2.55 pm

The woman’s voice is calm. She asks Alice what their names are and nods as Alice talks. ‘Alice and Pen,’ she repeats. ‘I’m Ruth.’ And then the woman bends down, kneels down on the ground in front of Pen, and Alice says, ‘She doesn’t like to be touched, really,’ but she sounds unsure suddenly. ‘It’s okay,’ says the woman called Ruth. And then Alice says, ‘She’s, she’s on the spectrum,’ and imagines she sees Pen’s eyes widen even more.

‘Pen. You are safe. You’re here. You’re safe. Pen, can you close your eyes for me? That’s right, close your eyes, gently. Good.’

And she has one of those voices that Alice thinks you would trust, you would follow, as if she knows you.

‘Now, Pen, I know this will sound strange, but can you close your mouth for me? Yes, that’s right, and keep it closed, keep your eyes closed too. Just listen to my voice. Now, Pen, keep your mouth closed and breathe in through your nose. And hold it for a second. That’s right. And let it out through your nose again.’

The woman has a hand on each of Pen’s shoulders.

‘No, we’re fine,’ she says to the security guard who’s standing there, asking about 999.

Alice manages a smile, trying to look casual so he knows they’re not crazy people. ‘She just got a bit hot,’ says the woman called Ruth and he nods and walks away. The woman is holding Pen’s shoulders still and saying, really softly, like a lullaby, ‘In through your nose, and out again through your nose.’ And Pen isn’t making the wheezing noise any more.

‘I’m going to ask you to stay still, just keep going in through your nose and now breathe out through your mouth. Good air in, old air out. Just let your body do its thing. It doesn’t feel great right now, but remember – nothing can hurt you. In and out.’

The woman stops talking then, and just breathes along with Pen for a few moments. ‘And can you slowly, carefully, open your eyes a little for me, Pen?’

The woman looks up and nods to Alice, with a half-smile, still holding Pen’s shoulders. Alice sees how gentle she is and how she seems to know what to do and the right thing to say and Alice feels a wave of wanting to cry out to her, but her head is bent again towards Pen.

‘Can you open your eyes, Pen, and just keep really still, just look down, no need to move. That’s great. You’re doing great.’

Look at me again, Alice could say. What do you see?

‘Now, Pen, I want you to listen to my voice and my voice will guide you. You don’t have to say anything, just listen to my voice. Breathe in through your nose, that’s right, and now out through your mouth. Okay, you’re doing really well, so we’re going to take it slowly, and just go to the next step. Breathe in and listen to me, that’s right, and out again. Can you name one thing you can feel? There’s no need to speak, just name it in your head.’

A-woman’s-hands.

‘Have you got it in your mind? Great job. Now let’s keep breathing. In through your nose, pause, out through your mouth, that’s right. You’re still safe. Okay, Pen, can you name to yourself two things you can hear?’

People-talking-somewhere-far-away-the-door-banging. Pen nods.

‘You’re doing really well. Now, deep breath again, breathe out, and Pen, can you name three things you can see?’

My-feet-the-floor-the-edge-of-my-glasses.

‘Now, can you look at your hands, and notice one thing about them?’

They-are-not-shaking-any-more.

‘Now, can you name one thing you can taste?’

Thirsty.

‘You’re doing great, Pen. Breathe in through your nose and pause, and out through your mouth. Okay?’

Pen’s head moves a tiny bit, she wants to shrug the woman’s hands off her. This is a good sign, she is coming back to herself.

‘This is my number, I’ll be in the gallery café for the next hour, so if you need anything at all, just call me.’

The woman is looking at Alice, then down at Pen’s bent head, then at Alice again. Alice nods. She has only just recognised her, the woman who took the photo earlier.

‘Anyone can get overwhelmed, there’s a lot of noise out there.’ Ruth smiles at Alice.

‘Do you think I should call her mother?’

‘It’s really up to Pen. You guys are –’ Ruth pauses. ‘Are you eighteen yet?’

‘We’re both sixteen.’

‘Okay, then. Yes, you should call.’ Ruth hunkers down once more, whispering to Pen, ‘You did great, Pen. It feels bad now, but this too shall pass.’ She stands and smiles again at Alice. ‘Will you be okay from here?’

Alice nods. She looks at Pen and when she looks around again, Ruth is walking away, looking back as she goes through under the arch, giving a small wave. Alice looks down, at her phone, at the card. It’s hard to believe it was only ten minutes she was with them.

‘Are you okay now?’ Alice asks.

After feels terrible. There’s a headache. Pen’s whole body aches and she has to hold the phone to the side of her head and talk and it feels hard to do this. Pen hears Claire talking, ‘Keep breathing, Pen. Can you focus on what you hear and keep your gaze on the floor or your hands?’ Pen nods, and it is like her mum knows. ‘Don’t beat yourself up, Pen. I know you, I know you’ll be embarrassed, but Alice cares about you.’ Pen shakes her head, not wanting to hear, not wanting Alice to hear. What is Claire saying now? She’s asking something. ‘Can you say, “A dingo’s got my baby”?’ which is a line that always seems funny and Meryl Streep is the best actress and Pen almost smiles but that’s too hard. ‘How do you feel now, can you tell me one thing you are feeling in your body?’

‘Aching.’

‘Okay, well, that sounds like a premonition of what it feels like to be forty-five, which is painful but not actually fatal. Listen,’ and Claire takes a breath, ‘I don’t want to ruin your day, but I think you should take this as a sign, listen to your body, head home.’

Pen sees her mother, sitting in her office, staring through the slatted blind at the wall she looks out on, surrounded by her books and papers and the hundred postcards of art by women she has taped to the walls, all the colours bleached to a blue palette by the west light.

‘Coming home is not a failure, Pen.’

Claire sounds like she’s trying to be reasonable, but Pen still says nothing.

‘Fine,’ Claire sighs.

Pen knows that ‘fine’ is the opposite of what Claire means, but sometimes Pen being a literalist is to her advantage, so she says ‘okay’ again.

‘Okay, well, take it easy now, Pen. Get something to eat, promise me?’

‘Yes, Mum.’

‘I’ll see you for dinner.’

‘Okay,’ Pen says, not because it’s true but because she needs to stop talking now.

‘Facts are your friend, Pen,’ said the woman-therapist in their second session, and Pen wishes so hard she were here now, or Pen was in her calm, high-up therapy room now. Fact: she is not. Fact: she aches. Fact: hypoxia is what makes your muscles sore because they are straining so hard for oxygen. Fact: Pen and Alice skipped lunch, so Pen has low blood sugar and that’s why the headache. Those are facts, and the facts are part of the reason why Pen feels terrible. But that’s not the only reason her body feels like lead.

Alice is looking at the children’s drawings, there’s an ‘art pod’ in the corner of the atrium and some of the drawings are stuck up and Alice is looking at them. Alice is giving Pen space. Pen does not want this space because it is space between them, not space they are sharing.

It is an effort but Pen stands up, lets the dizziness pass, raises and drops her shoulders. Pen focuses on knowing where she is. Pen inhales. Pen walks over to Alice. And it is superhuman, and she is shaking again, and she has to remember how to breathe. She is standing next to Alice.

There is a moment then, Pen is paused, and Alice is paused, and perhaps neither of them is really breathing. And then Pen says something.

‘Do you come here often?’