From a Safe Distance Page 4

  He was frogmarched up there by two nursing assistants, who announced: “We found this unsavoury character lurking on the wards!” A cheer went up. But because of the impending work concerning Vee, he didn’t feel as if he was really retiring.

  The office had looked bare as he shut the door for the last time, but he knew that a fresh young doctor would be moving in before long. He wished whoever it was the best of luck; he had seen a lot of changes during his career, some of them not for the better. The textbook he had used when training, by Slater and Roth, had emphasised the dignity of patients and inculcated respect for them in their suffering. Nowadays, he felt, basic kindness was sometimes forgotten, replaced by reliance on medication.

  He brought the fat folder home again of course, along with three boxes of books from his shelves. Helen’s photo sat on the top of one box, smiling up at him as he took it to the car. One of the nurses carried the other boxes out for him, but at home, Helen wanted the whole lot put up in the attic office straight away. He was pretty out of breath when he’d done that. He was not as fit as he might have been. Helen had on more than one occasion suggested he go to the Well Man clinic, but he never seemed to get round to it.

  Helen had taken a few days off to coincide with Max’s retirement, but that day she was meeting a friend. All the same, as expected, she was desperate to know what he was up to.

  ‘It’s just that, well, I thought the work you were doing in the evening would stop once you finished at Porteblanche! What is that great fat folder, anyway?’ Helen pulled the bedroom curtains back rather more sharply than usual when she came in from the shower. ‘And I want to know what was in that envelope you’ve hidden somewhere!’

  ‘Oh, I will tell you darling,’ he replied, at once anxious and trying to appease.

  ‘And one more thing: I’m not letting anything get in the way of a holiday somewhere nice and warm. After all, psychiatrists retire a decade earlier than a lot of people, so my man of leisure should make the most of it.’ Helen put her hands on his shoulders, smiled and kissed him.

  ‘We’ll have to see what we can do then,’ he replied, looking into her eyes.

  Helen went on getting ready. She had been working at the Squaremile Centre for the disabled for ten years, mostly as Manager of Sycamore House; now she wanted to go part-time so that they could be together more, with Max retired and both their girls at university. It was quiet each time Grace and Anna went away and it took some getting used to. Helen thought Max had earned a proper break too; at the same time, she feared that the fat folder might represent competition against a holiday, and was determined to find out what it was.

  Max refused to be drawn; he was not about to embark on a lengthy explanation when Helen was going out.

  ‘When you get back.’

  ‘Owa. Can’t you give me something to go on? Only if you’re going to spend more time on that than on me, I think it’s only fair you tell me about it.’ She sat on the bed next to him, wrapped in her white robe, pretending to sulk. He took her hand and thought for a moment. She was looking at a bruise on her knee, while her freshly washed, neat black hair was slowly cascading over her face.

  ‘Come back to bed.’

  ‘I can’t. I’m meeting Sally, remember?’

  He watched Helen as she finished dressing. She looked at herself in the full-length mirror, turning and smoothing her clothes over her slim figure. He felt proud. He lay back on the bed, wanting to put off showering, wanting Helen. But he also knew he had to pick the right moment to ask for her help – and talk about Vee.

  The next morning Helen seemed to be in a bad mood. She said she didn’t want him to come with her to Howcester to get the groceries, thank you. The coating of snow was practically gone. She could manage, she said. So off she went, muttering and turning every small movement into a major event. Meanwhile, he sat in the living room, flicking through the holiday brochures Helen had picked up the day before, egged on, no doubt, by her friend Sally. He wondered why she was so huffy. Then the phone rang. It was Jim. Max remembered having scribbled his home number on the card he’d given him at the funeral. The young man had been to see his sister’s grave, and wanted a quick chat.

  ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you, Jim – where are your sister’s ashes buried?’

  ‘In St. Peter’s, Howcester, with her father. Oh, and the inquest is on March 4th – but no doubt you’ll get a letter.’

  ‘Oh yes, thanks. By the way, Jim, I’ve decided to read the book. And I’m going to talk to Helen.’ There was a loud clattering noise. ‘Oh! that’s the post. Hang on … ’ There were a couple of cards. It explained Helen’s mood. It was February 10th, their anniversary! ‘Jim, I’m going to have to go now.’

  ‘One last thing, Max: even though you and I have not worked together, I know your reputation. Social services will miss your contribution. Happy retirement!’

  He’d better do something about this. They tended to ignore Valentine’s Day because it was so close, but it meant doing something! She’d be back before long.

  When Helen opened the front door with a large number of bags, Max came downstairs from the attic and pretended he’d forgotten the date to start with. He stalled. Next he tried to embrace her, but she had “all this shopping to put away”. Then the florist’s van turned up not a moment too soon, and he let her answer the door as if he couldn’t be bothered.

  ‘Oh, Max, you old devil! They’re lovely. Come here!’

  ‘Is Madame free zis evening?’

  ‘Pourquoi?’

  ‘Parce que I ‘ave booked a tebell at ze Franch restaurant, Lisette’s, for ett o’clock.’

  ‘I might be.’ She pretended to start sulking again, but couldn’t keep it up. ‘Would you like this?’ She went over to the utility room and, reaching behind the door, pulled out the heavy country jacket, still in its polythene cover, that he had admired recently in a shop window. ‘Try it on!’

  ‘Oh, I’ll try it on all right!’ He chased her up the stairs and she shrieked in mock alarm.

  They lay naked on the bed after making love. He looked at their reflection in the mirror opposite while playing about with their feet. It reminded him of how they used to be before the girls came along. Helen was staring at the ceiling; he noticed her cheek move.

  ‘What are you smiling at, beautiful lady?’

  ‘Oh, I was just thinking about when we first met.’

  ‘On that bateau mouche on the Seine. Quite romantic, I s’pose.’

  ‘I don’t know if it was a bateau mouche, a vedette or a navette – I never really worked out the difference. But a boat of some sort, anyway. You were with your parents. You came over to ask me something, thinking I was French! When I didn’t understand your best efforts – and I had you going there, didn’t I, for a while! –’ she laughed, ‘you were embarrassed to discover that I was in fact from Edinburgh!’

  He kissed her shoulder. ‘It was a long way to go to find what was already at home.’

  ‘Your parents; am I right in thinking that it was their first time abroad, ever?’

  ‘You are. But I was worried that they were here in Howcester and I was so far away. I tried for two years to get a post down here, as you know, then when I did … It was as if I’d gone to Edinburgh just to meet you, pick you up and then take you away.

  It was a shame my mum and dad weren’t around long enough to make it to the wedding, but I shared yours.’

  Helen laughed. ‘Hey, Max. Isn’t it nice to have time together, to talk?’

  ‘Yes, darling.’

  Helen was relieved to find the old Max again. For the past few months his sense of humour, important not only for his job, had been noticeably absent. The sex was better, too. Propped up on one elbow, she recalled their time in Edinburgh.

  ‘D’you remember how we used to meet up in that café near the Royal? You were like a teenager! Hadn’t you had a girlfriend before me? I’ve been dying to ask you – I’m surprised I never got round to it. You were such
a geek!’ She smiled, that amazing smile. How could she upset anyone when she smiled like that? But for a moment he too pretended to sulk.

  ‘Actually, I did have a girlfriend before you.’ He smiled at her. ‘But I behaved like that with you, I know, because you were a precious jewel. I was in awe; I couldn’t believe you were mine.’ As soon as he’d said this, he felt a pang: it was a wave of jealousy from Vee, watching, listening.

  ‘Oh, Max! That’s a lovely thing to say!’ She went into her baby voice: ‘But whatever you were, or are, like, I think you’re dead sweet.’ She dabbed him on the nose with her finger. ‘The best hubby and the best daddy, ever.’ Then she stretched, got up and pulled on her dressing gown, and resumed her usual voice. ‘I’m cold!’

  Max too stood up and began to get dressed. He decided that today would be the day he started reading Vee’s book from the beginning.

  Helen embraced her husband. ‘I love having you all to myself. We don’t need anyone else, do we? We’ve got two lovely daughters.’ She smiled. ‘And they all lived happily ever after,’ she went on, musically, waving her index fingers as if conducting. Stopping abruptly, she added, ‘Which reminds me, Mum wants to go to that concert after all, so –.’

  ‘– Darling,’ he interrupted, suddenly wanting to be serious. He still had to get her help.

  ‘Yes? What’s up?’

  ‘Er … have you found out yet if you can go part-time?’

  ‘You stopped the romantic mood to ask me that ?’

  ‘Sorry, but there’s something I want to – ‘.

  ‘ –Don’t tell me you’ve got a mistress, some nubile young patient?’

  ‘Oh no, nothing like that. I wouldn’t have the time or the energy, now would I, with all the demands you make in that department!’

  They laughed, then kissed. He decided it was a good time.

  ‘I need your help with something very important. And about that first girlfriend … ’

  5

  Questions

  Eventually, after reassurance that there had been nothing untoward – that is, recent – in their relationship, Helen was prepared to accept that Vee and Max had once been together, and she agreed to help him in whatever way she could. A few things now made sense to her about her husband’s behaviour of late, and Max was contrite.

  While neither of them knew precisely what Vee’s demands might be, Helen was prepared for some kind of undercover work at Squaremile. At the end of their long discussion, which took the rest of that morning, they decided that they would both read Doors Closing.

  ‘How about if I read one chapter, then pass it on to you?’ Max sipped his coffee and Helen joined him in the conservatory.

  ‘That sounds fine. Then, depending on what Vee has to say about Squaremile, we might be able to work out what to do. Her time there must feature in it. It must be one reason for her to write, don’t you think? Oh, but Max, you’ll never guess what … ’

  ‘What, my love?’

  ‘They’ve told me I can’t go part-time yet because they want “my experienced hand on the tiller” of Grove House, as they put it, in the not too distant future.’

  ‘Why’s that then?’

  Helen gave a short, exasperated sigh. ‘Sandra, the manager there at the moment, has somehow wangled a month’s holiday.’

  ‘A month? How come?’

  ‘Lord alone knows. I’m afraid I don’t have much time for that woman.’ Helen’s Scots accent had become more noticeable, as it often did when she was annoyed or stressed. ‘She’s also tipped for promotion.’ Helen slapped her thighs and stood up. ‘Don’t get me started about Sandra.’

  They had a quiet lunch together.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve told me about your time with Vee,’ Helen said. ‘I was worried about you.’ She handed him an apple.

  ‘There might be other things I’ve forgotten to tell you, or even that I didn’t know, in connection with Vee. We’ll find out soon enough.’ With that, Max headed off to the attic.

  He had just picked up Vee’s book when there was a knock at the front door. Helen called him back down. He sighed with frustration. To his surprise, it was Simon, pale.

  ‘I’m in a bit of a state, Max.’

  They went into the sitting room and Helen decided to make some coffee.

  ‘The truth is, Mark – that’s my brother – has chucked us out. Jackson’s waiting in the car. Is there any chance we might stay here for a while? I’ll pay you some rent, of course.’ Simon gave a brief account, then fell silent. His usual exuberance had evaporated. Max felt sorry for him.

  Helen brought in the tray of coffee and Max put her in the picture.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘you can sleep in the girls’ rooms until they come back at the end of term, but then you’ll have to make other arrangements. Is that OK?’

  Simon was grateful and fetched his son. Helen and Max helped them in with their belongings. Jackson was fifteen with a sullen expression, a spiky haircut and a t-shirt over his sweater. When they saw the sound system, husband and wife exchanged anxious glances. Helen went to change the sheets; when he was sure Simon and Jackson were settled, Max went to his attic office and opened Vee’s book at last.

  There was never going to be a “right” time for this and he didn’t want Simon to feel he was being watched either. He thought about Vee, slipping over what might have been, and turned to the first page. He lost himself in her story for a while.

  Introduction

  The story about Dad came a long time before the black wave that ripped my life apart. But I knew I had to write about it, how it all started, with the first bad thing in Granny’s house.

  I felt a sense of urgency; I had to write now, to avoid being stranded in hell by the next black wave; I couldn’t afford to leave it too late, or I might not be able to do it. The problem is that I have no guarantee of complete recovery; when it comes, the black wave means I can’t make sense of anything, or describe it to anyone, let alone remember where I’d got to in the story. And the treatment takes out memories.

  After Dad, I kept writing, on and off for a few years in the end, and then realised I had started this book. I kept the diary separate; it was a place where I didn’t have to be in control. Anyone can read the book. The diary, on the other hand, is for nobody but me.

  I got over my homesickness at university – I was the first Gates to go there – by making new friends. There was one particular lecturer I admired, too, marked out by his incredible enthusiasm and knowledge of the subject. Mr Black could be sent into raptures by a passage from the French text we were reading; he would stride about the room, pausing only to scribble important points on the board, the sleeve of his gown flapping wildly. If we could not keep up and answer the questions he fired at us from time to time, he would get very annoyed. And then, for the whole of one term, he was simply not there. When he came back he looked pale and thin.

  I noticed that my friend Debbie had also lost weight during this period but she didn’t want to talk about it. On the first day of Mr Black’s absence, she told me he was very ill and in hospital. She looked as if she hadn’t slept, but she wouldn’t say any more. I couldn’t help wondering how she knew about him; I wasn’t going to put pressure on her, however.

  As for me, I was coping, but I confess that as the first year progressed, there were times, each lasting a few days, when I found it almost impossible to get out of bed. Everything was in monochrome. It was what I started to call the black wave, but as yet it was still not powerful enough to take me all the way to hell. Nevertheless, I knew that was its destination. I didn’t feel I could tell Mum about this, so I went to talk to Debbie. I knocked on the open door of her room, one floor below me in the Hall of Residence. It was a typical study-bedroom. As I sat in the single armchair, Debbie tidied the books on her desk then sat on the bed.

  ‘What’s up, Vee?’

  ‘Do you ever get days when you can’t do anything and the world seems to be meaningless and grey?’

/>   ‘Actually I do. I think I know what you’re talking about. When it happened to me, I went to the doctor and he gave me those.’ She pointed to a small bottle of pills next to the books. ‘They have helped.’

  I was in uncharted waters here. ‘What are they?’

  ‘Antidepressants.’ There was a pause.

  ‘But you don’t need tablets, do you? I mean, I thought it was a case of, well, getting through it – pulling yourself together!’

  ‘Oh, come on Vee, not that old chestnut! You know as well as I do that it’s not as simple as that. Having mental health problems is not a sign of weakness!’

  ‘Mental health – ? Yes, but it still feels like giving in!’

  ‘Look, I’ll lend you a book about depression and then you’ll be able to form a proper opinion.’

  ‘OK. Thanks.’

  A moment later, she added, ‘I know someone who is manic depressive.’

  ‘What’s that then?’

  ‘It’s when you have high moods as well as low. In other words, you can be full of enthusiasm and energy for a period – more than normal – and you have lots of ideas crowding in. You might spend too much money, make extravagant plans, or even think you are someone with special powers. Mania can disrupt your life. But then you become the polar opposite, suicidally depressed. These moods can just come out of the blue.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me who it is that’s got it?’

  Debbie looked down. A secret smile was just visible between the curtains of her hair. ‘No, but he’s a lovely man.’

  I have to admit I thought less of Debbie after that: she was weak, she had given in.

  Even when someone was threatening to jump off the tallest building on campus, and I was in the crowd he attracted; even when I’d read Debbie’s book and even when she wrote to me after we’d graduated to tell me Mr Black had committed suicide – not once did I think that my own problems were anything like this, or that other people knew about the black wave.

  But then there was Aunt Mary … Mad people were all locked away though, weren’t they? I reasoned, though, that I couldn’t go on thinking Debbie was weak when I’d admired my lecturer so much. And I recognised, finally, that the student about to jump must have been tormented. Just around the corner was the connection I did not want to make.