A Voice in the Distance (12 page)

I struggle to free myself from his grasp. 'Let go of me,
Flynn. I mean it. Let go of me! I am
not
going back in
there!'

'Stop being silly! Why are you shy? You're a much
better singer than any of those others!'

'Flynn, I mean it! I said no!'

'Hey there, what's going on?' A woman is walking
briskly down the corridor towards us. 'Flynn, who is this?
Aren't you going to introduce us? Why don't you take
your hands off her for a minute?'

'Sue, Sue, this is my girlfriend, Jennah, the one I was
telling you about.'

Sue flashes me a quick smile and takes hold of
Flynn's wrists, pulling his hands firmly away from my
shoulders. 'People don't like being grabbed like that,
Flynn. Nice to meet you, Jennah. I'm Sue, one of the
nurses here. Have you had far to come?'

'London.' My breathing is ragged. I can't believe it
has taken a complete stranger to rescue me from my
boyfriend. And I can't believe Flynn is behaving like
this. Have the doctors here changed his medication?

'Well, the two of you probably want some time to talk.
Flynn, why don't you take Jennah down to your room?'

'OK!'

As I move to follow him, Sue points to a thin red cord
hanging from the wall. 'Just pull one of these if you
need some help,' she says.

I nod, too shocked to reply. Flynn has already
disappeared into a room further down. When I come in,
he is sitting cross-legged on an unmade bed, jiggling his
legs up and down and grinning.

'This is your bedroom?' I say. 'It's pretty decent. I've
brought a whole suitcase of your stuff but I left it in the
other room. D'you want me to go and get it?'

Flynn pulls himself up to a kneeling position and
bounces up and down on the mattress. 'No, stay, stay,
stay!' he shouts.

I close the bedroom door and sit down at the end of
the bed, my heart still going berserk. 'You're really
scaring me, Flynn.'

'I'm just happy to see you! I'm just happy to see you!'
he exclaims at the top of his voice.
The mattress continues to rock beneath me. I grab
Flynn's arms and attempt to hold him still. 'Shh,' I say.
'Come on, just calm down a bit.'

He continues to bounce. His cheeks are mottled with
exertion and there is a demonic look in his eyes. 'What's
happened to you?' I ask softly. 'Have they stopped your
lithium?'

'No, I'm just full of energy. I'm just full of energy.'

'Please don't say everything twice,' I beg.

'I'm not, I'm not.'

'Yes, you are, Flynn. Surely you can hear it?'

'I can't hear anything. I can't hear anything.'

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. The desire
just to get up and walk out is overwhelming.

'Listen to me,' I say slowly. 'You're getting manic
again. You need to try and calm yourself down.'

'I will. I will.'

'Try and stop bouncing then.'

'OK, OK.' He suddenly leaps off the bed, almost
giving me a heart attack. 'Look what Rami bought
me!'

I gaze over in despair. 'Oh, lovely.'

It is a small portable stereo. Flynn kneels down in
front of it, adjusting the controls. Tchaikovsky suddenly
blares out of the speakers, making me gasp.
Swan Lake
.
Oh, great.

'Flynn, could you turn it down? I was really hoping to
talk to you a bit.'

He leaps to his feet and strikes a pose, his arms held
out. 'Let's dance!'

'Flynn, no!'

Ignoring my protest, he grabs my hands and pulls me
off the bed. I start to struggle, then something occurs to
me. I can fight this episode of mania and come out the
loser, or I can just accept it and let it run its course. I
realize that whatever I say or do, I am not going to be
able to change his current mood. And at least he is
leaping about, wanting to dance, rather than lying semiconscious
in a hospital bed.

Reluctantly I allow myself to be pulled to my feet, and
he immediately grabs me and starts twirling me around.
The bedroom door swings open, almost knocking us
over. It's Sue. 'Fifteen-minute checks,' she says with a
smile.

Embarrassed, I try and stop Flynn and his mad waltz
around the bedroom.

'Hey, hey, Sue! Look at us dance! Watch, watch!'
Flynn grabs me again.

Sue leans against the door frame. 'A musician
and
a
dancer,' she says with a grin. 'You're a lucky girl to have
him, Jennah.'

'Well, I'm not so sure about the dancer bit,' I gasp as
Flynn narrowly misses decapitating me against the
wardrobe. He laughs, waltzing me faster and faster,
his breath hot against my cheek. I feel my hair
flying out behind me. I hold him tightly. Sue is still
watching, appearing to enjoy the spectacle. I am so dizzy
I have to close my eyes. We collapse on the bed,
laughing.

Sue is clapping. 'You two could be contenders for
Strictly Come Dancing
!'

I shake my head with embarrassment and peel myself
up from the duvet, panting for breath. Flynn sits on the
edge of the bed and holds out his arms to Sue. 'Your
turn?'

She shakes her head, laughing. 'I'd tread on your
toes, Flynn. Believe me. I think you're better off sticking
with Jennah.'

'Yeah, she's an amazing dancer. And you know what?
She's a
fantastic
singer too.'

'Oh, Flynn—' I protest desperately.

'I mean it! When she sings, you feel like you've been
touched by an angel.'

'Wow,' Sue says with a smile.

I roll my eyes and shake my head. Flynn doesn't seem
to notice. 'I can't even accompany her any more
because when she starts to sing, I feel like crying and
forget the notes.'

'Flynn, please!' My cheeks are burning and I wonder
how much more embarrassed I can get.

Sue flashes me a grin. 'Enjoy it. I wish my other half
was so complimentary.'

'Do you know the song
On My Own
, from
Les
Misérables
?' Flynn asks her.

'I love that musical,' she replies, her face lighting up.

'Sing it, Jennah!' Flynn commands.

'Flynn, don't be ridiculous—'

'I dunno where my keyboard is, but hold on, I'm sure
I could work out the chords pretty easily on the
guitar—' He gets up and rushes out of the room.

'I'm so sorry,' I say to Sue. 'And please don't worry,
I'm not about to start singing.'

Sue smiles. 'Don't apologize,' she says. 'It's just nice
to see him so animated for a change. He was so silent
and withdrawn when he first arrived.'

'
Animated
is one way of putting it,' I smile wryly. 'Do
you know if they've changed his medication?'

'You'd need to ask the doctor about that,' Sue
replies. 'But I believe they're trying him on a new
anti-depressant.'

I nod, chewing my lip.

'He talks about you a lot, you know.'

There is a silence. 'Oh . . .'

'He's obviously crazy about you,' Sue said. 'That's
something very positive which could help him get
better.'

Flynn bounds back into the room, brandishing the
guitar.

'I'd better continue my checks,' Sue says with a smile.
'But I'll be listening out for your angelic voice, Jennah.'

Flynn is sitting cross-legged on his pillows, attempting
to pick out the dominant chords of the
accompaniment to
On My Own
. I get up and make sure
the door is firmly closed. 'I'm going to sing it
very
quietly,' I warn him.

To my astonishment, I hear the chords of the
accompaniment begin to form. I sigh and smile. 'When
on earth did you learn to play the guitar?' I ask. 'This
morning?'

Flynn plays me in and looks at me expectantly as my
cue approaches. With a nervous glance at the door, I
take a breath and begin to sing. Flynn grins at me. His
fingers barely hesitate against the strings of the guitar. I
watch him as I sing, and I realize he looks different. He
looks alive. When I reach the second verse, Flynn joins
in, experimenting with some kind of weird harmony. As
we sing our rather unique version of
On My Own
, it
strikes me that, growing up, this is one thing I never
imagined myself doing. Sitting on a bed in a psychiatric
hospital with my manic-depressive boyfriend, singing
duets on a ropey guitar. But strangely, right now, after
everything else that has happened, it doesn't seem so
bad.

Her wavy brown hair cascades down her shoulders. Her
green eyes shine. Her skin looks like porcelain. I want to
kiss her soft mouth. I want to touch her, feel her, taste
her. I want to inhale her. Everything about her, from the
curve of her collar bone to the way the end of her jeans
reveals a strip of bare ankle, seems like absolute
perfection. I want to freeze this moment in time and live
it for ever. The music, Jennah's voice, Jennah's smile. I
feel as if I may burst with happiness. I feel it radiating
from my body like an invisible energy force. Her laughing
eyes, the dimples in her cheeks, the way the smile
lights up her face. Love, that all-powerful, all-consuming
life force, rushes through my veins. As we sing, I am
flooded with thoughts and feelings. Let the song never
end.

Her hand rests against my thigh. I badly need to kiss
her. Leaning forwards over the guitar, still playing, my
mouth reaches for hers. She laughs, still trying to hum
the tune as we kiss. I miss a fret on the guitar. I drop the
instrument onto the bed and rise up onto my knees, one
hand against her neck, the other in her hair. Jennah
stops humming. I kiss her so hard, it hurts. She is the
first to come up for breath. 'Flynn—'

I silence her with another kiss, my hand slipping
beneath her shirt, moving up the warmth of her
stomach. I hardly know where my lips end and hers
begin.

'Flynn, wait—'

'Shh.'

Her tongue tastes of peppermint. The curve of her
breast is warm against my fingers. Her hair is in my
face.

'Flynn – seriously – stop – someone's going to come
in—'

'Shh.'

I suck her bottom lip in between my teeth. Press my
tongue against hers. Slide my fingers under her bra.

'We can't – don't be silly – we're not allowed – stop it,
for goodness' sake!' She is pushing me off, holding me
at arm's length.

I sit back on my heels, breathing hard. Jennah is
flushed and dishevelled, attempting to straighten her
clothes and brush the hair out of her face. I lean forwards
and her hand shoots out, pushing me back.
'Don't!' She looks at me, panting a little. 'God, you are
unbelievable!' She starts to laugh.

I try to prise her hand off my shoulder. A head
appears round the door. 'Fifteen-minute checks,' a
voice says.

After the door closes, Jennah whacks me. 'See! I told
you!'

'So?' I protest. 'It's not like it's illegal or anything!'

'I should go, it's getting dark,' Jennah says, suddenly
sobering. 'I've got a long journey back.'

I feel the smile fade from my face. 'Don't go.'

'I don't want to, but they're going to kick me out
soon anyway and I've got a nine o'clock lecture
tomorrow.' She smoothes down her hair and gets up
from the bed and looks around for her things.

'I'll come back home with you, then.'

'Don't be daft.' She looks afraid suddenly.

I smile to show her that I'm only joking.

The days here are all the same. It is a cross between
holiday camp and prison. We are woken by a rap on the
door and a cheery voice calling, 'Good morning!'
Getting into the bathroom is a feat in itself. While we
are having breakfast, they bring us plastic cups with pills.
Sometimes there is resistance, and then a long round
of bartering ensues. I swallow my 1200 milligrams of
lithium carbonate without any fuss. I have learned to
pick my battles. Stu is the only one properly awake at
breakfast, regaling everyone with a blow-by-blow
account of his horrific nightmares. After breakfast I
have my appointment with Dr Rasheed, who is
encouraging me to work through the feelings leading
up to my suicide attempt. I tell her I don't remember
much, which is true. After that I return to my bedroom,
pick up my laptop and books, then go to the study
room, where everyone sits around talking. One of the
nurses sits with us, trying to keep the noise down, and
on a good day I manage to write part of an essay, or take
notes on
Aspects of Wagner
, or work through a couple
of chapters for the Aesthetics and Criticism exam.
There are various breaks throughout the morning – for
cigarettes, meds, coffee – then at twelve thirty we have
lunch. After lunch we are allowed to roam around the
grounds for a while – which for most of the patients
means standing huddled beneath the dripping awning,
smoking cigarettes, while I jog along the circumference
of the park with Roz, the anorexic beanpole. In the
afternoon we do Design and Technology, which is basically
another term for art therapy, and I use the Sibelius
program that Jennah brought me to do some composition.
I am composing a song, a song for Jennah. It is
called
Letting Go
.

The afternoon finally comes to an end at four o'clock
when we have group therapy. In the evening we have
dinner and watch TV, one of the kindlier nurses might
honour our request to drive into town for DVDs, and I
get in as much practice as I can on my keyboard before
they tell me to stop. On Saturday night we go out
together as a group – usually to the cinema or to a bowling
alley in nearby Brighton. Weekends are freer for
most of the inmates – for that is how we see ourselves –
Saturdays and Sundays revolving around visitors. Some
patients are granted day passes into town for good
behaviour and a few long-term ones even get to go
home for a night. I get neither, for I am sectioned, and
that makes me a prisoner although I haven't even been
granted a trial.

Evenings are the worst, because that's when the day
begins to feel like it's never going to end and the others
on my unit start to really get on my nerves. I get on OK
with Stu, who is quite a wit, but when Naz starts banging
her head against the wall and Dino starts telling me how
he wrote the Bible, it's impossible to forget where I
am. Sitting in the claustrophobic room with its tired
furniture and flickering TV, the barred windows filled
with night, it can be difficult to imagine sinking any
lower. I speak to Jennah most evenings, and sometimes
it feels like it is only the sound of her voice, the chirpy
anecdotes, the thoughts of my life back in London, that
keep me alive.

Visits from Rami and my parents are short and
strained. I can tell my parents are uncomfortable in the
hospital setting, and Rami, presumably feeling guilty
about having me sectioned, tries too hard.

They talk about letting me go home at the end of the
week, and then it is the next week, and then the week
after. I post off my assignments to the Royal College,
and Jennah brings me library books at the weekend. I
work harder than I ever do at home, just to make time
pass faster. I am not allowed to practise for more than
three hours a day – they say it is not good for me. I try
to explain that five hours a day is what I aspire to at
home, but they go on about perfectionist tendencies
and obsessive-compulsive behaviour. It makes me laugh
– don't they realize that in the world of music, being an
obsessive perfectionist is the only way to succeed? But as
the days trickle by, the structured regimen, the absence
of choices, the suspension of normal life, the daily
diet of cognitive behavioural therapy and the increased
dose of lithium carbonate combined with a whacking dose
of anti-depressants slow me down, dull me, and Dr
Rasheed declares that the seesaw of highs and lows is
beginning to level out. I leave the psychiatric hospital a
whole month after arriving and it is strange: although I
have been looking forward to this day the whole time
I have been here, I am suddenly afraid.

Rami comes to pick me up and we stop by at the cottage
for a civilized lunch with the parents. Mum and Dad
seem nervous – about me returning to London, about
me going back to the Royal College, about the distant
threat of finals . . . I spend most of the meal trying to
assure them that I am fully recovered, I am looking
forward to going back and everything is going to be
fine. I am supposed to be spending the night at my
parents', not returning to London till Friday, but I
want to surprise Jennah. After a lot of persuasion,
I finally get Rami to drive me back home as early
dusk begins to gather. We hit rush-hour traffic on the
A24 and the journey seems to take for ever. I fiddle
with the radio, trying to tune into Classic FM,
sidestepping Rami's attempts at brotherly conversation.

Rami drops me off. The flat is unusually tidy, but
empty. Christmas Eve seems like a lifetime ago. I find
Jennah's new timetable on the notice board and see she
has rehearsals this evening. I change into my running
shoes, grab my iPod, slam out of the flat and head
towards the park. As I enter the gates, I break into a jog.
The freezing night air smells of damp earth and wood
fires. I cut across the wet grass, taking the quickest route
to the other side of the park, relishing the feeling of
actually having a destination instead of running round
in circles. By the time I reach Kensington High Street,
the bottoms of my jeans are soaked and I have a sharp
stitch beneath my ribs. I explode through the doubledoored
entrance of the Royal College into the bright
lights of the main hall, flash my pass at the sleepy
security guard and then head down towards the sound
of raised voices and snippets of music coming from the
concert hall.

There is the general mayhem that surrounds any
kind of rehearsal, with some members of the orchestra
tuning, others chatting, several people wandering
around aimlessly, and a harassed-looking Professor
Williams talking to Ollie Hendon about voice-box
resonance. I walk down the aisle, stopping just short
of the clutter of coats and bags and empty music cases,
and take a seat in the third row from the front. I spot
Harry, deep in conversation with another cellist. Jennah
is sitting cross-legged on one of the boxes, looking
bored, and it is several minutes before she spots me.
When she finally does, her eyes light up and she springs
to her feet with a gasp and looks ready to leap off the
stage and launch herself into my arms. I motion at her
to calm down, but it is too late – Professor Williams has
noticed and now he is turning round and peering into
the auditorium.

'Flynn!' he exclaims genially. 'To what do we owe this
honour?'

I pull an embarrassed face and point to Jennah,
reluctant to speak in front of all these people. They
know I've been off sick, but they think it's glandular
fever. Only Jennah, Harry and Kate know the truth, but
even though they have been sworn to secrecy I don't
doubt rumours have been going round.

Professor Williams turns back to the orchestra.
'Fabulous!' he exclaims. 'We have a pianist! Which
means I can relinquish my position behind the piano
and get back to my proper job – which
is
, of course,
telling everyone what to do!'

I shrink into my seat. Jennah is laughing. Professor
Williams is talking to Ollie Hendon again. I wonder if I
can make a run for it.

'OK, OK, quieten down, everyone.' Williams taps his
baton against his music stand. The buzz of voices
gradually dies. He goes over to the grand piano and
holds his arms out towards it, bowing low and looking
over at me.

'Oh, for heaven's sake,' I mutter frantically to myself,
burning up with embarrassment. I should never have
come. Williams is still standing there in his ridiculous
pose, waiting for me. I shake my head vigorously at him.
A slow tapping of bows against stands begins in the
orchestra. Professor Williams turns and lifts his hands
upwards to encourage them. The tapping grows louder.
I glare over at Jennah but she raises her hands
defensively as if to say,
This has nothing to do with me
.
She is grinning though, clearly enjoying herself. I
drag myself to my feet. I can feel the blood in my
cheeks. Harry lets out a wolf-whistle. I could murder
him.

I cross over to the piano. Williams comes up behind
me and pats me on the shoulder. 'You didn't think I'd
just let you sit there and listen, did you?'

I sit down and adjust the stool and take a look at the
music and curse myself for walking into such a trap.
Through a fog of noisy chatter, I hear Jennah volunteer
herself as my page turner.

'I thought you were my soloist!' Williams protests.

'But I'm on last!'

She gets her way and pulls up a chair beside me as
Williams taps his music stand and asks for quiet again.
Her eyes are alight. 'I thought you weren't coming back
till tomorrow!'

I refuse to look at her, flicking through the music.
'I'm not talking to you right now,' I say. 'This is all your
fault.'

'I can't believe you're back!' She begins to laugh.
'Flynn, why are your cheeks so pink?'

'Fuck off.'

She laughs again and puts her hand on my thigh.
'Ooh, I could so kiss you right now.'

'And I could so
hit
you,' I retort.

'Are you two lovebirds ready over there?' Williams
calls out. There is laughter from the orchestra. I feel like
my face is going to explode.

Jennah's shoulders are still shaking with laughter.
'Oh, Flynn, your face!'

'Shut
up
!' I whisper.

'OK, let's take it from Ollie's song, top of page fiftynine.
Cellos, remember your
adagio
,' Professor Williams
instructs.

'It's got three different key signatures,' Jennah
informs me.

'I can see that!'

Williams raises his baton and we start ploughing
through the Grieg. I struggle to sight-read my
way through the piece, not helped by Jennah, who is
jiggling with excitement at my side.

'What time did you get back?' she asks me during a
break in the piano score.

'Just now. Where's my re-entry?'

'Relax, you've got ages. Did you go back to the flat?'

'Briefly. Do I come in here?'

'No, all this bit is orchestral. Are you pleased to be
back?'