I have no idea where to find Aidan. He left without telling me where he lived, or his number, and I didn’t think to ask. Why would I when the only contacts in my phone are years out of date or that of mental health professionals paid to make sure I don’t die?
You’re in a morbid mood. I can’t deny it, but part of my rehabilitation has always been to challenge my negative thoughts, and I can’t think of a solution to my reactivated obsession with Aidan.
So I stop trying and worry about his welfare instead. Aidan is a beautiful man, but there’s no getting away from the fact that when he was slumped at my kitchen table, he looked like absolute hell. Tired, drunk, and so depressed I feared he’d gone back in time, foundmefrom two years ago, and stepped inside my threadbare skin.
Yeah, cos he’d want to do that after he saw the wreckage on your arms.
My scars tingle. I rub my hands up and down them, but it’s no good. I’m indelibly marked by Aidan’s touch, and the empathy in his eyes as he studied my ruined skin will stay with me forever.
He understands.
It’s an impossible thought. Aidan doesn’t know me. But I believe it and take another step out of my house. I’m going into town. All morning I’ve told myself it’s because I need stuff from the shops, not because I’m looking for Aidan, but I’m far from convinced. I order my groceries online specifically for the reason that I’ll never go hungry if I can’t leave my house. And my cupboards are stocked. There’s no reason for me to go into town.
I’ll have to think of one on the way.
The walk into town takes me exactly twelve minutes. By the time I reach the high street, I remember that Idohave a reason to be there—my fortnightly meeting with my community psychiatric nurse.
Rita is my CPN. I see her once a month when I’m super well, every day when I’m not. Every two weeks is the best I’ve had it in a long time, though, and I’m happy with that. Rita makes me smile, especially when she brings me big fat slices of her Jamaican black cake.
“You need some real food in you, boy,” she comments fondly as I devour one slice straight away and stash the other in my bag for later. “A man can’t survive on pasta.”
“It’s all I can cook. Lucky for me I know a hundred different ways, eh?”
I don’t mention that I haven’t cooked since I brought Aidan home, that I’ve been surviving on leftovers and toast... or that I haven’t put his plate back in the cupboard. Washing it was as far as I got, and even that took me a couple of days.
You’re cray cray, mate.
“Ludo?”
“Hmm?”
I glance at Rita. She’s watching me like she does, unobtrusively analysing everything about me, not just what I say. Or what I don’t. She’s better at this than any psychiatrist, more intuitive in her work than her nurse’s salary deserves.
“What are you ruminating about?” she asks. “Has something happened?”
“I’m not ruminating.”
My denial is pointless, but I do it anyway, because it’s part of the game. Much of me still resents having to flay my life open to cope with it, and I can’t help staging a weak final protest.
Rita sits back in her seat. She hasn’t eaten any cake, but an open packet of rich tea biscuits is on her desk. Her gaze flits to them, and I smile. “I thought you were laying off the biscuits before your holiday?”
She sighs. “I was, but complicated patients like you will drive any woman to eat.”
“I’m not complicated.”
“Of course you’re not. So tell me what’s got you speculative?”
I cave, like I’ve learnt to do, and tell her everything. She already knows about Aidan anyway—I told her about him when she came to visit me in the psychiatric hospital, though I don’t know if she checked he actually existed before she persuaded the hospital team to let me go.
I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that suspecting she might’ve done went a long way towardsmebelieving he existed. But I’m so done with theIs he real?conundrum that I cut the thought dead and keep going with the truth.
“I don’t think he’s very well.”
Rita caves and snags a biscuit. “Physically or mentally?”
“Both.”
“That’s hardly surprising. He’s been through a lot. But what in particular do you think is wrong with him?”
