'What are you talking about?'
'You were horrible to me!' Jennah shouts, her face on fire. 'Even though I was dying with embarrassment, you were going on and on, laughing at me, making me out to be some kind of neurotic bitch, grossly exaggerating everything!'
'Hey,' I protest. 'But that was funny—'
'Only to you! That's what you're like when you're manic! You're only aware of your own feelings, never of others'! Everyone was embarrassed, I was practically in tears, and you just kept on and on and on!' Her anger frightens me. 'You were so wrapped up in yourself you didn't even notice when I ran out on dinner, and it was Harry who had to come after me!'
'I thought – I thought you'd gone to the loo or something—'
'No you didn't!' Jennah yells. 'You didn't think anything. Because the only person you care about when you're manic is you!'
I stare at her. For a moment it feels like she hates me.
She sits down on the end of the bed. Suddenly she looks exhausted. 'I'm so tired, Flynn. I'm tired of the ups and the downs and the hospitalizations and the lies . . . You don't know what it was like, seeing you in that hospital bed, wondering whether you would ever wake up, wondering which would be worse – for you to be brain-damaged or for you to be dead!' She bites her lip and her eyes fill up. 'I can't take this any more!'
I feel my heart beat faster. 'OK, OK,' I say quickly. 'I'll go back on the lithium if it means so much to you.'
'It's not only that, Flynn. I need to know that I can trust you, that you're going to be straight with me, that you're not going to try and take me for a fool. I need to trust you to talk to me about things like the side-effects – and not just to Sophie because she's a doctor—'
'But she's a neurologist,' I say. 'I thought she might be able to help me.'
'But just because I'm not a doctor doesn't mean you can't talk to me too! I have a right to be involved, Flynn. Because I care about you, because I worry about you, and because I too have to put up with a lot of the shit stuff.'
I go over to the end of the bed and sit down beside her. 'I know you do,' I say, taking her hands in mine. 'I know you do and I'm sorry. I promise, I really promise I'll be straight with you from now on. Please, please trust me again.'
She puts her arms around me. 'I love you, you fool. I just want you to be well and happy. And lithium keeps you well, Flynn. You know it does.'
That evening I intend to start taking my lithium again. I really do. I stand in front of the bathroom sink, the small white pill held between my finger and thumb. I look at it and think how tomorrow I will be feeling normal again. The white-hot energy will have left my muscles and my hands will feel twitchy and trembly as soon as I sit down at the piano. And then another thought occurs to me. The Queen Charlotte. No way would I have won that competition if I'd still been taking the meds. And in two months' time there is another competition, the Leeds International, even bigger than the last. Without the lithium I have a chance of winning it, I know I do. Winning major competitions straight out of university is crucial if you are to make a name for yourself on the concert circuit. And without the meds I can win them all, I really can. Suddenly I realize that Jennah isn't inside my head; she doesn't know. She just apes what the doctors say – You must keep taking your lithium, you must keep taking your lithium – because she thinks that because they are doctors they must be right. But only I know what I can and cannot achieve. At the end of the day, it's all in the mind – quite literally. I am sure I can control the bipolar disorder, I just have to figure out a way. I know there is a way, there must be a way. Winning the competition last night was effortless and fun. Playing like I am now, there is nothing I cannot accomplish, no title that is out of my reach. All I have to do to beat the bipolar is to exercise some powerful mind-control. I can do it, I can. And when I succeed, Jennah will be happy. She will be so happy to have a boyfriend who is the best concert pianist in the world and whose mind isn't slowed down by drugs. I'll make it work. I will.
Every evening I resume taking the three small white pills out of the blister packet. For the first few evenings Jennah hovers in the bathroom to check. But I slide them under my tongue and then spit them down the sink as I finish brushing my teeth. It is that easy. And the white-hot energy remains.
Finals pass in a crazy blur. I don't sleep much because I don't need to, and also because I find it hard to stay in one position for long. I spend most of the day cramming – as usual I have left it all till the last moment – and most of the night practising. Professor Kaiser has entered me for the Tchaikovsky competition. If I reach the finals – when I reach the finals – I get to fly out to Moscow. If I can win that one, my career will be launched. I have already started getting concert bookings for next year on the back of the Queen Charlotte, and Professor Kaiser has been acting as my agent.
Jennah, Harry and Kate organize study sessions together, but they seem reluctant to have me around, apparently because of my finger-tapping and kneejiggling. I know that Jennah is regularly checking the lithium in the drawer of the medicine cabinet, but as I systematically take out the pills every evening and wash them down the sink, she is not worried. The antidepressants stop me from going down like before, and the mania I control by myself. It's great. Gives me a real sense of power. Especially as I'm fooling everyone. Even Jennah. Of course, I will tell her eventually. But only when I have proven beyond all reasonable doubt that I can keep the bipolar under control. Professor Kaiser comments on a spectacular improvement in my playing. I only wonder why I didn't think of washing the pills down the sink before.
The feeling of release as I walk out of my last exam is tremendous. Results are still two months away but the sense of freedom is overpowering. I spin Jennah round and round until she begs me to stop. Harry and Kate join us and we are all laughing with relief, slapping each other on the back and yelling, 'No more lectures!' 'No more historical studies!' 'No more transcendental theory!' into the warm spring air. We rush home to shower and change.
The party is in a basement bar in Covent Garden. It is packed with finalists, a heaving mass of bodies and noise. Music pounds over the top of it all, glitter balls sparkle and fluorescent lights flash. The energy is palpable, the air hot and heavy with the smell of alcohol, cigarette smoke and perfume. Harry, taller than everyone else, shouts over people's heads and high-fives various mates. People I don't even recognize come up to congratulate me about the Queen Charlotte. I can't seem to stop grinning – normally a party like this would give me the heaves, but tonight I can't think of anywhere I would rather be than right here in this crowd, laughing, shouting, bursting with joy. Jennah, holding my hand, looks exquisite in a strappy black dress and heels. A single pearl on a silver necklace nestles against the curve of her collarbone and the earrings I gave her for Christmas sparkle against her hair. I am wearing chinos and a pale-blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, my hair spiked up, and I know we are getting noticed for being such a great-looking couple. After yelling with various people over the beat of the music until my voice is hoarse, I finally manage to manoeuvre Jennah over to the dance floor. She pretends to be reluctant, but I pull her firmly by the hand and we dance amidst the jostling, laughing, gyrating crowd. The music continues to pound, the beat vibrating through the soles of our shoes, and I pull her close to me, kissing her neck, her cheek, her mouth. She laughs and draws back to look at me, her eyes very bright.
'I guess this is it! We're finally grown-ups!' she yells in my ear.
'I know! What the hell are we going to do now?' I yell back.
'You're going to be famous and I'll be your groupie!' Jennah laughs.
'Let's go round the world!' I shout.
'You really will be going round the world! Next year you'll be on your concert tour!'
'Come with me!' I shout back. 'Promise me you'll come with me to every concert and competition?'
Jennah laughs. 'What about a job? I need to earn money!'
'No you don't!' I shout back. 'I'll sh
are my prize money with you! And there'll be a lot of it! We'll be rich!'
Jennah laughs and shakes her head in disbelief.
'You'll see!' I yell. 'You'll see! You'll see!'
We share a cab home with Harry and Kate at three in the morning. Jennah is walking barefoot and my shirt is damp with sweat. When we get out of the taxi, the birds are already singing. We wave goodbye to Harry and Kate, who are off on holiday together the very next day, and trip up the steps to our front door. Inside the flat, Jennah drops her shoes to the floor and limps into the living room, collapsing onto the sofa.
'Coffee?' I ask.
'Yes please.' She curls up against a cushion.
I head to the kitchen, hitting the flashing answerphone button as I exit the room. Pouring water into the kettle, I hear Rami's magnified voice wishing me good luck for the last exam. A long beep, followed by Jennah's mum wishing her the same thing. Another long beep. I take two mugs off the plate rack.
'Hello, this is a message for Flynn Laukonen from the Bridge Medical Surgery. You didn't turn up again for your blood test yesterday, and according to our records you've not been in since the twenty-eighth of March.' I drop the kettle into the sink. 'As I'm sure you know, it's very important that you have your lithium levels checked regularly to ensure . . .' I career into the living room and hit the off button with such force that the machine falls to the floor with a crash. I stare down at the broken machine, my heart pounding, breathing hard.
Jennah hasn't moved from the sofa. Perhaps she is asleep. Oh, please God, let her be asleep. I squat down and quietly start gathering up the broken pieces of machine.
Jennah pulls herself slowly to a sitting position, pushing her hair out of her eyes. She looks at me, sitting on the floor, surrounded by bits of broken answerphone. Her eyes are wide with shock.
'That was a mistake,' I hear myself say. My voice is shaking. 'They – they made a mistake. I did go for the blood test . . .'
Jennah is breathing hard. 'You liar. Oh, you liar. You never did start taking your lithium again, did you?'
My heart starts to pound. 'OK, Jennah, listen. I was going to tell you. Only it didn't seem like a very good idea just before the exams and—'
'That's why you've been so hyper recently! And I was worried sick that the lithium had stopped working!'
'I was going to tell you,' I say again. 'But – but I wanted to wait until I could show you that – that I didn't need it. And I don't need it, I don't—'
'No! No! No!' Jennah starts to shout. 'Not again! We can't have this conversation again!'
'Shh,' I say desperately. 'We'll wake the neighbours.'
'I don't care about the bloody neighbours!' Jennah yells. 'I care about the fact that you lied to me, again, after promising, promising you wouldn't lie to me any more!'
'I know, but I was going to tell you—'
'All that crap about being straight with me from now on! You were just laughing at me when you were saying it! You were just laughing at me behind my back, knowing full well you had no intention of going back on the lithium. You just thought I would never be able to find out so long as you took three tablets out of the packet every day!'
'It wasn't like that—'
'You must think I'm such an idiot! You must think you can lie to me about anything! What else have you lied about? What else have you been doing behind my back?' She has absolutely lost it. I have never seen her so angry. Her cheeks are crimson, her eyes flashing darts.
'Nothing, Jennah, I—'
'All that crap about me being your soul mate. All that crap about you being in love with me and—'
'It wasn't crap, Jennah, I do love you!'
'How can I believe you?' she yells. 'How am I ever supposed to believe anything you say to me ever again?'
'You can believe me. I only lied about this. I promise—'
'You promise?' Jennah scoffs. 'What the hell's that supposed to mean?'
'Just listen . . .' I try to approach her.
'No!' she shouts. 'Don't come near me! I don't want you near me!'
I stop. She puts her hands over her face and breathes deeply. 'OK, OK, now think . . .'
She is talking to herself. It frightens me. It's as if I am no longer present. I take a step forwards and touch her arm. 'Jennah . . .'
'No!' Her hand shoots out, pushing me away. 'I want you to leave me alone! It's my life too!'
I try and grasp her hands. 'Jennah . . .'
'Oh my God!' she shouts. 'You have got to give me space! Otherwise I'm the one who's going to go crazy!'
'OK, OK.' I step back quickly. 'I'm giving you space.'
She drops her hands. 'No, I need space.' Her voice drops suddenly. 'Real space.' She breathes deeply and her eyes meet mine.
'OK, let's sit down and talk about it,' I suggest.
'No,' Jennah says. 'We did that last time. You just fed me a lot of bullshit, told me what you thought I wanted to hear . . .' She screws her eyes up tight. 'I need a break. I need to actually be away from you.'
'You don't,' I say quickly. 'You don't. We just need to talk this through—'
'I need a break, Flynn!' Her eyes suddenly fill with tears. 'Don't you get it? I need to be apart from you for a while.'
I stare at her in horror. 'You're breaking up with me?'
'I don't know.' She looks stunned, exhausted. 'Yes, maybe that's what we need. Maybe we need to break up for a while.'
I glare at her in disbelief. 'For a while or for ever?' I challenge her furiously.
'I don't know, Flynn. But definitely for now.' She shakes her head, tears hanging on her lashes. 'I'm sorry.'
She turns and leaves the room, disappearing down the corridor towards the bedroom. I feel a cold wave of shock wash over me and for several moments I cannot move. Then my heart starts to thump as if it's about to explode and I realize I must do something, anything, to stop her from walking out of the flat. In the bedroom she has a suitcase open on the bed. Dawn is already streaming through the open curtains. She is emptying the cupboard of her clothes, not even bothering to take them off the hangers, just tossing them straight into the open suitcase.
'Jennah, stop.' I put my arm around her to try and restrain her. 'This is crazy.'
'Flynn,' she says, her voice shaking, 'I asked you not to touch me. Either you let me pack, or I'm calling Harry to come and fetch me.'
I step back. 'Don't call Harry,' I say quickly.
'Fine. Then let me pack.'
I move away from her and sit down on the edge of the bed. 'Jennah, I really think you're over-reacting. I don't think us breaking up is the answer.' I wish my voice would stop shaking.
She doesn't reply and starts attacking the drawers. Within minutes, the bedroom is empty of her clothes. She grabs her sports bag off the top of the wardrobe and disappears into the living room, then into the bathroom. When she returns, the bag is full.
'Where are you going to go?' I challenge her. 'It's barely even daylight!'
She doesn't answer. She zips up the suitcase, pulls on a pair of jeans over her party dress, and shoves on her trainers. Then she pulls out her mobile phone and dials a number. She orders a minicab and gives our address. She asks to be taken to Euston station. She is going home.
'Come on, this is silly . . .' I try and wrestle the mobile from her but she pushes me away. She snaps it shut and pulls on her jacket, taking her keys out of the pocket and laying them on the desk.
She stops and her eyes meet mine. 'I'm sorry, Flynn.' The anger has left her. A wave of sheer panic rushes through me.
'You've got to be kidding me.' I can hear my voice rising. 'You can't be breaking up with me!'
She picks up the bag and grasps the handle of the suitcase, pulling it along on its wheels. 'I've got to go, Flynn. They said the cab would be here in five minutes.'
'Jennah, please. Would you just listen . . . ?' I grab her arm, feeling a rush of heat in my eyes.
Her bottom lip quivers. 'I need you to let go of me, Flynn.
'
'Please don't, Jen!' I have started crying but I don't care.
She bites her lip hard. 'You're going to be OK,' she says. 'Go and stay with Rami, all right?'
'Jennah, please, I'm begging you!'
There is the sound of a car horn from the street outside. Jennah pulls away as a tear glances off, her cheek. 'Bye, Flynn.'
The front door clicks closed behind her. I can hear her wrestling with the suitcase on the stairs. Moments later the downstairs door bangs shut and there are voices in the street below. I get up off the sofa and rush over to the window. As I look down, I see the doors of the minicab slam closed. The engine starts, and the car glides down the street and out of sight.
I turn from the window and sink slowly to a sitting position against the wall. OK, OK, calm down, I tell myself. It's going to be all right. She's going to come back, isn't she? Except that she isn't. I am going to die, I realize. I am actually going to die. I put my hands over my face and start to sob. I feel like I am being slowly, carefully, ripped in two. I realize that this pain is worse than anything I could ever imagine. Worse than the deepest depression. I can hardly breathe with the strength of it. I feel sure that pain of this intensity cannot be sustained: any minute I will pass out. But I don't, and the pain keeps on growing, fresh waves of undiluted agony. I am sobbing so hard I can barely draw breath. My lungs feel as if they are ready to burst and the gasping, retching noises make me sound as if I am suffocating.
Fear courses through my veins. Fear and pain, in equal doses. She has to come back. She simply has to come back. I cannot live without her. I cannot, and I will not. So this is what they mean about dying of a broken heart. It is actually possible. I lie down on the carpet. I want to knock myself out; I really wish I could knock myself out. The sobs rack my body as if I am being brutally shaken. Every muscle aches with exhaustion and soon the carpet, my hands, my face, my shirtsleeves – everything is soaked.
I lift my head from my arms and look up at the room through a thick fog. She is not going to come back, I tell myself. You are going to live the rest of your life without her. You are not going to propose to her, you are not going to marry her, you are not going to have children with her, you are not going to grow old with her. Maybe you will never even see her again. You will never again hold her, never again stroke her cheek, never again smell her hair or feel her kiss. You should have really, really paid more attention when you made love to her last night, because it was your last time. You really should have savoured that last kiss at the party, just a few hours ago. Never again, never again. Never.