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EVERYTHING HURT. ‘WHY did I do that?’ Michelle groaned, attempting to focus through gritty eyes as she felt her way down the stairs.
Once in the kitchen, she consumed everything she hoped might help, Alka-Seltzer XS, electrolyte replacement, a multivitamin, a spoonful of honey and a cup of coffee. She plonked herself down on the sofa to wait for it all to kick in. At least the house was spotless. Michelle found that alcohol turned her into a cleaner and do-it-yourself enthusiast. One morning, she awoke to find a beautifully glossed door – if there was one thing she hated more than housework, it was decorating. At the fatigue clinic, Professor Windsor had explained that it was the stimulating effect of the alcohol on her heart, that temporarily gave her the energy of a ‘normal’ person.
She’d been awake for an hour before she was able to contemplate her weekend to-do list. All she really wanted, was to curl up on the sofa in her dressing gown, with the blinds closed and an episode of The Real Housewives of Somewhere on television.
Phil’s adrenal fatigue article came to mind as she poured a second coffee and spread strawberry jam onto thickly buttered toast. Sugar, refined carbs and coffee had to go. She decided to think about it over the next week.
The phone rang. Her heart leapt. Maybe it was a call from Dan. In the mornings it was usually a text. Although he’d said he wanted to talk to her in person, she was desperate to know what he was going to say – she was also terrified. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the phone.
‘Hello, Michelle?’ said a frail, confused voice.
‘Mam? Are you okay?’
‘What do you want?’
‘Me?’ Michelle took a bite of toast.
‘Yes, you rang,’ said Audrey with a titter of disbelief. ‘Ooh, that crunching is hurting my ear.’
She forced down the half-chewed toast, but it got stuck and she started to choke. Panicking, she hauled herself to her feet and attempted to thump her own back. A silent scream for Sara yielded nothing but a rasp.
‘Michelle? Michelle, are you still there?’ said a distant voice from the dropped phone.
In desperation, she slammed her back against the wall. The jolt dislodged the toast. Wiping her eyes, she grappled for the mobile with a shaking hand.
‘Michelle? I think you’ve cut me off.’
‘Mam, I didn’t phone you.’
‘Yes, you did. It said, “Michelle’s mobile ringing”. Is that a wheeze I can hear? I hope you haven’t started smoking again.’
She couldn’t be bothered with this palaver.
‘What do you want? I have things to do,’ said Audrey.
‘I didn’t bloody call you.’
‘Don’t swear. On my screen it said, “Michelle’s mobile ringing”.’
‘You must have pressed something. You phoned me.’
Audrey slowly enunciated each word. ‘Michelle’s mobile ringing.’
‘Mam, you worry me when you go on like this. Did it even ring?’
‘No. It was a message on the screen. The minute I picked it up. I said to Tom, what a coincidence it was, as if you knew I had it in my hand.’ Audrey laughed, then her tone became more serious. ‘But it’s a bit early, maybe give us a chance to wake up first next time, pet.’
Michelle slumped onto the sofa, last night’s make up smudged down her face and bird’s nest hair sticking out from the back of her head. ‘Okay. Bye.’
‘We’re going up to the caravan. With Trevor. He’s excited.’
‘Lovely, that’ll be a nice little break for you.’
‘The grass needs cutting.’
‘Still, nice to get away,’ Michelle said, tapping her foot.
‘You should come up.’ Silent expectation.
She closed her eyes and took a calming breath. ‘No, thank you. You know I don’t like –’
‘It’s a lovely caravan. Not really like a caravan. It has a nice electric fire. The surrounding area changes colour.’
‘Even so –’
‘Ungrateful. Some people would love to be invited.’
Michelle felt as if the walls were closing in on her. ‘Well, I’ll let you get on.’
‘Trevor knows you don’t like him.’
The air in the lounge hung heavy. She got up to open the window, just as Derek was passing. He leered in at her, making her stomach turn. The frame shook as she banged it shut.
‘He’s a dog, Mother.’
‘Don’t shout. Cynthia and John’s children –’
‘Oh, there’s the door,’ she lied. ‘Sorry, got to go.’
‘There’s hotpot in my fridge. Save you having to cook. I know how busy you get. Bye, pet.’
Bloody hell, now she felt guilty. Simultaneously invoking fury and shame was one of her mother’s gifts. Michelle didn’t realise she’d been gritting her teeth, until she felt the searing pain as she relaxed her jaw.
There was something else bugging her, too. She was on tenterhooks waiting to hear what Dan had to say, but she knew from a previous conversation that he was off to York with Penny and Tamara today. He might have told Michelle he ‘really missed’ her, but it was Penny he was going to York with. He’d had no business saying things like that. Michelle didn’t know what to think or feel any longer. Everything seemed to be continuing as usual for him, but nothing felt normal for her. Did he really sleep in a single bed in the spare room? Did Penny really call it his room? The familiar spiral of doubt returned. Was this how stalkers started off? she wondered.
Sara was still fast asleep as Michelle pulled on her jogging pants and trainers. Perhaps going for a run with a hangover wasn’t such a good idea, but she had an overpowering desire to escape. She packed the usual paraphernalia into her bum-bag: a ten-pound note, glucose tablet, house keys, a pound coin and mobile. Then she removed the mobile because it made the bag bob up and down. Hopefully she wouldn’t be mugged and left for dead on the lonely part.
It started off surprisingly well. She’d been jogging, extra slowly, so as not to further stress her adrenals, for around fifteen minutes, when she came to the footpath bordering Ashpeth cemetery. Michelle didn’t like this path. It was tarmacked, with a narrow brick curb. She liked flagstones because she could count them. She’d suffered from a life-long compulsion to count the sections and borders of just about everything. Despite knowing it was a bit batty, it made her feel secure.
This path felt too wide and unequal compared to the curb. In order to feel safe and in control in these surroundings, she needed to run along the curb. No easy feat when it was only as wide as her foot. Not the simplest gait to maintain, but she managed for a good hundred metres. Two, five, three, five –
‘Oww!’ she howled, as her ankle slipped off the curb and her hip hit the road surface. Michelle dragged herself back onto the path and propped herself up against the railings. She examined her palms to see what was causing the burning sensation. Bloody tarmac. She winced as she picked out tiny pieces of gravel from her flesh. It was only when she tried to stand up that she realised she’d twisted her ankle.
She managed to stand and hobble a little but there was no way she’d get up to the bus stop on the main street. She had her emergency tenner, but no phone to call a taxi. There was no one around and no public phone box. The cemetery gates caught her eye and she decided to hop in to see dead Mel until she pulled herself together.
The photograph on Mel’s tombstone seemed dated compared to the last time Michelle had visited – like a faded tattoo on old skin. She looked the same as Michelle remembered her when she’d last seen her alive. Mel’s face was now much younger than her own. She had a good perm, an expensive one from Bobby’s hair salon. Michelle used to covet Mel’s perms. Her mother had done hers, with a home kit and pipe cleaners. There was always a random patch that didn’t take.
Michelle sat by the grave, pulling up weeds and telling her all about Dan. ‘You wouldn’t recognise him – he’s six-foot-four and has high blood pressure. He’s a good laugh, and he’s a Cancerian, too – we’ve become quite good friends.’ Michelle checked her immediate surroundings and lowered her voice. ‘It was fine at first, but then I started to like him.’ She shot Mel a sideways glance to check for signs of judgement, but Mel continued to smile back at her. ‘And now I think he might like me. I don’t know what to do – well I do, but it’s difficult.’ She half expected Mel’s expression to look horrified and was relieved when it didn’t. ‘I knew you’d understand.’
‘Hey, I just thought of something funny... Do you remember when you used to laugh at the sound of that bloke’s electric wheelchair in your office? You used to say it sounded like a milk float approaching.’ She started to cackle. ‘Oh, and you once said that you shouldn’t laugh because God would strike you down.’ Michelle looked up and down the length of the grave, with its sunken top turf. Her shoulders shook as a fit of the giggles kicked in. ‘Eeeh, Mel,’ she squeaked, ‘you were right, weren’t you?’
She wiped her eyes and sighed. ‘Do you think I’m becoming obsessed with Dan?’ Mel’s kind, innocent face watched her. ‘I’m sorry, compared to your problems, I’m going on about nothing. Oh Mel, I miss you so much. Why did you have to go and bloody-well die?’ She sniffed back a tear. ‘Coming down with multiple sclerosis – you stupid girl.’ She leaned over to hug the gravestone and recoiled at its harsh cold surface, suddenly aware of the dead body lying beneath her. She was sitting in the middle of a cemetery full of corpses. ‘Sorry, Mel, I have to go.’ She struggled to her feet and limped out as fast as her ankle would allow. It seemed to take much longer to get out than it had done to hobble in.
When she finally reached the exit, she paused to catch her breath and rest her ankle. Leaning against the huge black and gold wrought-iron gatepost, she searched the cool blue sky for help. Nothing, except clouds scudding across it, like dirty balls of cotton wool.
God, it’s all such a bloody mess.
