Losing Me (13 page)

As promised, Frank arrived home bang on seven with curry. He put the foil containers in the oven to keep warm and poured them both a Scotch. They sat on the sofa with their drinks.

“How you doing?” he said, putting his arm across her shoulders.

“Not too bad. Jean’s been here. I asked her to come over because I didn’t want to be on my own. She only left a few minutes ago.”

“That’s kind of her. . . . You know, I got such a fright this afternoon. I was scared shitless.”

“That makes two of us. You know, I would have really appreciated you staying with me after we got home.”

“I’m sorry, but you’ve no idea the pressure I’m under at the moment.”

“But I needed you. Just for once would it have hurt you to drop everything?”

“Bar, you had a panic attack, that’s all. Frightening, I grant you. But please don’t start turning it into something it isn’t. Apart from anything else, it won’t help you get better.”

Barbara didn’t get a chance to turn on him, to tell him how much it hurt her to hear him belittling what had happened. Instead the key went in the door and Ben appeared, wearing a pair of new green Converse.

“So how much did those cost me?” his father said by way of greeting.

“Fifty quid. And Mum paid.”

“Fifty quid? For a bit of canvas and rubber?”

“Dad, please don’t give me a hard time. What do you want from me? I’m not living off you because I enjoy it. I’m trying to get myself sorted. I just need a bit more time.”

“Time for what? You lie in bloody bed all day.”

“I work at night. My brain seems to function better. I was the same at uni. It’s how I am.”

“So what is it you’re working on all night?”

“A thing.”

“What sort of thing? Is it to do with your writing?”

“It’s a thing. That’s all.”

“And that’s all you’re going to tell me?”

“For now. Yes.”

Frank threw up his hands and looked at his wife. “You hear that? I’m supporting him so that he can work on
a thing.
Do you mind telling me what’s going to become of him? If he’s not careful, he’s going to end up sweeping the bloody roads.”

“Cheers, Dad. I appreciate that.”

“Well, it’s true.”

“No, it’s not. When have I ever let you down? I worked hard at school. I got a decent degree. I’ve never been in trouble. I volunteer. Why can’t you have a bit of faith in me?” By now Ben’s face was crimson with fury. “I’m not listening to any more of this. I’m going back out.”

Barbara grabbed his arm. “Please don’t.”

Ben yanked his arm from his mother’s grasp. “I’m doing my best. I practically live off beans on toast. My underpants are full of holes. I’m not having him speak to me like that.”

“What do you expect me to say?” Frank came back. “You need to pull your finger out.”

“So you think I’m lazy.”

“Do you think you’re lazy?”

“You have no idea! No fucking idea!” Ben headed towards the door.

“Ben, stop! OK, that’s enough. Both of you.” Barbara could feel her body trembling. She took a breath. “Reluctant as I am to make this about me, can I remind the pair of you that I ended up in the hospital today, and if you don’t start behaving, I will probably be back there before the night is out. Just sort this thing out. Now.”

She flounced out and took herself into the kitchen. Frank was right behind her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I got so angry that I forgot about what happened today. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.” He hugged her. Barbara’s arms remained at her sides. He took the hint and pulled back. “I was too hard on him. It’s just that I panic, that’s all. What sort of a future is he going to have?”

“You think I’m not worried? But how is losing your temper going to help?”

“I don’t know. It’s what I do.”

“It’s what you do? That’s your answer? Frank, you know as well as I do that losing your temper achieves nothing. All it does is add to everybody else’s stress. Mine included. I’ve got enough on my plate right now. I need you to be a husband and a dad, not another child.”

“I know. You’re right. I’ll apologize to Ben.” He took a couple of Cobras from the fridge and went back into the living room.

By the time Barbara returned with plates of lamb rogan josh and mushroom rice, Ben and his dad were sitting side by side on the sofa watching football.

“Does this mean we’re not going to eat at the table like civilized people?” Barbara said.

“But it’s Manchester United versus Arsenal live,” Ben said. “Can’t we eat off our laps?”

“But you can still see the TV from the table.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Come on, Bar. Don’t be mean.”

“Yeah, Mum.”

Barbara gave in. She was too tired to argue, and on the upside, they were mates again. She ate with them—plate on her lap in front of the TV—but she found football tedious. In the end she went upstairs and called Jess to tell her about her panic attack.

“Mum, that’s awful. It’s all this bloody stress you’re under from losing your job. Why didn’t you call me? You know I’d have come over.”

“I know you would, darling, but you’re busy and Jean happened to be around.”

“So how are you feeling now?”

Barbara said the same as she’d said to Frank, that she was still a bit wobbly.

“Mum, listen to me. Please don’t let them put you on pharmaceuticals. All antidepressants and antianxiety meds are addictive, and nobody knows what their long-term effects are.”

Barbara was to go to the health-food shop and buy Rescue Remedy and valerian. Apparently valerian was “nature’s tranquilizer.” “Oh, and eat a lettuce sandwich at night. Lettuce leaves contain valerian, too.” Catnip, kava kava and chamomile were also good for anxiety. She would make a list and e-mail it to Barbara. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you.”

“Love you, too, hon.”

•   •   •

The following morning Barbara called her GP’s office and managed to get an appointment for midday.

Dr. Johal agreed with Dr. Sykes the heart specialist. Barbara was suffering from stress, and future panic attacks couldn’t be ruled out. He recommended antianxiety pills. He also suggested that she take a few weeks off work. Barbara said that the idea of being at home all day doing nothing terrified her. Work—even if it was only until the end of term—would be the best therapy. And she was worried about taking pills—not because of Jess’s scaremongering—but because she thought they were a sign of weakness, a sign that she was giving in.

Dr. Johal smiled that tolerant smile of his. He had known Barbara for years, and far from feeling threatened, he seemed to enjoy the way she questioned his advice. She would come armed with a diagnosis from Dr. Google—invariably correct, as she frequently reminded him. Her trigger finger, a slight but bothersome ailment she’d developed last year, being a case in point. This had required precisely the minor procedure that Barbara slash Dr. G had advocated.

“Barbara, why did you come and see me if you already knew how you were planning to deal with this problem?”

“I want your opinion.”

“No. What you want is my approval to do nothing. Well, I’m not prepared to give it. I think you need medication and rest. And perhaps even some therapy.”

“OK, I hear you, but as I’ve only had one panic attack, I’d like to hold off and see what happens.”

“Fine, but I want to see you in two weeks to check how you’re doing. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

She got back to her car and called Sandra to say she’d be back in school on Monday. Sandra said she thought she was crazy, but it was up to her and they would certainly be glad to have her back. She also said that she’d heard nothing from social services and had no idea if anybody had visited Troy’s family. Barbara said she would give Maureen a call straightaway.

It turned out that Maureen had kept her promise. She had been to see Tiffany and the children. “Like you said, Tiffany’s covered in bruises, and the marks on Troy’s arms are definitely cigarette burns. But neither he nor his mum are prepared to speak to the police. And Tiffany swears she’s got no idea where Wayne is—other than he’s gone back up north.”

“But if you went to the police, it’s possible he might be known to them and they could find him.”

“But without Tiffany and Troy’s testimony, they’d have no proof. I’m really sorry. There’s no way she’s going to be persuaded. Meanwhile, the children will remain on the at-risk register, and I promise we’ll keep a really close eye on them.”

“Thank you. It’s just that I’m going to be leaving Jubilee at the end of this term, and I’d like to know that somebody’s looking out for him.”

“Don’t worry. From now on, there will be.”

•   •   •

Barbara thought she might go for a swim. She needed the exercise, and being in water always relaxed her. She was about to head off home to pick up her swimsuit when her phone rang.

“Mrs. Stirling?”

“Yes.”

“Sergeant Lisa Banks here from Brentvale Police. I’m with your mother at her flat.”

Barbara’s heart started to race. She dreaded what she was going to hear next. “Is she OK? What’s happened?”

“She’s absolutely fine physically, but I am slightly concerned about her mental state. She’s gone to make a cup of tea, so since she gave me your number, I thought I’d give you a quick call.”

It seemed that Rose had gone to her local police station to complain about the loud music being played in her building. The kindly sergeant Lisa had walked her home to check it out.

“I can’t hear a thing, but your mother insists somebody’s playing something called ‘A String of Pearls’ at full volume.”

“Oh God. Not again. I’m so sorry. You’ve been dragged out on a wild-goose chase, I’m afraid.”

“This has happened before?”

Barbara explained that the music wasn’t real and that her mother appeared to be suffering from musical ear syndrome. “She’s not going gaga. It’s actually a problem with her ears. I’ll come over right away.”

Sergeant Lisa insisted on staying until Barbara arrived.

Barbara turned the ignition and pulled away. She’d driven no more than a few hundred yards when the chest pain started. Then she couldn’t breathe. She gave a sharp twist of the wheel and pulled over. The driver in the car behind hooted loudly and accelerated past her. She opened the window. The rush of bitter cold air seemed to help her breathing. She kept telling herself to stay calm, to take slow breaths. “This is just a panic attack. You are not dying.” After about fifteen minutes, she felt the pain ease. Her breathing returned to normal. She was still feeling sick and panicky though. She was in no fit state to drive to her mother’s. What she needed to do was hotfoot it back to Dr. Johal, apologize for being such a know-it-all and get some meds. Meanwhile, she picked up her phone and pressed the “home” button. “Siri—call Ben.” (Her son was always telling her how much time Siri saved and that she should use it more.)

“I’m sorry I don’t see Jen in your contacts.”

“No, not Jen . . . Siri . . . Call . . . BEN!”

“I’m sorry, I don’t see Hen in your contacts.”

“You stupid imbecile!”

“Calling Aunty Celia.”

“No . . . I don’t want Aunty Celia.”

By that stage Siri appeared to get offended and cut her off. She went to her contacts list and hit the number for her son’s cell. Ben wasn’t answering. Of course he wasn’t. He was asleep. She tried five more times. On the sixth, he picked up.

“Shit, Mum, this’d better be important. I’d just dribbled around Iniesta and was about to score the winning goal in the World Cup against Spain.”

“I don’t care. Listen, I’m on my way to see Dr. Johal. Nana Rose is at home with a policewoman and I need you to go over there and sit with her.”

“Why? What’s she done? Oh God, she hasn’t been arrested for shoplifting, has she? My friend Jake, his old gran gets arrested in shops all the time. Last time she got caught walking out of her local deli carrying an entire kosher salami.”

“No, she hasn’t been arrested.” Barbara explained about her musical ear syndrome. “At least that’s what I think it is.”

“No shit. That’s really cool.”

“Ben, it isn’t remotely cool. If it carries on, it’s going to drive her insane. I need to call her doctor and get her ears checked.”

“So I have to go right now?”

“Yes, please.”

“But I need a shower.”

“Forget about a shower. You’ve still got my credit card from yesterday. Just call a cab and go. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”

•   •   •

Five minutes later, Barbara was back at the doctor’s surgery, pleading with the receptionist to let her have two more minutes with Dr. Johal. The woman was adamant that there were no appointments left. Barbara would have to come back tomorrow. “But all I need is a prescription. Please can I see him?” She laid it on about just having had a panic attack in her car. “I could have caused a serious accident. I really do need some medication.”

The receptionist finally took pity on her and said she would try to squeeze her in.

Barbara thought that Dr. Johal would give her an I-told-you-so lecture, but he didn’t. Instead he wrote out a prescription for an SSRI.

“Now, then,” he said, “SSRI stands for . . .”

“Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitor.”

“Stupid of me to think you wouldn’t know that. And do you know what they do?”

“They make your brain produce more serotonin, which makes you feel less depressed and anxious.”

“Exactly. In fact, the one I’m going to prescribe you is specifically designed to combat anxiety.”

He said they would take a few weeks to kick in, so in the meanwhile she should absolutely stop working.

“In fact, since you only have this term left, I’m going to insist you don’t go back.”

“But I have to. There are children who depend on me.”

“Nobody’s indispensable. You have to stop working. It’s time you put your welfare before the welfare of others.”

He would see her in a month.

Barbara collected her tablets from the pharmacy over the road and took herself home. The first thing she did was call Frank. It was a reflex. She knew she was unlikely to get much by way of sympathy, but something made her keep on trying. For once he picked up on the first ring. “I had another panic attack,” she said. She told him about the call from the policewoman and how Dr. Johal had signed her off work.