His words were the only memory I let in after Denz visited me in that place. All the others were like razors against my skin, slicing my brain into so many ribbons. I needed a way to stop them, to block them out. It started with counting—counting everything I saw. My steps, my blinks, the shutting of doors. So many complicated patterns, so much filling of the space in my skull.
Funny thing is, it seemed to convince the nurses. My mind was always so busy, so full of nothing, that it kept me quiet, focused. There were no more outbursts, no more smashing of mirrors, no more shouting my mouth off in the common room. Instead I kept myself to myself. Counting, blocking, numbing, quietening. I learned to answer their questions with my mouth without engaging my heart, giving them what they wanted while, behind my eyes, I disappeared.
I can’t remember how long it was before they decided I was normal. Can’t believe, still, that anyone could have drawn that conclusion. Perhaps it was more to do with needing the bed, funding cuts. Perhaps I really was becoming Chrissy, a master of putting on a show.
I was lucky, they said, as they prepared to discharge me. Lucky the family were so understanding, lucky that I’d got help. Who knows what might have happened to me otherwise?
Yes, I replied. I’m lucky. So fortunate, so very, very blessed.
The caseworker smiled tightly. I see you still have the ability for sarcasm, she said, tapping something away into her computer, her eyebrows raised.
They found me a place in an assisted-living facility, just until I got back on my feet. I’d still have access to support, would need to report in regularly.
That all seems manageable, I said, nodding, and she looked at me again with uncertainty, but something in my face must have won her over because she smiled more kindly this time.
They arranged for a taxi to take me there, but I never had any intention of going inside. Instead I sat on the wall outside the building where the driver dropped me off, gave him my sanest grin and a thumbs-up. He eyed me nervously for a moment before driving off. He’d done what he was told, I wasn’t his problem now.
The main road was only a short walk from the hostel, I’d already looked it up on an old map I found in the scant library at the nuthouse. I walked quickly, glancing over my shoulder, thinking someone must be following me, must be making sure I was doing what I’d been told. But the street behind me stayed empty. When I got to the busiest intersection I stuck my thumb out like I’d seen someone do on an American film that me and Danny watched once. Within ten minutes, a lorry had picked me up.
The driver dropped me off near Birmingham. It took three more rides before I arrived in London. I saw Danny everywhere: catching glimpses of him in the reflections of the shop windows, watching him slip just out of reach on the escalator at the Tube. Every day I’d cross another part of the city, zigzagging from the north all the way down to the south, toward Brixton. For the first week I slept in doorways and on the back of buses, without any idea of what I might do next, only that this was where I needed to be. Danny would know how to find me here.
By the time I followed Sandy into the caff that day, I only had enough money for a cup of tea and I nursed it for hours, counting a pattern of tiny squares on the tablecloth, smaller then larger, then smaller again. I kept losing track and every time I did, I’d make myself go back to the beginning, start again.
At some point Ali brought me over another tea, but when I tried to tell him no, I couldn’t pay, he waved my hand away. And then closing time came and Fionnoula bustled over, thrust a cheese sandwich wrapped in clingfilm into my hands, told me they were shutting up shop for the day. I trudged back down the hill after that, searching face after face after face, wondering when Danny’s would appear.
In the end, I fell asleep on a bench near the markets, dreamed of Danny mowing lawns in the royal gardens, my name on the front of a book. And then I found myself back at the caff again. I liked the noise in there, the clatter and the din. It must have gone on like that for a week or so, until one day Fionnoula told me enough was enough, she couldn’t keep feeding me cheese sandwiches and tea for the rest of her life. I nodded mutely, stood up to leave, but she stopped me, put her hand on my shoulder. You’ll help me in the kitchen, she said. Do a bit of washing up, a bit of chopping and peeling too, p’raps. She smiled then, leaning in closer to me with a wink. I’ll pay you in tea and cheese sandwiches, if you like.
There was something about Fionnoula that made me trust her, a humanity I hadn’t seen in anyone for a long time. When she asked me my name, I answered honestly.
My name is Jennifer.
At first, I’d just show up each morning, wait for Ali to arrive with his keys and let me in. Scurry off into the back and get on with things. There was a telly in the kitchen and one out the front, and on the counter there was always a radio blaring. That old saying: too loud to hear myself think. It was true and it was perfect for me.
I chopped, peeled, did the washing up. They still kept me in tea and cheese sandwiches, but they paid me too, enough so that I always had a bed in one of the hostels down the road. When my shift was finished I’d walk all the way to Brixton, wander the streets and search the faces, hope against hope that someone was searching for mine too.
Over time, Ali and Fi came to trust me. Ali had an extra set of keys cut and the pair of them would let me open up now and again. And then Fionnoula’s back started playing up. She didn’t like to be on her feet all day and so they asked me, would I mind taking on a bit more, managing things up front, meeting the customers, that sort of thing? I was scared to do it but I said yes, they had been so kind to me. And then Fionnoula said, well, it doesn’t make much sense you always tottering off at the end of every day, so why don’t you stay upstairs, there’s a little room up there you could have, it’s not much but it’s just sitting empty, you might as well.
I waited for Danny for a long time but he didn’t keep his promise. As the years passed I taught myself to forget. It hurt too much to think he’d never been looking.