“I work there. Jesus. Are you so self-absorbed that you don’t know me at all?”
I am that self-absorbed. As Michael continues to berate me, I realise that I know nothing about his job apart from the fact that it takes him away from his family and makes him miserable. “What do you do at the hospital?”
Michael sighs. “I manage crisis teams. You know all this, Aidan. How do you think I was able to get on your ward at all hours of the day when you were in hospital?”
I’ve never given it much thought, but I need Michael. I don’t know how or why, but with my instincts in overdrive, I’m abruptly certain that he’s the only person in the world who can help me.
Ignoring Bernard and Doreen, I shove my chair back and leave the office. Outside I breathe fresh air that does nothing to ease the tightness in my chest. “What kind of crisis teams do you manage? Do you know anything about mental health care?”
Michael’s silence tells me I’d have surprised him more if I’d asked him to get me a boob job. After a protracted pause, his voice has lost its irritable edge. “Why do you want to know that? Are you okay? Do you need help with something?”
“Yeah, but it’s not for me. I’m, uh, worried about someone.”
“Who?”
I ball my free hand into a fist, welcoming the sharp pain from my nails digging into my palm. Clinging to it. “My boyfriend. He’s bipolar and I think he’s manic.”
“What makes you say that?”
I list every sign and symptom I’ve seen in Ludo. Michael listens and I can almost see his concentrated frown.
“Okay,” he says when I’m finally done. “How long have you known him? I mean, it sounds like a manic episode, but if you’re not familiar with his behaviour patterns, you might be reading something into nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” I snap. “Don’t patronise me, okay? I’m not a fucking expert, but I know when something’s wrong—”
“All right, all right. I’m sorry. I just had to ask. It’s not like you’ve ever mentioned having a boyfriend, so I didn’t know how long he’s been around.”
“Long enough.”
“Okay, well listen. If he’s been diagnosed with bipolar disorder for a while—”
“He’s had it for years.”
“Right. So he’ll have a crisis care plan. People you can call who are geared up to step in and help for precisely situations like this. Do you know if he has a CPN?”
“Actually, yeah. She’s called Rita. That’s all I know though. I don’t have her number or anything.”
“Could you find it? Part of his crisis plan is probably that her details are accessible for whoever’s looking after him.”
“There isn’t anyone like that. He doesn’t have any family, and he was alone before me.”
“Okay.” Michael is quiet a moment. Tapping sounds come down the line, as though he’s looking something up on his phone. “Right. I’ve got some people I can speak to about this at work and maybe get them to call you back. What’s his name? And where is he now?”
“His name is Ludo, but I don’t know where he is. He went out with the dog this morning and he didn’t come back.”
“Where would he go with the dog?”
“The woods, I think.”
“What mood was he in?”
“I already told you, he’s manic as fuck.” Desperation is starting to make me dizzy. I find a bus stop and sit in it. “Do you think I should go look for him?”
“If your concern turns out to be founded, then yes. I think you should. Mental health isn’t my department, and I don’t know much about bipolar disorder, but it’s probably best he has someone with him right now.”
Michael’s right. I know he is. And I’m furious with myself for letting Ludo leave this morning. If I would’ve gone with him, he’d be safe.
But as I think it, I know it’s not true. Ludo was beyond reason this morning. He didn’twantme with him, and he left the house before I was out of bed on purpose, even if he didn’t consciously know it. “I’ve got to find him, haven’t I?”
