mean, living with the illness on a day-to-day basis . . .' He tapers off. 'But God, Jen, if you broke up with him—' He stops suddenly.

  'What?' I demand, sifting flour into a bowl.

  Harry looks uneasy. 'He would – well, it would be hard on him, that's all.'

  'It would be hard on me too,' I point out.

  'Yeah, but Flynn's – you know – artistic temperament and all that.'

  'I'm not going to break up with him,' I say. 'I don't want to break up with him. I love him. That's all that really matters.'

  Harry looks relieved. 'Yeah. You two will find a way through all this, I'm sure.'

  The following afternoon, after an hour's train ride and a fifteen-minute taxi ride, I arrive outside the huge white-pillared hospital and walk up the gravel driveway. At the reception desk I am asked to sign in, then I'm given a sticky label to wear. I sit on a posh upholstered sofa in a pleasant waiting room overlooking the lawns. The receptionist makes a phone call, and a few minutes later a middle-aged guy with a goatee and an earring comes in.

  'Hi, I'm Ash,' he says. 'You're here to see Flynn Laukonen?'

  'Yes.' I stand up quickly.

  'OK, well, I can take you up, although I should warn you that Flynn's not very well at the moment.'

  I stare at him. What the hell does he mean?

  'Can I see him?' I ask, my heart beginning to pound.

  'Of course,' Ash replies. He turns and leads me up several staircases and along various corridors. The doors at the end of each corridor are thick and heavy and opened with a swipe card.

  At the end of a particularly noisy corridor, Ash stops in a doorway. 'Flynn, your friend is here to see you.' He has to shout to make himself heard. The sound of the television, music and laughter erupt from within. Ash steps back. 'Go on through,' he says to me. 'I'll be in the nurses' station at the end of the corridor if you need to have a word.'

  Ash departs and I enter the room. It is a small common room with low-slung chairs, a coffee table, a threadbare brown carpet and a television. Half a dozen people are sitting around, some on the chairs, others on the floor. One woman is a punk, with heavily tattooed arms and piercings on various parts of her face. One guy has acne-ridden skin and gazes out from behind a curtain of greasy hair. Flynn is sitting on the arm of the sofa, strumming a guitar. I stand in shock.

  'Hey!' The greasy-haired boy is the first to notice me. 'Are you an agency nurse? What's your name?'

  Flynn looks up and practically drops his guitar. 'Holy shit!' he exclaims loudly.

  I can feel my heart.

  'What? What's going on? Who the hell is she?' Punk Lady asks, turning from the television.

  Flynn throws down the guitar and leaps up. 'Hey, look, everyone, this is Jennah! The wonderful, beautiful, incredibly talented Jennah!' He grabs me by the waist and swings me around. 'I told you she'd come, didn't I? Didn't I? You didn't believe me, Stu, you arsehole.' He lets go of me abruptly and starts to pummel the boy with the hair.

  I stumble back, my face hot with embarrassment.

  'Hey, you weren't lying, Piano Boy!' someone shouts. 'She is pretty!'

  I feel like I'm going to pass out. I try and back out of the door but Flynn grabs me by the arm. 'Jennah, Jennah, meet Stu and Nina and Roz and Naz and Dino!'

  'Hi.' I give them a quick smile and try to drag Flynn out into the corridor after me, but he resists, strongly. 'Wait, wait, where are you going? We want to show you what we're doing! Can you guess what we're doing? Can you? Can you?' The colour is high in his cheeks. His eyes are alight.

  'Flynn,' I whisper desperately. 'Let's just go somewhere quiet where we can talk . . .'

  He ignores me and drags me back into the room by my arm. 'OK, Jennah, sit down, sit down. Stu, get off that bloody chair, you oaf, and let her sit down.' He grabs the guitar. 'OK. Ready? Ready? Naz, are you paying attention?' He clicks his fingers repeatedly in front of the poor girl's face, then begins to strum the guitar. There are a few embarrassed titters from the others, but Flynn stares them down and counts them in. People start singing. Oh, dear God. Someone is playing the recorder. Another has some kind of African drum. Long Hair and Punk Lady are doing a two-part harmony in diminished fifths. I feel like I'm in some kind of shock. I am gripped by a frantic desire to burst into wild fits of laughter.

  'Noooo!' Flynn suddenly throws down the guitar, making everyone jump. 'Nina, you were meant to go up a third on that last chord – and then, Dino, you come in with ta-da-da-da on the second beat of the last bar! Never mind – now Jennah's here we can have a real soprano for the middle section.'

  I get up. 'That was really cool, guys. Thanks for the entertainment.' I smile politely and walk rapidly out of the room.

  I head along the corridor looking for the nurses' station, my heart racing. I hear a door crash open behind me and the sound of running footsteps charging up behind, and I instinctively shrink against the wall to let the person past. But it's Flynn, grabbing me by the shoulders, whirling me round to face him. 'Jen! Jen! You've gotta come back, we need you for the three-part harmony!' He is flushed and sweaty and his eyes are wild.

  I struggle to free myself from his grasp. 'Let go of me, Flynn. I mean it. Let go of me! I am not going back in there!'

  'Stop being silly! Why are you shy? You're a much better singer than any of those others!'

  'Flynn, I mean it! I said no!'

  'Hey there, what's going on?' A woman is walking briskly down the corridor towards us. 'Flynn, who is this? Aren't you going to introduce us? Why don't you take your hands off her for a minute?'

  'Sue, Sue, this is my girlfriend, Jennah, the one I was telling you about.'

  Sue flashes me a quick smile and takes hold of Flynn's wrists, pulling his hands firmly away from my shoulders. 'People don't like being grabbed like that, Flynn. Nice to meet you, Jennah. I'm Sue, one of the nurses here. Have you had far to come?'

  'London.' My breathing is ragged. I can't believe it has taken a complete stranger to rescue me from my boyfriend. And I can't believe Flynn is behaving like this. Hav
e the doctors here changed his medication?

  'Well, the two of you probably want some time to talk. Flynn, why don't you take Jennah down to your room?'

  'OK!'

  As I move to follow him, Sue points to a thin red cord hanging from the wall. 'Just pull one of these if you need some help,' she says.

  I nod, too shocked to reply. Flynn has already disappeared into a room further down. When I come in, he is sitting cross-legged on an unmade bed, jiggling his legs up and down and grinning.

  'This is your bedroom?' I say. 'It's pretty decent. I've brought a whole suitcase of your stuff but I left it in the other room. D'you want me to go and get it?'

  Flynn pulls himself up to a kneeling position and bounces up and down on the mattress. 'No, stay, stay, stay!' he shouts.

  I close the bedroom door and sit down at the end of the bed, my heart still going berserk. 'You're really scaring me, Flynn.'

  'I'm just happy to see you! I'm just happy to see you!' he exclaims at the top of his voice. The mattress continues to rock beneath me. I grab Flynn's arms and attempt to hold him still. 'Shh,' I say. 'Come on, just calm down a bit.'

  He continues to bounce. His cheeks are mottled with exertion and there is a demonic look in his eyes. 'What's happened to you?' I ask softly. 'Have they stopped your lithium?'

  'No, I'm just full of energy. I'm just full of energy.'

  'Please don't say everything twice,' I beg.

  'I'm not, I'm not.'

  'Yes, you are, Flynn. Surely you can hear it?'

  'I can't hear anything. I can't hear anything.'

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath. The desire just to get up and walk out is overwhelming.

  'Listen to me,' I say slowly. 'You're getting manic again. You need to try and calm yourself down.'

  'I will. I will.'

  'Try and stop bouncing then.'

  'OK, OK.' He suddenly leaps off the bed, almost giving me a heart attack. 'Look what Rami bought me!'

  I gaze over in despair. 'Oh, lovely.'

  It is a small portable stereo. Flynn kneels down in front of it, adjusting the controls. Tchaikovsky suddenly blares out of the speakers, making me gasp. Swan Lake. Oh, great.