'Why not?'
'Don't know. Something about being sick. But they said they'd take the last tubes out tomorrow.'
He turns his head slightly on the pillow as a nurse approaches. 'Hello, this is my girlfriend, Jennah,' he says.
I stand up.
'It's fine, don't move,' the nurse says to me with a big smile. She turns to Flynn. 'I'm just going to take your blood pressure.'
I back away. 'I'd – I'd better go now. Rami's waiting for me downstairs.'
Flynn's smile fades. 'Will you come back tomorrow?'
'Yes, of course.' I raise my hand and wave goodbye. Then I turn and hurry out of the ward.
I reach the Ford in the freezing car park only to find it locked and Rami nowhere around.
'Bloody hell!' I exclaim, and suddenly find myself savagely kicking the door. I'm fighting with the handle, tears blinding me. I hear someone shout my name. I break into a run. I exit the car park and career down the street, the sobs threatening to choke me. I can hear the pounding of feet on the pavement behind me.
'Jennah, wait!'
I run blindly across the road and a car blares its horn. I head up a dark country lane, my sobbing breath exploding into the still night air.
'Jennah, for God's sake!' Rami is behind me. He catches me by the wrist and pulls me round. 'Stop, stop, calm down—'
'Let go of me!' I scream, struggling with all my might.
'Not until you calm down.' He has my wrist in a vicelike grip. I crumple to the ground, sobbing wildly. He squats down beside me. 'Jennah, what – what – tell me—'
'I hate him!' I scream.
'Who, Flynn?'
'Yes! I h-hate him! I wished he had died if that's what he wanted! I hate him!'
'I know,' Rami says.
'No, you d-don't!' I sob. 'I hate him! I don't love him! I hate him!'
'One can both love and hate someone, Jen.'
'I don't want to love him!' I start to cry really hard. 'I don't want to love him, Rami! I don't want to!'
'I know,' Rami says.
I put my hands over my face. 'I can't do this, I can't do this any more. It's too hard!'
Rami's strokes my back as I rock back and forth, sobbing into my hands. 'What am I supposed to do! I just don't know what to do! I try to help him, I t-try! But it doesn't make any difference! He still hates his life, he still wants to die!'
'He doesn't always want to die,' Rami says.
'But it's going to keep coming back! The depression's going to keep coming back! He'll try again. And what if he succeeds? What if next time he succeeds?' I burst into renewed sobs.
'He might not succeed,' Rami says. 'He might not even try again.'
'But what if he does?' I yell through my hands.
'Um, excuse me . . .' I hear a man's voice.
'She's all right,' Rami says. 'She's with me. She's my friend. She's just a bit upset.'
I feel a hand on my shoulder. 'Are you all right, miss?'
I drag my hands away from my face and look up into an unfamiliar bearded face. 'Do you know this man?' the stranger asks me.
'Y-yes,' I gasp.
'That's all right then.' He pats me on the shoulder. 'There's a hospital just down the road if you need help,' I hear him tell Rami.
'Thanks,' Rami replies.
I press my fingers against my wet cheeks and take a few shuddering breaths.
'I guess it doesn't look too good, me wrestling on the pavement with a screaming girl,' Rami says, a smile in his voice.
I sniff hard, the sobs beginning to die down.
'Here . . .' He presses some tissues into my hand.
I am suddenly aware of the cold and damp seeping into the seat of my jeans. I am freezing. I drag the tissues across my cheeks, blow my nose.
'I'm sorry,' I say quietly.
'You have nothing to be sorry about,' Rami says. 'Nothing. Do you understand?'
I nod, exhausted. Rami stands up and holds out his hand. 'Come on, let's go home,' he says.
Chapter Nine
FLYNN
The day after I come round, they transfer me out of the ICU and into a normal ward, where they keep me hooked up to a heart monitor. I sleep a lot even though the ward is really noisy and the nurses keep waking me up to take my blood pressure. After a few days, I am taken into a small room with two doctors and a social worker and asked a whole barrage of questions about the overdose. Later I find out I am being moved to another hospital. All the tubes are out and I'm bored out of my mind from lying in bed all day, but they say that I can't go home. The place I'm going to is a psychiatric hospital near Brighton, twelve miles away. I say, 'You've got to be joking,' and they reply, 'I'm afraid you don't have a choice.' Then Rami comes to speak to me and tells me it will be easier if I just go along with it. I try not to get too visibly upset because Rami looks exhausted. Anyway, this is all just stupid bureaucracy. I'll be able to slip away easily enough when I get to this new place. I am perfectly sure the NHS has better things to do than run after me.
A woman and a man come to pick me up around noon. They introduce themselves as Sue and Ash. Sue has multicoloured hair and Ash is as camp as they come. Sue drives and Ash gets into the back seat beside me. Rami and my parents are supposed to be meeting me at the new hospital with some of my clothes and stuff. As if they expect me to stay there! What a fuss.
When I arrive outside the formidable white-pillared stone building, set back from the winding country lane in acres of parkland, things don't exactly go to plan. I expected to find Rami and my parents waiting outside, ready to be persuaded to drive me home. Jennah and I would then catch the 16.23 from Angmering station and be back in London in time for dinner. But there is nobody waiting for me when I arrive and Ash doesn't leave my side.
I am taken into a sort of waiting room and I have to fill in lots of forms and hand over all my 'personal possessions'. I have nothing visible on me except for my mobile phone and my watch. But they ask for my belt as well, then my shoes. I am annoyed – it's going to be a pain trying to retrieve all this stuff once my parents arrive. When they insist on seeing the contents of my pockets, I feel my blood pressure begin to rise. They take the coins and the bunch of keys. They put it all in an envelope with my name. Then they make me follow them upstairs in my socks.
There is a heavy-duty fireproof door on the first landing, and Sue pulls out a card and swipes it through a slot and a buzzer sounds and the door is pushed open. I stop, but Ash, coming up close behind me, pushes me on through. As the door clicks shut behind us, I turn, looking back the way we came. Suddenly I can feel my heart.
'Why are these doors locked? This isn't a prison, for Christ's sake!'
'This way . . .' Ash's hand is on my shoulder. I shrug him off angrily.
Sue leads us down a long corridor, then up some more stairs, then through another card-operated door and down another corridor. There are lime-green doors down either side, most of them open or ajar. Music plays from one room, people sitting on a bed. Canned laughter from a TV. Someone comes careering down the corridor, shouting at the top of their voice. We squeeze aside. I am shown a kitchen, a communal room, a shower room, another kitchen. Then Sue stops outside a closed door and sifts through a large bunch of keys before unlocking it. A bedroom. Thin brown carpet, faded wallpaper. A window with bars over it, painted the same lime-green. A small bed. A small desk. A desk lamp, a chair.
'This is your room, Flynn. We'll bring your stuff up and then you can get settled. Doctor Rasheed is one of our resident psychiatrists and you have an appointment with her tomorrow morning at eleven o'clock. There is a timetable on your desk – there's a group meeting this afternoon at four o'clock, when you'll be introduced to the others.' She begins to move away.
'Wait,' I say desperately. 'Where are my brother and my parents? They were supposed to bring me my clothes and—'
'A suitcase has been left for you in reception,' Sue says. 'I'll get someone to bring it up. Your brother dropped it off earlier—'<
br />
'No, hold on, they were supposed to wait for me!' I can't believe what I'm hearing.
'Your brother said he'd be back with your parents to see you tomorrow once you'd settled in,' Sue says matter-of-factly.
'I'm not spending the night here! They were supposed to come and pick me up! Give me back my stuff. I'm leaving.'
Sue looks at me calmly. 'Flynn, you are being detained under section two of the nineteen eighty-four Mental Health Act. Until you're better, you'll be staying here.' She hands me some kind of leaflet. 'This outlines your rights. Have a read through it and if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask.'
The blood begins to pound in my ears. This can't be happening. I am being sectioned, locked up in a psychiatric hospital against my will, forced by law to remain here until I am deemed fit to return to general society. I stare at her, breathing hard. 'Is there a phone I can use?'
'There's a pay phone at the end of the hall,' Sue says. 'You'll need to ask for a phone card at the nurses' station.' She moves to the door. 'I'll go and see if I can find your suitcase now.'
I sit down on the edge of the sagging bed, trying not to panic. A cold film of sweat has broken out across my back. I stand up and look around me, a feeling of despair mounting in my throat. I leave the room and go down to a door marked NURSES' STATION, where Ash and some other people with name-badges stand about drinking coffee and listening to the radio. I ask for a phone card. It all takes ages. When I finally get to the pay phone and start dialling, my hands are shaking.
'Hello?'
'Rami, is that you?'
'Yeah, have you arrived?'
'Yes. What the hell's going on? Come and fetch me.'
'I can't, Flynn.' His voice is surprisingly firm.
'I'll just leave then. No one's going to keep me here against my will.' I am trying to keep my voice down, acutely aware of some of the other patients milling around curiously. I turn to face the wall.
'Flynn, listen to me. Give the place a chance. They have some very good psychiatrists and you need to be in a residential unit right now.'
I press my fist against my mouth and bite my knuckles to keep from screaming. 'I'll just walk out then,' I say raggedly. 'If you can't be fucking bothered to come and fetch me, I'll just walk home.'
'Flynn, don't do that. They'll just fetch you back. You're not well enough to be living on your own right now. Listen, you're in a good hospital. I have a feeling they are really going to be able to help you—'
I punch the wall. 'Bloody hell, Rami! Come and get me now!' I shout.
There are titters behind me.
'Put Dad on the phone!' I command.
There is a pause. I hear the sound of muffled talking in the background. Then Dad's voice. 'Flynn?'
'Dad, I'm not staying here—'
'Flynn, we love you very much but we want you to get better,' Dad says in a rush. 'We'll come and see you tomorrow, OK? I'm going to hand you back to Rami now.'
'Dad!' I yell.
Rami comes back on the line. 'It's going to be all right, Flynn. Just give the place a chance.'
'Put Jennah on the phone!'
'Jennah's not here, Flynn. She's gone to her mother's—'
I slam the receiver down with all my strength. My chest feels as if it's going to burst.
'Hey, dude, have a fag and chill!' someone says.
I knock the hand away, stride down the corridor and bang into my bedroom. I look wildly for a lock, and end up sitting on the floor with my back against the door. The sobs tear at my throat. Who would have thought forty pills wouldn't be enough?
I don't go to their 'group meeting'. Someone comes in and tries to persuade me but I keep my head in my arms until they go away. I don't go to dinner either. If I refuse to eat, they will be forced to release me. But the real reason is that I can't stop crying. I'm so tired. I'm so tired of everything. This is worse than being depressed. This is worse than anything imaginable.
After a while I pull myself up from the hard floor and crawl up onto the bed. Later, someone comes in and leaves a sandwich on a plate. At some point I fall asleep. The next thing I am aware of is being shaken awake by one of the nurses. She hands me three tablets and a plastic cup of water. Fucking lithium. I contemplate throwing the water in her face but then decide it is too much effort. I swallow the pills. I only wish I could swallow a couple of handfuls more.
'There's a bathroom just across the corridor. You need to get ready for bed now,' she says. 'Lights go off in twenty minutes.'
I glare at her. 'I think I'm old enough to go to bed when I want to,' I say acidly.
She shrugs as if to say, It's all the same to me, and leaves the room.
I lie back down and get under the duvet because I am cold. The bed smells rank. Sometime later someone comes in and switches off the light. My door is left ajar. There is a light on at the end of the corridor. I can hear laughter from the room next door. I get up and cross the corridor. Chatting and music waft out from the nurses' station. Someone calls out, 'Hey, Stu, what are you doing in Nina's bed?' followed by raucous laughter. I pee in the crappy bathroom with no lock, then go back to bed, kicking my door closed. Moments later it opens again. I pull the duvet over my head and try to sleep.
Two hours later I am ready to pull my hair out. I am hot and sweaty, the bed still smells and I am about as far from sleep as possible. I get up, pull on my jeans and leave my room. There is nowhere to go. I start to pace the dimly lit corridor. Someone is snoring. Someone else is singing. I start counting the lengths of the corridor. When I reach length twenty-four, Ash appears from the nurses' station and tells me I need to try to sleep. I ignore him and just keep on walking. When I reach length eighty-two, Sue comes out of the nurses' station and asks me if I want a sleeping pill. I ignore her too. I reach the hundreds before I start to lose count. I am seeing double. When I snag my toe in the carpet and sprawl onto the floor, I can't be bothered to get up. At some point I am dimly aware of being walked back to my bed.
The next day, after breakfast, I see the psychiatrist, a Dr Rasheed. She is a po-faced woman who spends the whole hour asking me about my childhood and writing lengthy notes. Afterwards I am forced to attend 'group' – a bunch of people from my 'unit' sitting around in the common room. There are six of us on this floor – a punk girl with a lot of body-piercing, a long-haired teenage boy, a girl with scars all down her arms, a guy who must be over twenty stone and a girl who is barely more than a skeleton. When I am asked to introduce myself, I say, 'I'm Flynn.' I am asked if I want to expand, I say, 'No.' The session consists primarily of everyone bitching about the rules, complaining about the food and demanding more cigarette-outings. I spend the time staring down at my feet.
'Visiting time' happens in the common room on the floor below. We sit on a small cluster of plastic chairs, trying to shut out all the other voices. Dad has difficulty meeting my eyes. Mum looks pale. Rami is all positive and full of brotherly cheer. I want to hit him. When I ask how long I have to be here for, he says he doesn't know. I start to swear at him, and Mum gets flustered. Dad excuses himself and walks out of the room. I leave soon after. I know Mum is going to cry, but I don't care, I honestly don't care. I hate them all.
That evening, after a disgusting dinner of bangers and mash, I screw up the courage – or perhaps it is simply the desperation – to call Jennah. I dial her mum's number, then sit down cross-legged, facing the wall.
When she comes on the line, she sounds uncertain, hesitant.
'Hey! Guess where I am?' I ask, my voice loud with false cheer.
'Rami told me. The Wellesley Hospital in Worthing. What's it like?'
'For a loony-bin it's actually quite decent,' I reply. 'I don't have Sky or an en-suite, and the menu isn't exactly à la carte, but you know . . .' I tail off.
There is a silence. 'Do you have your own room?' Jennah asks.
'Oh yeah, yeah. I have a lovely view of the sea from between the bars of my window.'
She doesn't l
augh. 'Have you started' – there is a pause as she searches for the right word – 'treatment?'
'Yeah, yeah. We had group therapy today. Tomorrow we'll probably have art therapy – maybe I'll draw you a house and a garden. I know, perhaps they'll teach us to make baskets! Isn't that why they call us basket cases?'
'Flynn, stop,' Jennah softly implores.
'And we'll probably have music therapy the day after. Maybe I'll get to play the tambourine. Or the triangle. I've always wanted to play the triangle!'
'Flynn—'
'No, I'm serious! I'll ask for some manuscript paper and see if I can write a composition for tambourine and triangle. Then I can post it off to you to hand in for my next composition assignment.'
'Flynn, listen—'
'Hold on, hold on! I'm making a note to myself now: Find fellow insane musician and start composing the Flynn Laukonen Sonata for Tambourine and Triangle.'
'Flynn—'
'And then, when they let me out, if they ever let me out, perhaps you could pull a few strings and organize for me and my tambourine buddy to give a recital. I'm not sure where though – how about the subway at Marble Arch tube? Nice and central, good acoustics—'
'What are the other people like?' Jennah cuts in, an edge to her voice. I notice she doesn't use the word patients. Clever Jennah. For a moment there you almost made me forget I was locked up in a mental institution.
'Round the bend, just like me,' I reply. 'I'm in excellent company. We'll be swapping suicide tips in no time at all!' I give a harsh laugh.
There is a silence.
'Flynn, I'm going to go.'
My heart skips a beat. 'Jennah – wait – don't—'
Silence.
'Jennah?' I shout without meaning to. My voice catches in my throat.
'I'm here.'
I close my eyes and rest my forehead against the wall. I can't speak.
'You're such a silly,' she says.
I hold my breath and press my hand against my eyes.
'I miss you so much, you know.'
I sink my teeth into the side of my thumb.
'Flynn, are you still there?'
'Mm.'