Shopping usually calmed Tessa, it gave her something to do. Through the years of her illness, the rise and fall, the itch and grab, the running until she fell, shopping had been her mainstay. It gave her comfort when she was slipping, it soothed her when she had nothing left. Before Freddy it was clothes and candles and homeware, after he was born the women in JoJo Maman Bébe knew her by name.
But he was eleven and only interested in PlayStation and what she needed was a new winter hat. Her baseball cap looked ridiculous. It took her no time at all to get to Chichester, it was Sunday, and the roads were clear, by the time she arrived she had it all planned out. Coffee in Prêt, followed by a sweep of House of Fraser. She could have everything done by two and be in plenty of time to meet Freddy and Scott for lunch. Except in Prêt she had a slice of cake, so nothing fitted. And she kept on looking at white jeans even though it was Autumn.
She grabbed three pairs from the rack in River Island and took them to the till. She could try them on at home and take them back if she didn’t like them. From Reiss she bought two winter tops and a wraparound cardigan. In Ted Baker she saw a handbag she liked. Oasis was nothing but sparkly dresses, so she bought two exactly the same but in different sizes. In L.K. Bennet she found the perfect heels, and as she passed the window of Warehouse, a mac caught her eye. It was almost the same as the one she had on, only cleaner, lighter, better, newer, so she ran in and bought it, plus three more light jumpers and a matching scarf. Then she needed another coffee and cigarette and after that she popped into Entertainment and bought Freddy a laser gun.
She was quick, she was sure she was rushing, but by the time she got everything back to the car it was almost twenty to five. Three missed calls. She rang Scott but it went to answer phone. She tried to take the roads carefully but driving felt like flying.
At home the front door was open. She dropped everything in the hall and refused to look at the man in the trilby who’d been standing there for weeks. Instead she sped into the kitchen, tripping on a hammer. Scott cornered her by the sink. “I think we should call Stemping.”
She turned on the cold tap and took a cup from the draining board. It was dirty. There were stains in the corners, except they weren’t corners because it was round. She couldn’t think of the word. Cracks? Edges? Her sleeve was wet. She turned off the tap.
“Tessa? I said I think we should call Dr Stemping.”
Calling Dr Stemping was the last thing she wanted to do.
Mothers all over West Sussex were making supper. There were glasses of wine being poured, there were pans on the boil and vegetables being chopped, there was last minute homework on kitchen tables and sports kit being hurriedly washed, there was the thought for mothers everywhere that they were sick of cooking. But in Tessa and Scott’s house, no one was cooking anything.
She turned her attention to the freezer. It hurt her hands wrestling fish fingers from the frost. She shoved the peas back in, thought, peas, and opened the freezer again. This time the bag split, sending Sainsbury’s Basics skittering across the floor like green pearls. They gathered in the crook of the hammer and found their way into the cupboard amongst splinters. How could she cook with the entire contents of the cupboard all over the table? Bowls, plates, cups; a city of cheap pottery waiting to fail. Where would Freddy eat? Even the fish fingers looked as if they’d given up. The packet was crushed, the cardboard wilted, a corner was dented in. Nothing ever turned out like it said it would; the promise of crispy breadcrumbs would be revealed as a disappointing lie. She threw them in the bin. She’d make pasta. She filled a pan with water. The rush of the tap was soothing, so she turned it on more, and then the hot tap too. The pan overflowed; the sink began to fill. She went upstairs. What she needed was a bath.
She locked the bathroom door. Why was it such a mess? Why did the currents of her house throw up such refuse and ingrained smears of grease and soap? She turned the taps on full. Everything on the windowsill would have to go. Scott’s coffee mug that he’d left there, toothpaste, Face Scrub, exfoliation glove, toothbrushes, TePe toothpicks, she swept the lot into the tub along with her makeup from the mirrored cabinet, her L’Oréal cover up, Mac foundation, powder brush, cotton wool pads, cleanser, toner, a rainbow of eye shadows, four mascaras, five lipsticks all broken and bent, nail polish remover from Boots and six bottles of nail polish, three almost empty, all varying shades of pearl. In they went amongst the rushing water where they bobbed and sank and seeped. What about Scott’s shaving stuff, the badger brush, and Classic Men’s Foam that she’d bought for him two Christmases ago, that he’d put back in the box and she’d taken out again and arranged on his shelf, that he’d used once and then gone back to his Gillette? She smashed the shelf in half and put the whole lot in the bin.
Her make-up turned the water green. It was so hot she had to take all her clothes off. She dropped them in the bath as well and put on her dressing gown. A car pulled up outside. She heard the crunch of wheels and slam of door.
She ran in her dressing gown light as a sylph from bathroom to hall to stairs and out into the garden without anyone seeing her. The cool of the grass felt wonderful under her feet, a refreshment from toes up. She ducked behind the yew hedge and found herself at the pond. Ophelia, she thought, wading in, she lay quietly among reeds, her hands on her chest like a saint at rest, her head in the water as if her short blonde hair would drift in a wave of deep red ripples around her. She could so easily go to sleep, she was so hot, the water so cool, she’d easily slip and go under. No one would find her. She could drift and sink, move with the pebbles beneath her back, the goldfish that brushed past her toes, she could turn to reed and stone and water, she could be found when this was over.
It was over the moment she opened her eyes and realised she was lying in the pond, her dressing gown open, a sharp cold piercing her veins. She jumped up and ran for the house. There were people, she could see them through the sitting room window, but she was too fast. Upstairs someone had turned off the taps. Where were her clothes? Her dressing gown sopping, weeds clinging, mud everywhere; she was freezing, shivering, her teeth a constant chatter. Where was Freddy? The question came to her suddenly. No one in her bedroom, she pulled on sweatpants and sweatshirt. They were all downstairs. Maybe they were having supper. She shook the last of the damp from her hair.
The kitchen looked like someone had taken a hammer to it. She went into the sitting room where she found Scott, standing at the window, smoking. His cigarette was almost out. She took it from him and took a drag. “Is Freddy in bed?”
“Why don’t you sit down?”
She wasn’t sure if he was moving in the same reality as her, he drifted so quietly across the carpet, touching her arm, smiling. She didn’t want to sit down. “I need a cigarette.”
“I’ll roll you one.” He took his tobacco out of his pocket. She watched his hands moving slowly, expertly, such beautiful hands, hands she’d fallen in love with. When he put it between her lips and flicked his lighter, the flame jigged about so much that it was difficult to catch it. She burnt it halfway down the paper, the other half stayed unlit so that it stood up like a chimney in ruins. No drag, no satisfaction, her lungs tight, her breath shallow. She dropped it on the windowsill.
The doorbell went.
“I’ll get it.”
Scott touched her lightly at the base of her spine. “No. I’ll get it.”
She’d forgotten he was standing beside her. She’d thought she was in a cupboard; a close, dark space of not enough air, no way to breath, bare brick against her back and a voice beyond the door. But she was in her sitting room and there were people coming in and standing in uncomfortable groups, edging at her with their eyes. Scott and Dr Stemping, two women in matching blue coats, a policewoman, and Clare. A bad drinks party with none of the people you want to see and all of the people you didn’t plus one friend who’d say after, no, no, it was fine and clear up while you sat on the sofa and drank. Had she got them all together? She couldn’t remember.
“Tess,” Clare hugged her, or tried to, but the feel of someone near was too much, and Tessa moved instinctively to the side.
“Hi,” she made it big and moved quickly to make it look like she was busy, which she was. No one had drinks. She hadn’t changed. She was still in her sweatpants. But none of them looked dressed for a drinks party either, so maybe it was a come as you are. Or were. That would be funny. She’d have to be three stone lighter and twenty-three years younger.
She needed her sunglasses. A dash for the coat stand, she crouched over her bag. The man in the trilby didn’t move. Clare crouched beside her. “Let’s take it into the sitting room.” She picked it up. “What is it that you need?”
They sat beside each other on the sofa. Clare had the handbag on her lap. Tessa felt suddenly tired. If only these people would let her sleep for a minute, if only she could put on her sunglasses, but she couldn’t find the energy to ask for them.
Scott sat on the coffee table in front of her, two pills in his hand. “Will you take your meds, Tessa?”
She jumped up and headed for the kitchen.
“Tess. We agreed. You agreed,” he shouted after her.
The kitchen was no good. It was a mess. She didn’t have her bag.
“Tessa,” Dr Stemping moved towards her. “I want you to come and sit down.”
Brown shoes, brown hair, that detestable stoop.
Everyone was looking at her; Clare on the sofa, Scott in the middle of the room, the two women in blue jackets, Dr Stemping one step closer, the policewoman - where was the policewoman? She was sure she’d been there. People were appearing and disappearing, and she couldn’t make it out. The man in the trilby smiled. Tessa ran for the stairs. One of the women in blue jackets caught her as she reached the first step.
The rest was a blur for Tessa, a blur she knew too well. Arms held down, screaming, and crying and kicking at Scott and women in blue jackets. A strap too tight, an ambulance too bright, shouting and lights smacked with darkness, a sleep that gave no rest, a knowledge, deep inside, that she was dying. She struggled and kicked. She cried and pushed away, refused the drugs, and shouted at them to let her go. They never gave her enough time. They never let her be. They always interrupted as if they knew. They didn’t understand she could see stars.
As the ambulance bumped away from her house and headed for the main road, Tessa, in the back, lolled quietly, the silence of trauma ringing changes with the rush of road beneath her.
Ooof, so beautiful and so anxiety inducing. "They never gave her enough time. They never let her be. They always interrupted as if they knew. They didn’t understand she could see stars." I felt my heart break 💔
This was even more intense the second read. The minute we saw Dr Stemping, I cringed and was physically shaken. What a gift you have.