“You’ve saved my bloody life, you have,” Mike told her when they were ensconced in the pub having a drink that night.
“You’ve probably saved mine too,” she said.
“Escaping the randy vicar again?”
She hated Mike’s contempt for William, but right now it was probably good for her to hear, she thought, not rising to his jibe.
“He’s going to be a bishop.”
He pulled a face. “That’s reassuring.”
She didn’t reply for a moment.
“You can’t think worse of William than he thinks of himself.”
Mike made a disparaging sound in his throat. “God, those are the worst sort, the ones who feel bad but do it anyway. If he really had a conscience he’d have kept it in his trousers.”
“Yeah, I know. I know it all. I know it was stupid and I know it was wrong and I know I never stood a chance with him. So tell me something I don’t know . . . how the hell do I forget him?”
He gave her a wry grin. “Ah, now that’s a whole other thing. The truth? You won’t. You just have to wait and wait till time chips tiny bits off. Then one day you’ll wake up realizing it’s too small to be significant and you haven’t thought about him in days.”
“And how long does that take?”
“That’s the bad news. Too long. But it’s a tried and tested formula. Not that anyone in your current state ever believes it.”
Karen smiled at Mike’s wisdom. “Thanks. Thanks for not saying I should do this or do that, pull myself together, get a life, move on.”
“I was getting to that part.”
She punched him on the arm as they both began to laugh.
*
The next couple of days, as predicted, were completely manic in the café. The crowd this week was a very different one from the usual seaside clientele. This was a trendy, earnest, opinionated bunch, dressed for the city, not the beach, impatient and demanding high-quality service as if they were in a Central London café. Karen preferred the shuffling holidaymakers with too many children who couldn’t make up their minds.
“That lot have been there since three with one sodding coffee each,” Mike complained on Saturday afternoon. “And now I want to close up and they’re still sat there gabbing.”
A group of four men and one girl were lounging on the terrace in the dying sun, all talking loudly at once and laughing a lot. As Mike said, they had each ordered a coffee about two hours ago and nothing since, but when Karen went and asked if they wanted anything else, they’d barely stopped long enough to wave her away.
“Bet they earn six times as much as me for doing bloody nothing all day except making stuff up.”
Karen laughed. “Says Mr. Meldrew.”
“Well, don’t you think they’re annoying?”
“Sort of, but you’ll probably find they have very high-stress, insecure jobs and are shouting to keep their courage up.”
“They’d do better ordering a ham sandwich to keep their protein up. None of them look as if they’ve had a square meal in decades. And those ridiculous clothes . . .”
Karen frowned at him. “What’s up, Mike? You’re not your usual chilled self, and it can’t just be those skinny media types winding you up.”
He sighed. “It’s Margie’s birthday today.”
“Oh . . . I’m sorry. You should have said. That’s really hard.”
“I miss her so much. Promising you the other day that time’d sort your obsession was only wishful thinking. I haven’t hardly got to first base with Margie.” He took up the dishcloth and began scrubbing an already pristine sink.
Karen laid a gentle hand on his back. “I’ll tell that lot we’re closing and then get you a coffee and some cake.”
Later they sat together at the table recently vacated by the festival mob. There was a soft breeze from the water, which was up to the high-tide mark.
“What did you used to do on her birthday?”
Mike gave a slow smile. “Worked. We were always working. And it was bloody exhausting most of the time, but at least we had each other. That’s what I miss, having someone around to moan at in the early mornings, to joke around with, share stuff about the punters, like we did today. Gina really is just a pretty face.”
“Have you been out with anyone since?”
He shook his head. “Nah. Not because I wouldn’t like to—and Margie would wallop me for being such a wuss—but I don’t know . . . seems kinda weird . . . I’d have to feel strongly . . .” He cleared his throat. “I envy you the vicar. I know it’s not working out so well, but it’s probably got you over the hump of losing your old man.”
Karen didn’t know how to answer this. Her feelings for Harry were clearly so different from Mike’s for his wife Margie. She wasn’t over losing Harry, not really, although she’d convinced herself that she was. She still felt his shadow sometimes, heard his voice or his booming laugh. But her mourning for Harry had been masked, overridden by her feelings for William Haskell.
“You can borrow him if you like, I’m over it,” she said. “He’s perfect. And so reliable. He’ll bugger off back to his wife as soon as things threaten to get serious.”
Mike looked more horrified than amused. “Might give that one a miss.”
“Very wise.”
“Think we deserve a drink.”
“Think we do.”
They finished up, pulled down the shutters, locked the door and made their way over to the pub.
*
Mike stuck to his beer, Karen ordered a bottle of white. She quickly got drunk. It didn’t seem to matter any more what she did. She was free as a bird to behave as she liked, no one would care.
“You know, I’ve noticed, you don’t have a very high opinion of men,” she said, later on in the evening. “Polisher, thug, lout . . . what’s that about?”
Mike looked puzzled. “Yeah, hadn’t thought about it . . .” He paused. “But now I do, it’s a no-brainer.”
She waited for him to go on, but he just stared into his beer.
“Grew up with a compulsive gambler for a father who gambled the milk money, the rent, the shirts off our backs. Begged for forgiveness then did it all again the next night. Led Ma a proper dance. Reckon I’m waiting for any bloke to behave in the same way. And let’s face it, I’m not often disappointed.”
“Is he still alive?”
“No, stupid old bugger. It was the sorrys that drove us all nuts. He was always sorry, so charmingly bloody sorry. But he just couldn’t stop himself.”
“I had a good dad, it’s not always men who are to blame. I know some good men . . . great men . . .” Karen wasn’t sure who she was talking about, or even if she was making sense. She hadn’t eaten all day and suddenly she was beginning to feel really out of it, her head spinning, having trouble focusing on her words.
“If this is the warm-up act for letting your vicar off the hook, it won’t wash.”
“He’s not my vicar, he’s Janey’s vicar . . . and God’s vicar . . . and whoever’s sodding vicar. And they can bloody well keep him. I said, you can keep him . . . just not . . . me.”
She saw Mike frowning at her. “Do you think we ought to call it a day?”
“Now? No, no, we can’t go to bed, it’s waay too early.” She blinked as she grabbed her glass and brought it to her lips only to realize it was empty as she sucked on the dribbles. “Need some more wine.”
But Mike pulled the bottle out of her reach. It only had an inch left. She’d drunk the whole bottle single-handed.
“No, listen, you’ve had enough. Come on, I’ll get you home.”
Karen pulled her arm away as he tried to get her to her feet.
“Stop it. I don’t want to go home. It isn’t my home anyway, my home is empty except for . . . Soph. She’s there but she doesn’t do anything, nor do I. Nothing, nada, niente . . . I really need another drink.”
Mike finally succeeded in hauling her to her feet and had to practically carry her out of the pub. The chilly autumn air hit her and she staggered even more. She was sure she was just about to vomit, so she bent over the gutter, but she wasn’t sick, just dizzy and clammy as she brought her head up again. Mike had to drag her up the three floors to the flat, where he made her drink a large glass of water while he put the kettle on for some tea. After a while, head still spinning if she moved too quickly, she began to feel less nauseous.
She was sitting on the sofa bed, Mike perched on the mustard-yellow chair next to the table.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, when they’d both finished their mugs of tea. “I can’t believe I did that. I haven’t been sick-drunk for literally decades.”
He grinned. “Not a pretty sight.”
She groaned. “God, I daren’t lie down, my head will spin off.”
“Still, you’d better get to bed. I’ll help you pull it out.”
She stood to the side while Mike took the cushions off, yanked the metal bar to raise the mattress out of the frame, padded the gap at the head with the cushions. He looked around for the bed linen.
“I put them in the cupboard.” Karen walked carefully over and opened the door, grabbing the folded duvet, sheets and pillows from the bottom shelf. She buried her face in the softness of the pillows and wanted just to fall asleep right there, upright, without moving another step.
Mike rescued her bundle and set to work making up the bed.
“There, you can do the rest, can you?”
She nodded.
“I’ll get home, then,” he said, still looking at her as if he wasn’t sure she could manage even to get undressed and into bed.
She nodded again. “Listen, thanks, Mike . . . thanks so much. I’ve been a total pain tonight.”
He shrugged off her apology and picked up his jacket from the back of the chair. “Night, then.”
But suddenly she didn’t want him to go. She couldn’t face being alone. She found she was crying, awful drunk-woman tears of self-pity that she couldn’t control. And after a moment’s hesitation, Mike put his coat down and took her in his arms and hugged her.
“Hey, come on, love. It’s not that bad.”
It felt worse than bad, however, and she clung to him, desperately trying to avoid being alone with herself, her head buried determinedly in his T-shirt as he tried to push her gently away. And as she looked up at him, his fierce blue eyes seemed so discomfited that she wanted to laugh.
Instead she reached up and kissed him, planting her lips firmly on his own and drawing her body back into his embrace. She felt his body stiffen. For a second his mouth responded, slowly returning the kiss, his arms tightening around her.
Then he pulled sharply away.
“Karen . . .”
She came to her senses with a terrible feeling of shame.
“God, Mike . . . God, I’m so sorry. What am I like? I honestly didn’t mean to do that . . . it just sort of happened.” She buried her head in her hands.
Mike looked slightly stunned, then shook his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Didn’t expect that.”
“No, well . . .” Karen went and sat on the edge of the bed. “Bloody embarrassing.”
“Hey, don’t be embarrassed, it wasn’t so bad.”
She shot him a rueful glance. “Don’t tease, I’m not up to it.”
“Best we forget it ever happened. Get to bed and I’ll see you in the morning, if you can stand up straight, that is.” He checked his pocket for his keys and went toward the door. “Sleep well.”
She could still hear the amused note in his voice and cringed, longing for the door to shut behind him so she could be mortified all by herself.
*
She didn’t sleep very well—just a few hours of oblivion—before her dry mouth, throbbing head and embarrassment woke her. She drank pints of water, took two paracetamol and went for a long swim.
By the time she heard the clatter of the shutters going up on Mike’s café, she was feeling relatively perky, aware of the uneasy energy that comes from overtiredness. Dreading confronting Mike, but knowing that leaving it would only make things worse, she clattered down the stairs and across the road to meet him.
Far from being self-conscious about seeing Karen, Mike beamed at her, the amusement from last night still clear in his eyes. “How are you feeling?”
“Physically, not good. Mentally, awful. I—”
He held up his hand, interrupting her flow. “Stop right there. You got drunk. We kissed. It wasn’t meant. End of.”
She stared at him. “I can’t believe I did it.”
He laughed. “No, well, we all do daft things. Just have to suck it up.”
Karen tried to feel as sanguine as he did. “Alright for you. You didn’t make a total fool of yourself.”
“Let’s get Brenda up and running. I need a coffee and I reckon you do too.” Mike had christened his unpredictable coffee machine after a fickle girlfriend from his youth. “Those media types won’t be in for hours, it’s Sunday.”
“By the way, have you got my phone?” Karen asked, when they’d finished their drinks and were getting going on the sandwiches. “I couldn’t find it this morning.”
Mike shook his head. “Nope. You probably left it in the pub.”
“I’ll go over in a minute. Not that anyone’ll have called.”
“Poor old Norman-no-mates.”
“Shut up, will you? I said I was OK, but I’m not that OK.”
The next couple of hours passed fast and painfully. She took a quick break during a lull in customers to nip over the road and ask about her phone. The landlord, almost before she’d said a word, retrieved it from behind the bar and held it up with a question on his face.
She nodded gratefully.
“I saw you leave it, but you didn’t answer when I shouted. And I was too busy to run after you.”
“Not my finest hour.” She took the phone.
“You should see some people,” he said.
The phone was switched off and she pressed the on-button as she walked back to the café, waiting for it to power up. Glancing at the screen in the bright light, she could see there were a number of calls, but not who they were from. As soon as she was through the door, she looked again. The screen was packed with a list of missed calls, all from Patrick Gascoigne, her next-door neighbor.
Puzzled and alarmed, she listened to her voicemail.
“Karen,” Patrick’s voice sounded frantic, “call me as soon as you can. It’s urgent.”
The second message was shorter. “Darling, please call. It’s Sophie.”
Karen didn’t listen to the other ones. Heart in her mouth, she pressed call-back.
Patrick answered on the second ring.
“Karen? God, darling, where have you been? I’ve been calling you since eleven o’clock last night.”
“Sorry . . . what’s happened? Tell me.”
“It’s Sophie. She’s OK now, well, she’s sort of . . . anyway, there’s no nice way to say this . . . She tried to kill herself last night.”
Karen went cold. “Tried to kill herself? Sophie? Oh my God!”
“She’s in hospital, they pumped her stomach. I saw her a couple of minutes ago, I’m just outside her room, and she’s awake and talking, so I imagine she’s going to be OK, but the doctors are waiting to see if there was any damage from the pills.”
She sat down heavily on a café chair.
Mike, seeing something was wrong, was by her side. “What is it?” he mouthed.
But she just looked at him, unable to explain.
“I’ll come now,” she said. “I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Do you want to speak to her?” Patrick asked.
“Please, yes . . .”
Her hand was sweating so much, the phone felt sticky in her palm, but she clung on to it, waiting with a pounding heart for Patrick to go back into Sophie’s room and give her the phone.
“Hi,” Sophie said, eventually.
“Sophie, are you alright?”
“Not really.”
Then Karen heard her burst into tears.
“Oh, Sophie . . . listen, I’m on my way. I’m so, so sorry I wasn’t there. My phone was switched off, I’ve only just got Patrick’s messages.”
“It’s OK,” the girl said flatly.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“OK,” she said again.
“Will you pass me back to Patrick, please?”
“He’s gone to get a coffee.”
“Right. Well, see you in an hour, darling.”
Sophie hung up.
Karen told Mike what had happened. “Sorry to leave you in the lurch, but I’ve got to go.”
“Of course. Are you sure you’re OK to drive?”
She shrugged. “I’ll have to be.”
“I can close up and take you if you like.”
“God, no. Thanks, you’re very kind, but I’ll be fine.” She hugged Mike tightly. “Talk later.”
*
All the way to the hospital in the car, Karen’s head was spinning. Not with the after-effects of the white wine, but with the horrible certainty that she could have stopped Sophie harming herself. It was so clear that the girl was depressed, but Karen had chosen to ignore it, or at least do nothing about it, too wrapped up as she was in her own pointless love affair.
How could she have been so selfish? How could she have left Sophie yet again, when it was clear as day the girl was so thin, fragile, lost? By the time she was fumbling with the coins for the exorbitant hospital car park ticket machine, she was close to tears.
Patrick met her at the door to the ward. Without a word, he immediately wrapped her in his strong arms.
“Am I glad to see you,” he said.
He looked anxious and exhausted, unshaven—obviously he’d been up all night with Sophie.
“How is she?”
“She seems to be coping. She’s been asleep most of time since they pumped her out. The psych woman can’t come and assess her till tomorrow, but they say she’ll have to stay in tonight, anyway. Something about potential liver damage not showing up for the first twenty-four hours. I didn’t get it all, you’ll have to ask the doctor.”
“Poor Sophie . . . this is my fault, I should never have left her on her own. I knew she was depressed. It would never have happened if I’d stayed at home instead of swanning off to the beach again.” The self-blame poured out of her in a desperate torrent.
“Darling, stop beating yourself up. No one ever knows, that’s the point.” He gently took her arm and drew her along the shiny corridor. “Come on, I’ll get you a coffee and you can tidy yourself up before you see her. We don’t want her to feel guilty for upsetting you on top of all the rest.”
For ten minutes they sat by the coffee machine at the end of the corridor. The coffee was strong and hot and surprisingly palatable. Karen cradled the paper cup, glad of the warmth between her hands. She was cold as ice, although the hospital air was hot and stuffy with the abiding smell of disinfectant.
“How did you find her?”
“Well, I wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been for Largo. I was on my own in the cottage—Volkan didn’t come down this weekend, he was working—and I heard the dog barking. It was gone ten, and I thought it was just Sophie putting him out for his last wee before bed and he’d seen a fox or something. But then I realized he was inside, not outside, and he was barking his head off, really frantic . . .”
Patrick took a breath. “So I went round and banged on the door, called out to Sophie, but of course she didn’t answer. When the dog heard me he came racing to the front door and was scrambling at it, still barking. I didn’t know what to do, both doors were locked, but I found a window at the back—into the den—which wasn’t fastened properly, and I crawled in.” He shook his head, smiling. “You can imagine, with this bulk that wasn’t easy. And as soon as I was inside, Largo jumped up at me, then raced off upstairs. She was in her bedroom, just lying there unconscious, white as a sheet. I honestly thought she was dead.”
“God . . .”
“To be frank, I nearly had a heart attack myself. But you learn bits and bobs hanging around film sets all your life. After I’d called 999 I put her in the recovery position, made sure her airway was clear—she’d been sick at some stage—kept her warm and waited. It was agony, darling, I’m telling you. The ambulance only took about fifteen minutes, but it seemed like five years.”
“You literally saved her life, Patrick. Suppose you hadn’t been down, or hadn’t noticed the barking . . .”
He shrugged modestly. “It’s Largo who gets the medal,” he said.
“Do you know what she took?”
“A possible combination of blood pressure pills, paracetamol and Night Nurse, apparently.”
“Blood pressure pills?”
“Yes, beta blockers. Harry’s, judging by the label. There were some missing from the blister pack, but that could have been Harry. We don’t know if she took any, or whether she just had them there.”
“If she did, you’d think a cocktail like that would have killed her instantly.”
“Sophie hasn’t told anyone how many she swallowed of everything—she probably doesn’t know herself—but it must have been a fair old number of something, she seemed pretty ill . . .” He paused. “The doc said that if we hadn’t found her when we did, she might well have died.”
“She must have really meant it.”
Patrick’s look was full of sympathy. “So you think she was depressed?”
Karen nodded. “I’m sure she was. I should have done something. I knew she wasn’t right. But she’d been the same for months. And Sophie’s never the most communicative girl . . . not with me, anyway.”
“Harry’s death must have hit her very hard. She always was his princess.”
They sat in silence, Karen barely able to contemplate the horrifying implications if Sophie had succeeded. She would never have forgiven herself.
“I just don’t know how to thank you, Patrick. You’re amazing, knowing what to do, coping with it all. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”
“Shush, darling. Come on, drink up, let’s go and check on Sophie. You’ll feel better when you see she’s alright.”
*
Her stepdaughter, however, looked quite dreadful. White as a sheet, eyes sunken in their sockets, hair scraped back into a low ponytail that revealed the painful thinness of her face. She had her eyes shut as Karen and Patrick tiptoed up to the curtained bed, but they flew open as soon as she heard them.
Karen bent and laid her cheek against Sophie’s, gave her a kiss as she squeezed her shoulders. “Oh, Sophie, I’m so sorry.”
The girl did not resist Karen’s embrace. She seemed drugged still, her movements slow as she tried to hoist herself up on her pillows.
Patrick took the chair on the opposite side. Karen sat on the bed itself, took Sophie’s hand.
“What happened?” she asked gently.
Sophie gave a huge sigh. “I don’t know . . .”
“I wish you’d told me how you were feeling.”
The girl didn’t answer.
“Maybe I could have helped.”
“I . . . I didn’t want to worry you.”
“And I was so pathetically caught up in my own life.”
“It’s not your fault. I just . . . I just . . . it all seemed so pointless. I’m useless. I don’t have a job or a relationship, I can’t get my life together . . . and . . . I don’t know . . . seems I can’t even kill myself properly . . .” She trailed off.
No one spoke. Karen felt her heart break for the fragile girl. She looked across the bed at Patrick, his kind face also pained by Sophie’s distress.
“I know something about what you’re going through. I’ve felt like that myself at various times in my life,” Patrick said quietly.
This surprised Karen, and clearly Sophie too, because she frowned, bewildered.
“You? You’ve felt like there was nothing to live for?”
The actor nodded emphatically. “Oh, yes. It’s quite awful at the time. Everything’s gray, there’s nothing to look forward to, nothing gives you an ounce of pleasure. And not being able to cope creates so much guilt, but you still can’t make yourself cope. All I wanted to do was hide under the duvet all day and cry.”
Sophie’s face lightened a little. “You felt like that?”
“Absolutely, darling. As I say, on more than one occasion. I’m not always this jolly soul you see before you now. I never actually got around to trying to kill myself, but I certainly thought about it and lined up the pills. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“That’s how I feel,” Sophie murmured, tears forming in her dark eyes.
Patrick patted the hand that Karen wasn’t holding. “Well, I’m extremely glad you didn’t succeed. Now you need to get some proper help. Meds and a spot of therapy should do the trick. I know a great person I’ll put you in touch with if Tom doesn’t have one up his sleeve. You won’t believe me now, darling, but this will pass. It may take a bit of time, but I promise you, in a few months you’ll feel like a new woman.”
Sophie gave a faint smile. “New would be good.”
A nurse put her head round the curtain. “Do you want anything to eat, Sophie?”
The girl shook her head.
“You couldn’t eat that muck, anyway,” Patrick whispered. “I saw the trolley on my way in. Smelt like old socks. I’ll bring you in something tasty later on.”
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”
Patrick looked horrified. “You’ve got to eat if you want to get well, dear girl. I don’t want to hear any of this silly starving nonsense. Anyway, my chicken broth is to die for. And,” he put his head on one side, considering, “maybe a little cheese straw on the side, some panna cotta for pudding—nothing too heavy.”
“Sounds delicious,” Karen said as Patrick got up, clearly on a mission.
He bent to kiss Sophie on the forehead. “Listen, sweet pea. All the best people feel this way sometimes. It’s part of being human. But you won’t be like it forever, do remember that.”
After he’d gone the atmosphere within the shady, womb-like curtains felt very flat. Karen didn’t know what to say.
“How do you feel?”
“Very tired. And stupid.” Sophie met her eye. “I don’t think I really wanted to die.” She looked away briefly. “I don’t know, maybe part of me did . . . Daddy would be so horrified if he knew.” Tears fell silently down her cheeks.
Karen handed her a tissue from the box on the bedside cabinet. “I’ve really let you down. I knew you were depressed, but I didn’t do a thing to help.”
“What could you have done if I didn’t tell you how I felt?”
“I could have made it easier for you to tell me, instead of winding you up even more by dumping my confessions on you like that. I’m so sorry.” Suddenly she had a thought. “Have you told your mum?”
The girl’s eyes flew wide open. “No. No, I can’t tell her, she can’t ever know. Please, Karen, don’t tell her.”
“Of course I won’t tell her, you’re over eighteen, it’s your call. But this was very serious, Soph, you were this close to dying.” Karen held her thumb and forefinger a centimeter apart. “Don’t you think she should know? She is your mother.”
“She’ll freak if she finds out. She’ll want to rush back from Greece, but she won’t be able to because Nanu’s dying. Telling her would just wind her up.” The girl was looking beseechingly at Karen. “And I’m fine now. There’s no point in upsetting her now I’m OK, is there?”
“Up to you, but I would want to know if my daughter tried to commit suicide.” Karen saw Sophie wince at the word “suicide.”
“I’ll tell her sometime, just not now.”
“Well, if you want me to talk to her, I will.”
“Thanks . . .”
They both fell silent. Karen watched her stepdaughter, her head turned away on the pillow, pale-blue hospital gown up to her neck, drip in her left forearm. She felt very sad for her. There was no easy answer to the problems of her life, and she seemed ill-equipped to galvanize herself. As she watched, Sophie’s eyes began to close and the pressure of her hand in Karen’s slackened. Karen eased herself off the bed, tucked the girl’s arm beneath the sheet and smoothed a hand gently across her forehead.
“I’ll be here,” she said.
But Sophie was already asleep.