James’s uncle had called his private GP in advance and the doctor was waiting outside the house when they got back from the police station. James had insisted that he didn’t need anything, but his mother was adamant that he should have some tranquilisers and ushered him upstairs to a bedroom with a glass of water. He is now sitting on the edge of the bed turning a small container over and over in his hand. The rhythmic sound of the pills moving inside sends him into a kind of trance and he stays like that for a long time, the events of the last twenty-four hours turning over repeatedly in his mind.
This time last night he had been sitting in the hotel room wondering what the hell he was doing with his life. The seminar had been enlightening if only because it had confirmed to him that he hates what he is doing. The motivational speaker had droned on and on about his own success in the industry and the more James had listened, the more he missed his old friends and the jocularity of his fellow soldiers. Above all, he missed the sense of belonging that the army had given him. There had been a structure to his life that suited his temperament, almost like being at school. In the twelve years since he had joined as a young cadet, he could barely remember a time when he hadn’t looked forward to the day ahead. Now he wakes every morning with a sense of dread and can barely drag himself out of bed.
Nicky had called him yesterday evening to discuss their plans for the weekend and he had been looking forward to a few days in London, the city where he had spent the first eighteen years of his life and which still feels like home to him. He thought it would be good for both of them to have a change of scene from their small village life in Devon, where people always seem to be poking into your business. He replays their conversation, especially the moment when Nicky had told him she was staying in for the evening, a lie that had set in motion a catastrophic chain of events.
Well, he thinks bitterly, there is nothing to keep him in Devon now.
*
Pat and Jack are having a stiff drink in the sitting room.
‘I have to try and get hold of Mikey, wherever he is in India,’ Pat says, ‘but Lord knows how.’
The only person Pat can think of who might know of Mikey’s whereabouts is his ex-girlfriend and the mother of his daughter, Udie.
‘What about Udie’s mother? I forget her name,’ Jack says, as if reading her mind.
‘Athena. Yes, I’ll try calling her but I just haven’t got the energy at the moment.’
‘I’m not surprised – what a day.’
Pat shakes her head and sighs. ‘I just can’t believe this has happened – not to people like us.’
‘That’s what everybody thinks until it does.’
‘I suppose so. The detective asked James if he thought Nicky might have been meeting someone and now I can’t get that idea out of my head. If Nicky was having an affair, that will absolutely destroy James.’
‘He’s stronger than you think, Pat, he’ll be alright.’
‘I hope so, I really do.’
Jack turns on the television and they sit watching an old Steve McQueen film, relieved to be distracted for a while. When it finishes, Pat stands up.
‘Well, I suppose I’d better call Athena. May I use the phone?’
‘Of course – you know where it is.’
The phone rings for what seems an eternity and Pat is about to hang up when Athena answers.
She sounds sleepy – or stoned, Pat thinks, cursing herself for being so judgemental.
After asking about her granddaughter, Pat comes straight to the point.
‘Athena, I am afraid something ghastly has happened and I must get hold of Mikey urgently.’
Athena suddenly sounds more alert. ‘Oh no, Pat, what is it?’
Pat tells her the basic facts and is surprised and moved by Athena’s emotional reaction to the news of Nicky’s death.
‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ Athena keeps repeating between sobs.
‘Don’t worry,’ Pat says. ‘It’s been a terrible shock for all of us.’
‘I didn’t know Nicky that well but I always thought she was a lovely person,’ Athena says, once she has recovered. ‘Poor James, and poor you as well. It must be awful to see your son suffering.’
‘It is and that’s very sweet of you, Athena. It doesn’t feel real at the moment. Anyway, I must try to contact Mikey – do you have any idea where he is?’
‘Actually, he called a few days ago. He’s in the north of India in a place called Varanasi. He must be on his way to Nepal because I know he’s flying back from Kathmandu in September sometime.’
‘What if something happens to Udie and you need to get hold of him urgently?’
‘It’s too bad, I suppose, but – touch wood – nothing ever has. He calls me occasionally and I can always get hold of the trustees if I need money urgently.’
‘I was thinking more in terms of emotional support,’ says Pat dryly.
Athena snorts into the phone.
‘Ha! Mikey doesn’t really do emotional support, Pat, but that’s not to say he doesn’t care,’ she adds quickly. ‘He has looked after us very well and sees as much of Udie as he can. He never wanted me to have a baby, you know. He said that he didn’t want to bring children into such an overcrowded, cruel world.’
‘That sounds just like Mikey. It’s the same for us when he goes away – he never gets in touch despite all the promises. I always worry in case something happens, and now it has.’
After the conversation ends, Pat sits for a few minutes thinking about her eldest son. In the early days everything had seemed so easy for him – he excelled at school, had lots of friends, got into Oxford. He was recruited straight out of university by the investment bank Stegner Price and, within a couple of years, was making more money than she and her husband, Geoffrey, had ever dreamed of. He was always incredibly generous. He took them on numerous holidays, treated them to theatre evenings in London and, despite their protestations, had insisted on paying off their mortgage. Geoffrey said he didn’t like the way he threw his money around, but Pat could tell he was secretly proud of his son’s success.
And then it had all come crashing down. It was a freezing February day when James called them and said that Mikey needed to come home for a while. He had collapsed at work and needed to rest. James had driven him down to the family home and Pat remembered how shocked she had been at his appearance. He had lost weight and his eyes, which were usually so lively, seemed sunk in an unshaven face that had taken on a terrible grey pallor. He’d gone straight to bed and James had sat them down and told them what had happened. At the time it had seemed heartless, but Pat was grateful that James had spoken the truth so bluntly.
It turned out that Mikey had been leading a crazy life, often not leaving work until eleven or twelve at night and then going out on the town. Every weekend he was at a party, or away with friends, and, in order to keep going, he had starting taking drugs – to help him sleep, to help him keep awake, to make him happy – and it had gradually got out of control. Apparently, this had been going on for over a year. He had collapsed at work on Monday and had been rushed to hospital, where the doctor had told James, who was back on leave, that Mikey had had a severe panic attack and was suffering from anxiety and depression, probably triggered by the drugs he was taking. The doctor had suggested that Mikey be admitted to a clinic for help in sorting himself out, and then said there was no way he’d be going back to work, not in the foreseeable future. Mikey had been given something for the anxiety and, going forward, would probably need to take antidepressants, James told them.
Pat remembers them sitting there in stunned silence, until finally Geoffrey had found his voice and asked James lots of questions. In the end they agreed that Mikey should stay at home until he felt a bit better and then they would decide what to do about the clinic.
The next few days were difficult. Mikey spent most of the time in his room sleeping, at least that’s what Pat hoped, and only came down for the odd meal, always in his pyjamas. He didn’t want to talk or make decisions and Pat and Geoffrey respected that, and avoided anything except the most mundane conversations such as asking Mikey if he wanted a cup of tea or commenting on the weather. Inside, Pat’s heart was breaking. Her happy, confident, kind son had become an empty shell and she had no idea how to help him.
The doctor came to see Mikey and he told them that, although it would be a slow process, their son would get better. In the meantime, he would need very careful handling. He prescribed antidepressants but, after a few days, Mikey seemed even worse and stopped coming downstairs altogether. Pat took him small meals, which he barely picked at. Sometimes he had the television on but didn’t seem to be watching it.
Terrified that Mikey might do something to harm himself, Pat again called the doctor, who explained that it would take some time for his body to adjust to the new drugs and that Mikey would start to improve gradually. He recommended that he stay at home for a bit longer before any big decisions were made.
It seemed like months, but it was probably only two or three weeks, before Pat and Geoffrey began to see some change in Mikey. He started coming down to meals again, staying longer each time, and then one morning he came down dressed and shaved.
‘You look better, dear,’ Pat said. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘I do feel better,’ Mikey replied. ‘In fact, I’d like to go out for a walk and get some fresh air – I’ve been cooped up for too long.’
‘Would you like me to come?’ she asked.
‘That would be nice.’
Pat lent him some of Geoffrey’s boots and a coat and they set off down the lane. An icy wind beat against their faces and a dark sky above them hinted of snow. Pat felt exhilarated both because of the weather and because, for the first time in weeks, she could see that Mikey was more like his old self.
‘Do you want to talk about it, dear?’ Pat asked while they scraped the mud off their boots at the end of the walk.
‘I would like to talk to you and Dad,’ he said. ‘I’ve been thinking about what I want to do and I’ve had some ideas.’
Pat made some tea and they sat round the fire, listening to Mikey talk.
He told them that he had never really been happy at Oxford or in his job and had always felt that he was, in some way, a fraud. He had begun to hate the people he worked with and their relentless pursuit of money and found he had less and less in common with his group of party-loving friends. The drugs were the only thing that lessened his increasing sense of the futility of his life.
‘Why on earth didn’t you tell us?’ Geoffrey asked.
‘I don’t know. Guilt probably, or fear that I’d be letting everyone down. When you’re in a downward spiral like that it’s hard to be rational about anything.’
He had made a decision. He wouldn’t go back to work in the City; he wanted to get away for a while to somewhere beautiful and peaceful where he could work out what he wanted to do. He owned a house in London and had enough money invested so that if he lived simply, which he intended to do, he could survive perfectly happily for a long time, if not the rest of his life.
‘Lucky you,’ his father said, and they had all laughed.
Over the next few days, Mikey did some research and settled on a meditation retreat in Pokhara in Nepal for the start of his journey. Three weeks later, Pat and Geoffrey saw him off at Heathrow. They didn’t see him again for eighteen months, although occasionally they received a postcard that told them how his travels had taken him all over Nepal and into India. When he returned, looking a bit thin but otherwise fit and healthy, Pat could immediately tell that he had finally found some sort of peace.
And that became the pattern of his life. A few months in England and then he would set off again to explore another continent but something always called him back to India. It was at an ashram outside Udupi that Mikey had met Athena and from where Udie had got her name. Pat had hoped that having a child would instil some sense of responsibility in Mikey and encourage him to settle down, but he continued his wanderings, his only concession being to make his trips slightly shorter. He didn’t live with Athena and Udie when he was home, but he made sure they were well provided for and Pat could see that he was becoming more and more attached to his daughter. Maybe he’ll eventually stay for good, she thinks.
Pat goes upstairs and quietly opens James’s door. As she had hoped, he is fast asleep and she wills him to stay that way for as long as possible.