‘She needs more help than we can give her, Edward.’ Dad’s voice swells and crashes; Ed’s pushes it back.
‘She just needs more time, let’s see how the new prescription helps.’
‘My daughter doesn’t know what day it is half of the time, and no matter which drugs she’s on . . . Kerry doesn’t seem to be moving on. She needs more help than we can give her. She needs specialist care, maybe a hospital—’
‘You want her sectioned?!’
‘We’ve spoken to the doctor. She’s becoming irrational, Ed; if she was admitted into a hospital, she could be monitored. It might be the only way.’
The current takes hold of the conversation, my parents pushing, Ed pulling back as I’m swept away, drowning, no matter how hard I kick.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Ed
I crack open a beer and as Nessa’s face appears on my phone, I sigh and ignore it. I’m not in the mood for a deconstruction of her visit to Jen tonight. Hailey’s bed creaks above me and I take another sip of my beer. I’ve taken away the book that she was reading and her tablet as punishment for swearing. I tried to make amends before she went to sleep, but instead she turned her back on me. Oscar was more amenable, enjoying the extra attention he received instead of his sister. We read through his Lego Batman comic, talked about his day at summer club, and he told me a secret. Hailey has been in trouble there.
‘Two times, Daddy.’ He held up his fingers. ‘One. Two. Promise you won’t tell her I told you?’
‘Promise, now snuggle down.’ I tucked him in and began to leave the room.
‘When is Mummy coming back?’ he asked, just as I was switching off the light.
‘I told you, while Mummy was helping Grandpa, she ate something that made her really poorly in Greece and she has to stay in a special hospital.’
‘But that was ages ago.’
‘Well, she’s getting better so she’ll be back before we know it.’
I go to turn the TV on but can’t find the controller. I start lifting cushions but it’s nowhere to be seen. I stand and start searching the shelves, moving pictures, bowls of potpourri that have lost their pourri. Anger builds up.
‘Fuck’s sake!’ I shout as my hand catches the frame of a photo of the four of us. Kerry had taken this photo. I hold it in my hand and slump back onto the sofa. I have my arm around Jen’s shoulders; her hand rests on my hand in my lap. Oscar is next to me, Hailey next to Jen, looking at each other as if they’re the most important thing in the world. My finger follows the outline of us all. Jen happy, sane, content. Hailey the same; all of her milk teeth are still in her mouth, neat and white. Oscar is slimmer; his face is still rounded but his tummy isn’t spilling over his shorts. And me. I still look the same. I think. I stand and walk towards the mirror above the fireplace and I’m shocked at what stares back at me. I’m thinner; flecks of grey are starting to emerge around my temples, the curls unruly and in need of a cut; the skin beneath my eyes is sagging.
Has it really been less than a year?
I replace the photo and sit back down, the controller poking my hip from beneath the arm of the sofa. I replay the conversation earlier . . .
She needs more help than we can give her.
Chapter Sixty-Four
Jennifer
‘Can we talk?’ I turn onto my side and stroke the hair away from Kerry’s face.
‘Sure . . . it’s not like I’m going anywhere.’ She coughs.
‘I know. The tablets aren’t working. They want to admit me into a hospital.’
‘I heard.’
‘If I go in, I may never come back out.’
I think about my family: weekends made up of driving to see their sick mother. I picture Hailey’s face, telling her friend that she can’t go to their birthday party because she has other ‘plans’. I think of Oscar, scared and worried at the doors with codes and patients shouting out.
‘You don’t know it will be like that. You might only be there a little while.’
‘I might be there for ever.’
I walk towards the window and open it, letting a blast of air blow the hair from my face.
‘I don’t want Ed and the kids to have to look after me, visit me. I want to let them get on with their lives.’
Kerry sits up and leans on the bed as I say the words. ‘What do you mean, Jen?’ There is worry in her voice.
‘I mean I have the power to let them be free. I can let them live their lives without this person I have become.’
‘No, Jen. I died so you could live.’
I throw up my hands. ‘You call this living? Sleeping half the day away, not knowing what day of the week it is? Not being able to live my life with my husband and my children?’
‘It won’t come to that, Jen. You just need to find the right tablets, the right help.’
‘What do you think will happen if they can’t find the right combination and I get sectioned? Do you think I’ll ever be able to have control over my life again?’
‘So what exactly are you saying?’
‘You know what I’m saying . . . Maybe they’d be better off without me?’ I pull open a notepad, click the pen and begin writing.
‘Um . . . what are you doing?’ Kerry asks, peering over my shoulder.
‘What does it look like? I’m writing down how I would, um, you know I mean . . . if I don’t get better and I have to—’
‘Overdose? Jen, you’re not serious!’
‘No, you’re right. What if I’m sick, or worse, what if I shit myself? Not quite the final image I want to leave Ed with. Gosh, there aren’t that many choices, are there? Oh! I could always . . .’ My blue pen scratches out my suggestion, cutting into the paper.
‘Jen, this is completely out of the question.’
‘You’re right. I want to leave the least amount of bother for Ed when I go, he’ll have enough to deal with, you have a point. He’ll never get the stains out of the carpet.’
What am I doing? This has got to stop. I turn to Kerry, who is wearing her most superior ‘you’re acting like a child’ look. I sigh, put my hands up in surrender and close the book.
‘OK, OK . . . you’re right.’ I take a deep breath. I need a plan. ‘Right. I’m going to stop the tablets so at least I’m in control of my faculties. I’m going to ignore you. I’m going to give my family good memories of me so that if I don’t get better . . . those will be the things they will be thinking of, not some woman forcing down protein shakes through a straw and talking to air. I’m going to up my sessions with Dr Popescu; I’m going to need his help even more and he offered twice weekly sessions if I wanted them. But I need your help too. You have to help me. You can’t interrupt conversations, you can’t shout for my attention, OK? You have to help me make them think I’m better so I can give them what they need. Can you do that?’
‘If you stop taking those vile tablets, we have a deal.’
We shake hands and for the first time in months, I don’t wake with my dead sister shivering beside me.