Vic shook her head. ‘No… thank you. Let’s just get on with it.’
TEN
WINDSOR
The Aftermath
That evening, as the train slipped its way out of the city on its way to the more suburban landscape of Windsor and Eton Riverside, Vic felt an anguish and despair she had never experienced before in her whole life. She wanted to crawl out of herself to escape what was happening to her. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be alive anymore, but she just didn’t know where she wanted to be. She had always loved catching a glimpse of the London Eye on the city’s skyline, especially at Christmas time, when it was all lit up. She also delighted in staring into the various offices and flats which looked out over the busy tracks outside Waterloo station. But today these small joys eluded her.
Sipping discreetly from the first of the three miniature bottles of wine she had bought on her way to the station, Victoria stared out of the window, her eyes blurring with tears she blinked away, in complete and utter shock. The tipsy chatter that surrounded her from those who’d been for an after-work Christmas drink soon became white noise as she imagined how Nate – and everyone else she loved, for that matter –would react on her telling them that she was now a woman living with HIV. But if she had it, Nate would have it! Maybe he knew already and just couldn’t tell her. Maybe that was why he had stopped pestering her for sex after Brighton. But no, if he knew, they surely wouldn’t have slept together at the wedding. He would never do that to her. Or, shit, maybe that was when she had contracted it. Vic’s face screwed up in anguish. None of this was making sense in her head now.
People talking far too loudly on their phones about their day, or communicating about what time they were getting to a particular station for their lift home, were really beginning to annoy her. Opposite her, a good-looking guy in a long, smart black coat was listening quietly to an iPod with his earphones, nodding his head away to whatever tune was taking his fancy. Taking in his chiselled features made Vic suddenly realise that if she and Nate were to split, she would be single for the rest of her life, because who in their right mind would want to sleep with someone with a metaphorical grenade up their fanny?
All these commuters carrying on with their normal lives, not having any clue what was going on within her mind – or body, for that matter – made her want to scream out loud, ‘Do you realise what’s happening to me?!’ ‘Do you care?!’ But on the other hand, she felt so dead inside she wanted to keep everything in, to not let anyone know what was going on. Because if she were to let out her emotions, or the fact that she had HIV, the reactions of others would be too intense for her own shattered self to cope.
The sexual health nurse could not have been nicer, but she had also been very matter-of-fact, leaving Vic under no illusion that she had a serious health condition and that life as she knew it had changed forever.
As if taking comfort from mother’s milk, and not caring what anyone thought of her, she kept her lips around the tinynecks of the wine bottles, downing them one by one until all three were empty.
Vic felt wobbly as she got up and made her way along the platform and to the public toilet at Windsor and Eton Riverside station. After peeing like a horse, she emerged in a complete daze. She loved the fact that it was cold and the wind in her face was biting. It was as if enduring the Arctic temperature was punishment for the mess she had got herself into.
She headed straight for the river and began to walk the path she had trodden so many times – times when the problems she had been facing had seemed so great. But now that her health was affected, she realised that without your health you had nothing. She had wasted so much time sweating over so much small stuff, all of which had had a clear solution. Solutions that she had been too much of a coward to carry through.
In a haze of alcohol and foreboding, she walked and thought. She passed Jake’s boat. It looked so warm and welcoming with its fairy lights and the cosy orange glow coming from the tiny windows. A bright red poinsettia sat on one sill, a miniature Christmas tree on another. A sudden childhood memory of long summer holidays, when Jake would allow her and Albie to run wild on deck, whilst he and her mother sat chatting in the sun, flitted across her mind. The recollection of such simple, beautiful times now felt like a different lifetime.
Knowing she wasn’t in the right frame of mind to speak to the old family friend, she sped up. She couldn’t see or tell anyone – not today, for this was her day of reckoning. Of processing what was happening inside her, and thinking about what her future may hold. Of punishing herself for being so stupid as to trust the one man she had thought would never fail her.
It wasn’t until she reached her favourite bench that shestopped. Looking around to check that she was alone, she finally allowed herself to cry, and the crying became so intense and powerful that her whole body shook from head to toe. An explosion of anger, resentment, disbelief – but mainly fear: terrible fear. When she felt like her body was empty of everything, she reached into her handbag for a tissue and her hand fell on the leaflets that Sandra had given her. Scrabbling for the miniature torch that had fallen out of the posh crackers her brother had probably nicked from somewhere last Christmas, and which had remained in the detritus at the bottom of her bag ever since, she began to read from one of them. If she focused on the words she could ignore the pain in her heart that threatened to consume her. But as she read that Terrence Lionel Seymour Higgins was one of the first people known to die of an AIDS-related illness, at just thirty-seven years old in 1982, the tears took over again. Soon she, too, would be that age, and it was so young.
When she had cried herself out, she wiped her face and forced herself to carry on reading. Born in Wales, Higgins felt alienated because of his sexuality. He moved to London, worked in the House of Commons by day and as a bartender and DJ by night. Higgins collapsed at the iconic Heaven nightclub and was admitted to hospital, where he died. The Terry Higgins Trust was formed in 1982by a concerned group of community members and Terry’s friends. It was named after him to personalise and humanise the issue of AIDS. It was formalised in August 1983, when it adopted a constitution and opened a bank account, and the name of the trust was changed (Terrencerather thanTerry) to sound more formal. They offered support, understanding and information – all of which Vic sorely needed, right now.
She took out her phone. Shaking as she dialled the number, she was greeted by the soft, kind voice of a man. ‘Hello, THT Direct. How can I help you?’
She began to blurt, ‘Hello, I’m Victoria. I found out today that I have HIV. I’m a bit drunk. Sorry.’ Vic let out another massive sob.
‘Today, you say. Well, I’m so glad you have called us, Victoria. My name is Brian and I’m here to listen. Feel free to talk or rant to me, I’m not going anywhere. You can ask me anything you like. It’s totally confidential here.’
His friendly, casual manner was a balm to Vic’s torn and battered soul.
‘It’s just so frightening,’ Vic wailed. ‘I haven’t told anyone yet and I don’t know how to, and I think my boyfriend has given it to me, which means he has it too. It’s just such a mess.’ She let out another explosive sob, and the man waited for her to settle.
‘So you tested because you thought your boyfriend has the virus, is that right?’
‘No.’ A weird little squeak came from her throat. ‘I didn’t know I had it. I just had a sexual health check and I found out then. And I have slept with someone else, but that was before… I just don’t know what to do.’
‘I can hear that you are very upset, Victoria, and it’s OK to feel that way after finding out about your diagnosis. Have you got an appointment arranged with a doctor yet?’
Vic sniffed. ‘Yes, tomorrow, at the Chelsea and Westminster. Happy Christmas to me.’ She let out a funny noise between a laugh and a cry. ‘I’m drunk – did I mention that? I’m sorry to call you when I’m drunk.’
‘Are you feeling OK at the moment?’
‘Yes. I had terrible flu recently so I’m a bit knackered, but I’m OK – physically, at least.’
‘That’s good you’re feeling OK now.’ The man’s understanding tone began to soothe her. ‘I was diagnosed a couple of years ago. I take tablets and my viral load is stable. I have a loving partner whom I met after my diagnosis. HIV isn’t thedeath sentence it used to be, Victoria, and research is ongoing and effective. There is hope that there will be a cure one day.’
‘Really?’ Vic sniffed.
‘Yes, really. Do you understand what having HIV means?’
