Ethan ran a trembling hand around back of neck. ‘I-I don’t know. I came to check on her and she freaked out.’ Winced at word choice.
With Kirsten’s arrival, panic ebbed away a notch. Put my makeshift weapon down, clutching sink edge. ‘Yeah, I’m a freak.’
‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I didn’t mean?—’
Kirsten wrapped arm around my waist. ‘S’okay, Ethan. I got it from here. Tori needs space.’
‘But—’
‘Please,’ I mewled.
His face filled with shame and recrimination. But couldn’t be as ashamed and humiliated as me. Have been making such good progress. And why happen in front of him, of all people?
He nodded and left reluctantly, shutting door.
Dropped head into hands, breathing easier but tears rolling down cheeks. ‘Can’t believe I did that.’
Kirsten grabbed hand towel and dampened corner, blotting my face. ‘You’ve had too much to drink,’ she strived for matter-of-fact tone, undermined slightly by hiccupping, ‘and it was obviously a trigger. A ph-physical manifestation of mental pain. Lesh get you home for a shower and coffee.’
Pulled a face. ‘Can get myshelf home. S’only next door.’ Tone was mulish. Embarrassed.
‘I’m your friend. See what yesterday’s rule for living was?’
‘No.’ Peeked at her through red-rimmed eyes, sniffing.
‘Accept the kindness of others gracefully.’
Huffed, fighting every stubborn instinct, including wanting to keep people out. ‘Fine.’ Paused. ‘But can’t make any promises about the graceful part.’
Kirsten snorted out drunken laugh. ‘Wouldn’t expect anything less.’
Left Harley in charge of Rosie at Albie’s and wandered down to village to sober up. Treading narrow grey pavements and casting gazes over idyllic (though work-in-progress) rose-strewn stone cottages, tried to let tranquillity of place wash over us. No workmen, as weekend.
‘Oh, God.’ Suddenly groaned, pausing by lichen-covered garden wall, feeling nauseated. ‘I totally lost it.’ A beat. ‘I tried to brain Ethan with a soap dish.’
Kirsten attempted not to laugh, but sound escaped mouth. ‘Sorry. A panic attack isn’t funny, but when you put it like that…’
‘It is a bit. Did I think I’d just whack him over the head and go back to the party like nothing happened? We’re not in a locked-room mystery.’ Paused. ‘He must think I’m a psycho…’
‘Don’t.’ Kirsten touched my arm as we went through creaking gate of my cottage. ‘Ethan isn’t like that. He’ll know it was a reaction to something, and panic attacks are more common than you’d think.’ Nodded. ‘You just need to find a coping strategy. After a while, they come further apart and might stop.’
‘Do you know something about them?’ I wedged foot against corner of front door, swollen after summer shower earlier in week. Heaving it open, fell into hallway, stumbling over own feet. Another wave of nausea plunged stomach to floor. ‘Urgh.’
‘I had panic attacks when Rosie was young.’ Kirsten followed me in, shoving door closed and resting against it. ‘After the spilt with my ex. I was weighed down by the responsibility and debt he’d left me with, my living situation and trying to provide for our daughter alone. My parents weren’t on the scene either and… well,’ she screwed up face, ‘I spent more evenings crying than is healthy.’
Stared, confused. ‘But you’re so strong and capable.’
‘Everyone gets overwhelmed at times, and maybe part of the reason I’m resilient is because of what I overcame. I also learnt there’s power in asking for help. It’s not a sign of weakness. There’s a strength in saying,I’m not okay, so please support me, and also give me tools to use to help myself.Anyway,’she waved hand, ‘this is about you. Share what’s going on with you. Remember, accept kindness gracefully.’
Inhaled, traipsing to corner of hallway where left tools a few days before. Sanding pine skirting boards is calming, a bit like in the Karate Kid scene where Daniel details car,wax on, wax off.Have started re-watching classic ’80s films recently, takes my mind off things.
‘Tori?’
‘Sorry.’ Kneeling, picked up sanding block and smoothed it along mottled wood. Helps to do something with hands. ‘This isn’t exactly dinner party conversation, it’s hard.’
‘I understand.’ Kirsten took off her cardigan, screwing into ball and using as makeshift cushion on floorboards. Once she was settled, she nudged, ‘But I’m here as your friend. What happened, Tori?’
It was time. She was right. Writing journal helping, but needed to process with someone I felt safe with. Learnt hard way actions speak louder than words, and Kirsten always caring, kind and worthy of trust.
