A Voice in the Distance (10 page)

I gaze at her silently, wondering why she is the one
crying and not me.

'Oh, Jennah, I'm sorry. I'm just going to pull over for
a minute so I don't get back to the house looking a
complete mess . . .' She slows the car to a halt at the top
of the lane and rummages around in the glove box for
a tissue. She finds a crumpled one and presses it quickly
to her eyes. 'This is what broken nights with an eightmonth-
old reduce one to!' She laughs through the
tears.

'You're really fond of him, aren't you,' I say. My heart
hurts.

'Well, he's the only brother-in-law I've got, so
I'd rather hang onto him if at all possible!' Sophie
replies.

'Do you think he's going to die?' I ask. The tone of
my voice makes it sound like I'm asking her whether
it's going to rain.

Sophie looks at me quickly. 'Oh no, Jen, I don't. I
think he's going to be fine.'

The next day is Friday. I can't believe that Christmas Day
was only four days ago. It seems like a lifetime. We have
entered some kind of twilight zone, our waking hours
divided between the cottage and the hospital. Mum calls
to ask for news. She sounds worried and begs me to
come home. I struggle not to raise my voice. Later Harry
calls, then Kate. It seems like a terrible effort to talk, just
to tell them there is no change.

On Friday night I am pulled from a splintered sleep
by a gentle but persistent knocking on the bedroom
door. Rami is on the landing, buttoning his shirt, his
hair dishevelled. My heart leaps into my throat and I let
out a strangled cry.

'It's all right!' His hands grip my arms, pushing me
back into the room. 'Shh, shh, I don't want to wake the
others. One of the nurses called. They say he's coming
round. Do you want to come with me to the hospital?'

'Yes! Of course!'

'Get dressed then.'

I grab my jeans from the chair and stumble into
them, pull on a jumper and shove on my shoes. Rami is
waiting by the front door, jangling the keys in his hand.
It is freezing in the car. I shiver all the way to the
hospital. The luminous digits on the radio read 3:04
a.m. We hurry through the empty, brightly lit corridors,
now all too familiar. A nurse I recognize lets us into the
intensive care ward with a big smile. After going
through the prerequisite hand-washing, we are led over
to Flynn's bed. I can feel my heart.

'He's groggy,' the nurse tells us, 'but he knows where
he is.'

I freeze at the sight of him, sitting propped up
against the pillows. Rami keeps going and I watch him
approach Flynn's bedside and mime a slow-motion
punch to his brother's head. He sits down on the edge
of the bed and leans forwards. I can't hear what he is
saying. I seem to be unable to move. I cannot believe
that Flynn is back. The inert, sealed, waxwork body is
gone. Now, his eyes are open and he is sitting up, talking,
moving. The tube in his mouth has been removed,
and his hair is all on end. Someone touches my arm. It's
the nurse. 'Come and sit down,' she says.

She leads me to a chair against the wall. I can't see
Flynn's bed from here. I rest my elbows on my knees and
try to slow my breathing. The nurse smiles down at me
kindly. 'Would you like a drink of water?'

I shake my head. Wipe my wet palms against my
jeans.

'Stay sitting for a little while,' the nurse says. 'I'll
bring you some water in case you change your mind.'

She moves off and I sit up, taking a deep breath and
letting it out slowly. I clench my teeth and stare at the
humming machinery surrounding another patient's
bed in front of me. The strong artificial lights seem to
be throbbing all around. I feel like I'm losing my
mind.

The nurse brings me a paper cup of water and I take
it from her, my hand shaking. I sip it and stare hard at
the tips of my shoes, trying to focus my mind. Sometime
later Rami comes up to me, looking concerned. 'The
nurse said you weren't feeling too well,' he says, his
hand on my arm. 'Do you need to get some fresh air?'

I dig my nails painfully into the palm of my hand.
'I'm fine,' I say thickly.

'Do you want to go and see him?' Rami asks.

I nod.

'I'm going to grab myself a coffee, then. I'll meet you
at the car.'

I nod again. Stand up slowly. Rami gives me a pat on
the back, then turns to wave at Flynn before setting off
down the ward. I want to scream at him to come back.

As I approach Flynn's bed, he looks up and gives me
a tired smile.

'Hi.' I kiss him quickly on the cheek and sit down on
the edge of the bed. He smells of medicine and sweat.
There are sticky marks on his chest where the red and
blue stickers were. He is down to just one drip. The
crook of his other arm is bruised purple and yellow. His
lips are raw and cracked. His hair looks in bad need of
a wash. His eyes seem to take a long time to focus. I bite
my lip, hard.

He lifts one hand off the sheet. Touches my cheek
clumsily. 'Hello,' he says hoarsely.

I swallow what feels like a golf ball in my throat. 'You
gave us quite a scare,' I say with difficulty.

He blinks. Nods slowly. 'Yeah, Rami was saying . . .'
My fists are clenched so tight, my fingers feel like
they are going to break. 'Your – your mum and dad will
be delighted to see you finally awake.'

He nods again. 'Yeah.'

I take a desperate breath and look around. 'Looks
like they've taken you off most of the machines,' I say
stupidly.

He raises the arm still attached to the drip. 'This,
apparently, is saline. I don't really see why I can't just
drink a couple of glasses of water instead.' He shifts his
leg under the sheet. 'And I've got a tube in here so I
don't even have to get up to pee.' He smiles again slowly.

I feel like I'm falling, yet I'm still sitting on the side
of the bed. 'How – how are you feeling?'

'Sleepy and thirsty. My mouth feels like sandpaper,
but they won't let me drink.'

'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.

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—'

'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 laugh. '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—'