A Voice in the Distance (8 page)

'No . . .'

Aurora shakes the plastic keys and gurgles happily.

'That can't be easy,' Sophie says.

I hold out a teddy to Aurora and tickle her with it
under her chin. 'I thought the lithium was supposed to
keep him well.' I don't look at Sophie. 'He's been fine
ever since he started the medication two and a half years
ago. But now . . .' I tail off as Aurora attempts to grasp
the bear between her podgy hands.

'Are you worried about him?' Sophie asks.

'Yes – no – I don't know,' I flounder. 'He won't talk,
he won't tell me. I just don't understand how someone
can be so happy one week and then so miserable the
next. I know it's all about the chemicals in his brain but
surely we're more than just fluctuating chemicals . . .'

'Of course we are,' Sophie says. 'There is still so
much we don't understand about the brain.'

'Sometimes I think it's just him,' I say. 'I know this
sounds really mean, but sometimes I think that he could
control it if he wanted to, because we all have good days
and bad days, don't we?'

'Yes, but we don't all start throwing paint around
when we're having a good day and stay in bed when
we're having a bad day. We might feel like doing those
things' – Sophie smiles – 'but we don't. That, I suppose,
is the difference.'

Gradually the rest of the house comes to life. I play with
Aurora while Sophie goes off to get dressed. Rami soon
joins us and gives Aurora a second breakfast. I help
Maria peel the potatoes and baste the turkey. Rami and
Matias try and fix something on the living-room
computer. Flynn comes in, his cheeks pink from the
cold. Breakfast is drawn out over most of the morning
while the oven hums and slowly fills the kitchen with the
warm smell of roasting. We all crowd round while
Aurora opens the first of her presents. She chews
happily on the wrapping paper while Rami and Sophie
endeavour to assemble some kind of complicated toy.

We play Scrabble in front of the TV; Sophie tries to
distract Aurora from eating the Scrabble tiles with an
offering of further presents. Flynn sits slightly apart
from us all, leaning against the leg of a chair, knees
drawn up. He smiles and stretches out his leg to tickle
Aurora with his big toe. Finally, at three, we sit down to
lunch and pull crackers and drink plum wine. It is a
lovely, mellow day.

After lunch we assemble in the living room and
exchange presents. I hand Flynn his present from me –
a silver envelope containing tickets to
The Contenders
at
the National. It is a play Flynn mentioned wanting to see
last month. I get some books, a cashmere jumper and,
from Flynn, a pair of beautiful silver pendant earrings.

I kneel up to give him a kiss. 'Thank you. They're
beautiful!'

He smiles with a distant look in his eyes.

Maria thanks us for the gloves and Matias seems
pleased with the aftershave. Rami wraps the bright
multicoloured scarf around his neck and tells us it will
cheer him up on cold, grey mornings. To my great
relief, Sophie hasn't read
I Don't Know How She Does It
and laughs at the title. Aurora chews contentedly on the
ear of her talking teddy.

After all the presents are unwrapped and cooed over,
Flynn goes into the kitchen to make coffee. Maria
turns up the sound on the TV and Rami and I start
clearing up the mess of wrapping paper and coloured
ribbons.

'Hey, whose is this?' Rami suddenly asks, retrieving
an envelope from a swirl of reindeer paper and holding
it aloft. I recognize my silver envelope containing the
theatre tickets. My present to Flynn. The envelope is still
sealed, discarded, tossed in with the rest of the rubbish.

'It's mine,' I say quickly. Rami chucks it over and I
stuff it into my pocket.

Later in the evening, Sophie and Rami are trying to
organize a game of Pictionary, Matias is dosing off in his
armchair, and Flynn has disappeared on another walk.
Maria suddenly turns to me and says, '
Kulta
, you should
go and phone your mother.'

I glance at my watch, trying to work out what stage of
the proceedings Alan and his kids will have reached,
and say, 'OK, perhaps I'll give her a call now.'

'You can use the phone in our bedroom,' Maria says.
'It'll be quieter there.'

'No, it's OK, I've got my mobile,' I protest.

'Mobiles are expensive! Use our landline,' she insists.

I smile my thanks and go upstairs. In the quiet, cool
bedroom, I sit on the edge of the double bed and lift the
receiver.

'Darling!' Mum sounds overjoyed. I can hear the
television, along with a great deal of talking and laughing
in the background. 'I've been waiting to call all day
but didn't want to interrupt anything. Oh, we've missed
you so much. It hasn't been the same without you. My
little girl, all grown up. I've been thinking about you
non stop. Next year you and Flynn are coming here,
promise, OK? Alan cooked us an amazing lunch – roast
turkey, stuffing and all – can you believe it? The boys
actually offered to do the washing-up, and now they're
embroiled in an inter-galactic war. Are you having a
really good time?'

'Oh yeah, you know, it's been great . . .' I tail off.
Suddenly I'm finding it difficult to speak.

'Did you have a nice lunch?' Mum presses me. 'Who
cooked?'

'Flynn's mum. Yeah, it was lovely.' I stare hard at the
patterned pale blue wallpaper. Suddenly I'm overcome
by a dreadful feeling of homesickness. Why did I choose
to spend Christmas here? Flynn wouldn't have noticed
either way.

'Did you get anything nice?' Mum asks.

'Yes.' I dig my nails into the palm of my hand.
What
is the matter with you?
'I'll – I'll show you when I come
up.'

'I'm longing to see you tomorrow – we've got your
presents here, under the tree,' Mum says. 'You're
getting in at four-oh-five, aren't you?'

'Yes,' I say weakly. 'Will you come and fetch me?'

'Of course I will! I'll be waiting for you outside in the
car. Won't Flynn change his mind and come too?'

'No, he's got to go back to London and practise,' I say.

'Well, the boys are going home tomorrow so it will
just be the three of us,' Mum says. 'Nice and peaceful.
Can't wait, darling.'

'OK. See you tomorrow, then . . .' My voice falters.
'Bye.'

'Bye!'

I replace the receiver and stare at the framed photo
on the nightstand. The smiling little blond boy in the
paddling pool looks a lot like Flynn. It is an effort to
hold back the tears.

Another long meal stretches well into the evening. I feel
cut off, trapped inside my own air bubble. Everyone is in
high spirits except for Flynn, who scarcely even looks my
way. I finally manage to extract myself from the cheery
fug of the kitchen, leaving Flynn at the sink again. I
brush my teeth and strip down to my T-shirt and pants
and crawl into the squeaky camp-bed, aching with relief.
Dinner was a painful effort, having to act all cheery and
chatty despite the constant ache at the back of my
throat. I leave the bedside light on for Flynn and pull
the duvet over my head, wishing there was a way to shut
out the whole world.

Sometime later, teetering on the edge of consciousness,
I am aware of the bedroom door opening and
closing, the sound of shoes and jeans being kicked off,
then finally the squeak of springs and the weight on the
mattress beside me. I open my eyes in the sudden
darkness, waiting to see if Flynn will kiss me goodnight.
He doesn't. He doesn't even touch me. I close my eyes
again. The silver envelope is still in the pocket of my
denim skirt. Tomorrow I will throw it away.

I wake with the dawn chorus. Flynn's arm is slung across
me, a heavy weight over my chest. I get dressed quietly
and pad to the bathroom. The house sleeps. Even
Aurora isn't yet clamouring to be entertained. I take the
key from the kitchen drawer and let myself out of
the house. The village lane is lit by a cold, bluish dawn.
Despite my long black winter coat, the chill bites at my
skin. It has rained in the night – there are wet leaves and
slippery mud underfoot. I walk rapidly through the
village. I don't know where I'm going, I just know that I
need to walk, move, feel alive. Flynn has turned into an
empty shell. He barely seems aware of my existence. I
should never have come; he never wanted me to in the
first place. But at least I know that in a few hours I will
be catching the train to Manchester. The thought fills
me with a desperate kind of joy.

I walk till the sun is a cold white globe above the skyline.
Then I retrace my steps back to the village. My legs
are throbbing and I am finally warm by the time I reach
the cottage. I check my watch. Only two hours till my train.

Everyone looks at me in surprise. Breakfast is in full
swing – Rami eating cereal, Sophie feeding Aurora,
Matias buttering toast and Maria hovering with coffee.

'Well, hello!' Maria exclaims.

I collapse on the nearest stool, brushing tangled hair
out of my eyes. 'I felt like a walk,' I explain.

They glance behind me, at the still open kitchen
door. 'Where's Flynn?' Rami asks me.

'Oh – I went for a walk on my own,' I say, suddenly
flustered.

'Good thinking,' Sophie says. 'Come on, Rami, we
should take Aurora out after breakfast and try and work
off some of this food!'

'You'll have to wrap her up, it's freezing,' I say, gratefully
accepting a cup of coffee from Maria.

'Should somebody wake Flynn?' Matias asks.

I look at my watch. It is nearly ten o'clock. I doubt he
is sleeping – mooching more like. I put down my coffee.
'I'll go and get him.'

'Flynn!' I throw open the bedroom door. He is still
lying in bed, fast asleep, sunlight pouring through the
thin curtains. I hesitate, wondering whether to wake
him, then remember my train. 'Hey, sleepy-head.' I sit
down on the edge of the bed. Stroke his arm. It's not
often that I see him sleep. He looks younger somehow,
more vulnerable.

'Flynnie . . .' I give his arm a little shake. Bend down
and kiss his cheek. He looks strangely flushed and his
skin is hot and sweaty. I straighten up. 'Come on, wake
up!' I exclaim. 'We're all having breakfast and I've got
to leave in half an hour!'

Nothing. I stare down at him. His eyes are tightly
shut, his breathing loud and rasping. A cold hand
creeps up and squeezes my chest. I can hear my heart.

I grab him by the shoulders and shake him, hard.
'Flynn!'

His head rolls limply on the pillow. His eyes do not
open. His breathing stops for a moment and then starts
again, harsh and laboured. I leap away from the bed, a
scream building in my throat. As I stumble back, something
crunches under my feet. Blister packets, empty
blister packets, all over the carpet. I hurl myself out of
the bedroom door.

'Help! Call an ambulance! Help!' I scream at the top
of my voice.

Rami reaches me on the landing. He is trying to
restrain me, trying to pull me round to face him. 'Calm
down, calm down. What's happening?'

'No! No!' I yell. 'He's unconscious! Call an
ambulance!'

Rami grips me by the shoulders. 'Where? Where is
he?'

'In the bedroom – the study!' I scream. 'He's in
there!'

Rami lets go of me and runs along to the room. I
stumble in after him. Suddenly the small room is very
crowded. I can hear the sound of a baby crying.

'Oh God!' a woman's voice is moaning. 'Rami, he's
all right – he's all right, isn't he?'

I am on my hands and knees, scrabbling through my
coat pockets for my mobile phone. My hands are so
clammy that it slips from my grasp.

'Mum, Dad, it's all right, it's under control.' Rami is
trying to roll Flynn over onto his side, grunting with the
effort. 'Sophie – get them downstairs—'

I key in too many nines and have to find the clear
button and try again. Sophie is attempting to get Matias
and Maria out of the room. Maria has gone white.
Matias sounds panicked. 'What's he done? What's he
gone and done?'

'Rami needs space,' Sophie is saying desperately,
ushering them out. 'It's under control, but he needs
some space. Please come downstairs with me – we need
to open the door to the paramedics . . .'

'Emergency services. Which service do you require?'
comes the voice over the phone.

'Ambulance,' I say desperately.

'Just putting you through.'

'Emergency ambulance service. What's your name?'

I stutter in reply.

'Your telephone number?'

I give them the number from my mobile.

'Your address?'

'Eight Rose – uh – Rosewood Drive,' I stumble.
'Angmering, West Sussex.'

Rami has got Flynn into the recovery position and is
kneeling astride him on the bed, taking his pulse and
peering at the back of one of the empty blister packs.

'The ambulance is on its way,' the woman says.
'What's the problem?'

'He's taken an overdose.' My voice sounds weird, as if
I am being shaken. 'There are a lot of empty pill
packets. He's unconscious.'

'Is he breathing?'

'Yes, I – I think so. Rami, is he breathing?'

'Laboured,' Rami grunts.

I repeat this into the phone.

'Is he lying on his back or on his side?'

'He's – he's on his side, Rami's moved him—'

'The ambulance!' Rami shouts. 'Have they sent out
the ambulance?'

'Yes, it's on its way!' I yell back

'And are his airways clear?' the operator asks.

'Yes, I – I think so!'

'Can you read what's on the pill packets? Can you
tell me how many pills are missing and what it says
on the outside of the packets?' the operator continues.

I squat down and scrabble round on the floor, almost
dropping the phone. 'Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five,
forty – I mean thirty – and then there's two more – forty –
and it says fluox— I'll – I'll spell it . . .' My mouth feels as
if it has gone numb. I can hardly get the words out.