A Voice in the Distance (14 page)

'What are you talking about? I'm not some kind of
neatness freak!'

His chest vibrates with laughter. 'OK. Bet you five
pounds.'

'Why not make it ten?' I retort.

'Fine. Ten pounds it is.'

I raise my wrist to look at my watch.

Flynn laughs again. 'An hour is a long time, Jennah.
I wouldn't start counting down the minutes quite
yet.'

I turn my head on his chest in order to give him a
nasty smile. 'I was checking to see what time I would be
collecting my money.'

'Oh, and there's another condition,' Flynn adds. 'We
have to lie in this mess until the hour is up.'

I jack-knife up. 'That's not fair! We can't sit here the
whole time. What are we going to do, stuck in the bedroom
for a whole hour?'

Flynn gives me a mischievous grin and pulls me back
down on top of him. 'I can think of a whole bunch of
things, Jennah.'

'Well, if you're going to get creative . . . Wait—' I
hold him off, sobering for a moment. 'Promise me one
thing?' I stare into his clear blue eyes, just centimetres
away from mine. 'Next time, when you feel that bad,
when you feel even slightly depressed – will you tell me?
Even if you're convinced it won't make a difference, or
even if you think it might make things worse, will you
just promise – promise to let me know?'

'I promise,' he says, and then bites my nose.

The day before the Easter weekend, Flynn receives a
phone call. It's from Professor Kaiser. Flynn has made it
to the finals of the Queen Charlotte competition. He
slams down the phone, bounds onto the sofa and
whoops with joy. The Queen Charlotte International
Music Competition. Held every four years in Brussels, it
attracts top musicians from all over the world. It is one
of the Big Four, one that Flynn really wants to win. He
whirls me round and round till my head is spinning and
I beg for him to stop. I am effervescent with joy. After
everything – everything he has been through, he
deserved something like this. He deserved it so much.
But I am also in awe. A psychotic episode, months of
depression, a breakdown at Christmas, a month
incarcerated in a psychiatric hospital, and still he
manages to pull this off. Years ago at music camp Harry
once said to me, 'He's not just a musical prodigy, you
know. He's a musical
genius
.' It comes back to me now.
And I laugh when I kiss my 'musical genius' because
really he's just Flynn.

After Easter Rami and Sophie invite us over for
lunch. Aurora is walking now even though she hasn't yet
reached her first birthday. We sit around in the spacious
living room. Rami is glued to the television as his
favourite team battle against relegation. Aurora takes
my hand and I allow her to lead me over to her toy box
on the far side of the room. Sophie smiles over at
us from the sofa. 'Oh, we are so happy to have a change
from Mummy,' she says as Aurora coos and claps her
hands with pleasure.

'I think she remembers me,' I say to Sophie. 'She
gave me such a big smile when we arrived.'

'Of course she remembers you!' Sophie exclaims.
'She absolutely adores her auntie Jennah.'

I feel myself flush with pleasure. I have never been
called an auntie before. I plant a big kiss on the top of
Aurora's head. Flynn enters with a tray of coffees. He
hands them round and then comes over to us, waving a
biscuit in front of Aurora. 'Can she?' he suddenly
remembers to ask Sophie.

'Of course, if Jennah doesn't mind biscuit crumbs all
over her.'

Flynn gives Aurora the biscuit. I pretend to try and
bite a piece of it and Aurora generously sticks the
salivary biscuit straight into my open mouth. We all
laugh.

Flynn goes back to his coffee and takes a seat on the
sofa next to Sophie.

I pretend I'm a monster, trying to bite Aurora's toe.
She wiggles and squeals.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Sophie
putting her arm around Flynn's shoulders, pulling him
towards her and kissing the side of his face. 'How's my
favourite brother-in-law?'

He flushes briefly and smiles. 'Your
only
brother-inlaw.'

I nibble on Aurora's toe. She squeals, banging her
feet against the floor.

'Still my favourite,' Sophie says, ruffling his hair
affectionately. 'Are you feeling as well as you look?'

'I think so,' Flynn replies.

Aurora starts to chortle as I blow raspberries into her
tummy.

'That's fabulous,' Sophie says. 'What about your
hands?'

'They're still the same, unfortunately,' Flynn replies,
suddenly lowering his voice.

'So the Lithobid's not working?'

'No.'

I stop, my face buried in Aurora's lap.

'Show me – is it visible?' Sophie asks.

I withdraw my head from Aurora's clutches, glancing
surreptitiously across the room. Flynn has his hands
held out in front of him, splaying his long fingers with
their bitten-down nails. Sophie seems to be inspecting
them.

'I can see what you mean,' I hear her say. 'What was
Doctor Stefan's reaction?'

'That I have to live with it, basically. He won't lower
the lithium until I've been well for at least six months.'
Flynn is talking so quietly now that I have to strain to
hear. 'I tried asking him about switching to Sodium
Valproate or Carbamazepine but since they weren't very
effective when I first tried them he says he doesn't want
to risk it.'

Aurora tugs at my hair and babbles loudly, trying to
engage me in further play. I blow into her tummy again
so that they won't think I'm listening.

'Is it difficult to live with?' Sophie asks.

'It really affects my playing,' Flynn replies.

Aurora starts to wail in protest at my inertia. I force
myself to pay attention to her and try building her a
tower of Duplo. She smiles and gurgles at me, happy
again. I try to keep her as quiet as I can, straining to
catch the conversation on the other side of the room,
over the noise of Rami's football match.

'I suppose you could ask Doctor Stefan for a med
called Propranolol, but it can cause sleep disturbances.'

'I'll try anything,' Flynn says. 'I've got to stop this,
Soph – it could ruin my career.'

'I know, but you're well. Look at you, you're so well.'

'But none of that matters if I can't play.'

On the train home, I sit with my legs crossed at the
ankles, feet up on the seat in front, head resting against
Flynn's chest. He has his arms around me and I feel
strangely safe in the empty, chilly carriage. He is
practising the fingering to the Rach Two on my thighs.
I recognize it from the opening volley of chords. I turn
my head slightly to look up at his face and say, 'How
many more days till the Queen Charlotte finals?'

'Twenty-three,' he replies without missing a beat.

Harry, Kate and I have all booked tickets on the
Eurostar to watch him compete. Harry's parents live in
Brussels, so we don't even have to pay for a hotel.

'What were you saying to Sophie about your hands?'
I ask suddenly.

I feel Flynn stiffen. There is a silence. 'Nothing
much. Just that the higher dose of lithium was giving
me a slight hand tremor. But it's fine now. It's wearing
off.'

'Really?' I turn to look at him again. 'Isn't it affecting
your playing?'

'No, no, not any more. It's hardly noticeable. Just a
minor nuisance from time to time.'

For the next few weeks we don't see much of each other.
University continues at its frenetic pace and Flynn takes
time out from all his lectures to practise for the
competition. Finals are just over a month away and my
revision begins in earnest. The weekend trip to Brussels
draws nearer, a welcome break from the long hours
spent in the library. Harry calls the night before with
confirmation of train times and meeting points.
Professor Kaiser calls to give Flynn some last-minute
reminders. The professor is catching a train on the day
of the competition, so thankfully he won't be travelling
with us. That night, I manage to persuade Flynn to stop
practising by ten. I go to bed with the sickish feeling I
get whenever I am about to watch him compete.

The following morning I wake up in an empty bed to
the sound of my alarm clock. After showering, dressing
and doing some last-minute packing, I find Flynn at his
keyboard, headphones clamped over his ears.

'How long have you been up?' I ask him, pulling off
the headphones.

He doesn't turn round. 'An hour or so. Oh, good,
now you're awake I can use the piano.'

I look at him suspiciously as he crosses over to the
upright, pulling his stool with him. I wonder if he has
slept at all. His eyes have that bright, shiny look he
always gets before a major competition. I go into the
kitchen to make coffee and toast. I manage to drag
Flynn away from the piano long enough to down some
coffee, but can't get him to touch the toast. He looks
excited and on edge, jiggling his knees up and down,
making the whole table vibrate.

'We need to go,' he says.

I take another bite of my toast. I am definitely not
awake yet. 'The train's not till ten.'

'We're meeting Harry and Kate at nine.'

'I know, but it won't take us more than an hour to get
to St Pancreas,' I point out reasonably.

'What if there are delays?'

'Flynn, it's quarter past seven!'

'Yeah, I know. We should go.'

I give him a steady look. 'We'll go in ten minutes. Let
me finish my breakfast in peace.'

He fixes me with an urgent stare. The colour is high
in his cheeks. 'Maybe there'll be a bomb scare . . .'

'Are you trying to give me indigestion?'

'I just really think we should go.'

'Fine.' I give in with a sigh, drain my cup, get up and
put the plates in the sink. Flynn jumps up and bounds
out of the room, returning seconds later with our
rucksacks.

'We're going to be
so
early,' I complain in the hallway,
pulling on my jacket. 'We'll probably get there in half an
hour and then we'll have a whole hour to kill until the
others arrive.'

He ignores me, opening the front door.

'Wait,' I say. 'At the risk of sounding like your mother,
have you got everything? Music? Meds?'

'Yes,' he calls back, already galloping down the stairs.

I lock the door behind me and follow him down. As
we emerge into the street, a thought occurs to me.
'Hold on. I've forgotten something . . .'

Flynn rolls his eyes in exasperation and starts striding
off down the street. 'Catch me up at the station!' he
shouts back over his shoulder.

Biting back a wave of irritation, I remind myself that
Flynn is always a nightmare before a big competition
and hurry back upstairs to the flat. Leaving my keys in
the door, I run down the hall to the bathroom. I know
I'm being an incorrigible mother hen, but it has just
occurred to me that it would be no bad idea to take a
second supply of meds. If Flynn were to lose his bag,
which seems infinitely possible in his current mood, at
least we wouldn't be up shit creek.

I squat down in front of the medicine cabinet and
yank open the bottom drawer. I start to reach inside,
and then I freeze. A faint ringing sound begins in my
ears. The drawer is packed full of medicine boxes.
Boxes and boxes, crammed one on top of the other.
With considerable difficulty, I start pulling them out, my
hands beginning to shake. LITHIUM CARBONATE, LITHIUM
CARBONATE, LITHIUM CARBONATE. I open the first few
boxes. All full, packed tight with untouched blister
packs, the cardboard sides bulging. I check the sticky
labels. Flynn's name in capital letters. The new dose,
1200 milligrams daily. And at the top right-hand corner,
the prescription date: 4 April, 4 April, 4 April, 2 May,
2 May . . . I can feel myself start to shake. 'No, no, no,' I
am whispering to myself. I start pulling the boxes open.
They are all completely full. Not a single tablet has been
removed from its blister pack. A cold panic descends
over me. A hundred different scenarios race through
my mind. Do I call the professor and tell him Flynn
can't compete? Do I call Harry's mobile and tell him the
trip is off? Do I wait here for Flynn to come back and
find me? Or do I run to the tube station to confront
him? Have a screaming match in the middle of the
street? All options are equally horrendous.

Finally, with fumbling hands, I start shoving the
blister packs back into the boxes, and the boxes back
into the drawer. I keep one blister pack and put it in my
coat pocket just in case, although since it's clear Flynn
stopped taking his lithium two months ago, there seems
little point.

Waiting for me in the mouth of the tube station,
Flynn is beside himself. 'What took you so long? We're
going to be late!'

I bite my lip to stop myself from snapping in reply
and follow him down the escalators to the platform. In
the packed carriage, I can still feel my heart racing. The
options continue to rush through my mind. Can I call it
off ?
Should
I call it off? No. Flynn will just go on to
Brussels without me. And I risk seriously messing up his
chances in the competition if I make a scene now. There
is actually nothing I can do. Nothing until after the
competition. And even then . . . There are two months'
worth of lithium tablets in that drawer. So he decided to
stop taking his lithium after that lunch at Rami and
Sophie's. It is obviously a calculated decision. It is
obviously a long-term one. How do I stand any chance
of changing his mind? I look across the crowded
carriage at him – the wide blue eyes, the pink flush of
excitement in his cheeks, the tousled blond hair – he
looks so alive. Without meaning to, I find myself thinking
back to the waxy, inert figure hooked up to tubes
in the hospital bed. I clench my teeth together to
repress the urge to scream.