‘Alex?’ she began, reaching for his hand.
He wanted to snatch it back, but didn’t want to hurt her, and although his hand felt uncomfortable on the table he focused his energies on keeping it there.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked gently.
The indefinable soothing quality in his mother’s voice broke him, and he began to sob softly into his hands.
‘Oh my darling,’ his mother crooned, moving her chair next to his, and pulling him into her body to cradle his head against her as though he were just a small child.
The whole story tumbled out. By the end of it, Alex was pacing the kitchen, and his mother was watching him, horrified, tears in her own eyes.
‘Oh, Alex, why on earth have you kept this to yourself for so long?’
‘I didn’t want to burden you.’
As he said it he found that was partly it, but perhaps it was also that he had thought he could hide from it by not telling people. How ridiculous that suddenly seemed.
‘Alex, that’s crazy, we’re your family. We’re here to share your load; to help you.’
It was as though she knew what he was thinking – that he never wanted to see her crushed again like she was after the onset of Jamie’s schizophrenia. He wanted to protect her.
‘We go through good and bad together,’ she added firmly. ‘That’s the most important thing. Oh Amy, the poor thing. It’s just beyond words.’
‘I know.’ Alex sat down, feeling an enormous sense of relief at finally being able to talk things through with someone. He ran his hands across his face to try to stave off the exhaustion that seemed to hit him like a blow. He looked at his mother. ‘So, what should I do?’
Alex’s father was waiting by the door the next morning. He had told his mother he would get the train, but she’d insisted that his dad drive him, and wouldn’t brook any argument. He had given in, even though he wasn’t sure what he and his father would find to talk about on the long drive.
But, of course, this was his dad. He patted Alex’s back as they headed out the door, then for the entire journey proceeded to talk about whether he should sell his shares, whether they should unplug everything in the house before midnight on New Year’s Eve in case the Millennium bug struck… and that they should make sure all their files were backed up… and they should know exactly what was in their accounts… He was like a droning mosquito in Alex’s ear as he stared out the window, biting down the impulse to tell him to shut up – because they were never that impolite in their family.
It was less than an hour from their door to Amy’s. Geoff parked the car on the road, and said, ‘I’ll wait here for you. Doesn’t matter how long,’ and nodded towards the Sunday paper in the back.
‘Thanks,’ Alex replied, then got out and headed up the path.
At the door, he took a deep breath, lifted his hand and knocked.
It didn’t take long for Ray to answer.
‘Hello, Ray. I’m sorry just to turn up like this, but I wondered how Amy is doing.’
Alex was immediately encouraged as he spoke. He had expected Ray’s face to be dark with anger, but he seemed almost friendly.
‘Alex, hello. Amy’s doing… okay. She’s getting a little better every day.’
He made no move to invite Alex in, so Alex had to ask, ‘May I see her?’
Ray paused, stared down, took a breath, and looked up steadfastly into Alex’s eyes. ‘She’s asked me to let you know that she doesn’t want to see you at the moment. I’m sorry, pal. Just give her a bit of time, eh.’
Frustration expanded in Alex’s chest. ‘Look, Ray, I don’t want to be shut out. I want to support her.’
‘I know,’ he said, coming outside and closing the door behind him. ‘But I think the best way to do that at the moment is to give her some space.’
And then Alex lost it. ‘AMY,’ he yelled up towards the windows. ‘AMY, PLEASE, LET ME IN.’
‘Alex,’ Ray barked, his eyes going to the neighbours’ houses, ‘there’s no need…’
Alex ignored him. ‘AMY,’ he shouted, wandering across their front garden, shouting up to blank-faced windows. ‘I’LL KEEP ON SHOUTING TILL YOU LET ME IN.’
Ray lost his patience and marched up to Alex, grabbing his arm. ‘Listen, son,’ he hissed, ‘if you won’t go away and keep making a scene, I’ll call the police.’
Alex vaguely heard a car door slam as he pushed Ray away harshly and watched him stumble. Barely registering how shocked and angry Amy’s dad looked, he marched towards the front door, but before he could get there a pair of strong arms grabbed him from behind, hauling him back and holding him still.
‘Just stop and think for a minute, Al,’ his dad said. ‘Don’t make it any worse.’
Alex shrugged him off, but his words were registering, and the anger was passing into upset before he could hold on to it. Distress weakened him, and he put his hand up to his face as his eyes blurred, trying to stifle the sob.
‘Come on,’ his father said. Geoff turned around to Ray, who was still standing in the garden, looking grim. ‘I’m so sorry about everything, it’s just that Alex is very upset. I’m sure he and Amy can get in touch when a bit of time has passed.’
‘Why won’t you just let me see her?’ Alex implored Ray as his dad tried to drag him back to the car.
Ray looked at him sadly. ‘She doesn’t want to see you, mate,’ he said softly. And his face was guileless.
Alex closed his eyes, trying to get a grip on himself. He opened them and took one last beseeching look at the door and windows. They all stared back, impassive, empty, then he thought he saw a shadow pass behind one at the front and his heart gave a painful throb.
She must have heard him, he thought. If she wanted to, she would come out. Ray must be telling the truth.
He was glad he had written the letter now, though he’d hoped it wouldn’t be needed. He reached into his pocket and passed it to Ray. ‘Please,’ he said, ‘give her this.’
Ray looked at it, then at Alex, and nodded.
54
When her father had gone out through the door, Amy had walked quietly into the front room and listened; although she could have stood in the back garden and still heard Alex’s pleading voice.
But her father was right. She couldn’t face him.
When she had been in hospital, she’d thought it might be different when she left. When they had come home, she thought she might feel comforted by her childhood surrounds. She was sure her mother and father had been hoping this too.
But every day was getting a little worse. Each time she went to sleep she hoped that during the night she would be able somehow to escape what had happened, and wake up feeling a little better – and every time she woke up, as she came to consciousness a black cloud floated quickly down to smother her, so she had to leap out of bed and away from it just to avoid screaming.
She didn’t want to see anyone. She didn’t want to go anywhere. She didn’t want to eat. She didn’t want to wake up in the mornings.
A counsellor had been around to the house twice since they had got home. Both times she had talked to Amy through her locked bedroom door.
Her Christmas presents were still unopened. She had told her mum she’d open them when she felt a bit better. She knew she wouldn’t be able to summon up the effort to look thankful at the moment, however lovely they were.
Every day she stood in the shower for what seemed like hours. Although her shoulder was still strapped up, most of her bruises had evolved from garish purple to pastel greens and yellows. She was amazed at her body’s capacity to heal despite the predations of her mind.
She looked at the letter on her bed, and even though each time she read it she felt more lost, she picked it up again.
Amy,