And there it is, my lovely leather handbag. I instantly burst into tears.
Simon finds me sobbing, cross-legged on the kitchen floor, my face in my hands. Sometimes I feel as if I am going crazy.I know I’m not. I know it’s just the results of the head injury, but it still feels as if I haven’t fully got a grip on reality, and that’s both scary and frustrating.
‘Erin … What are you doing … Oh!’ He crouches down beside me.
‘I found my handbag in the washing machine!’ I’m shouting, even though he’s right next to me. I want him to get it, to understand how maddening this is, but he just looks on, clearly bemused but also very calm. That just makes me angrier.
‘And it doesn’t help that I was late because I was doing wedding stuff,’ I tell him. ‘I mean, you’re getting married, too. Why can’t you help with some of this? Why is it all left to me?’
Simon pulls away. ‘But I thought youenjoyeddoing all of this. You begged me to let you do it.’
‘That’s not the point! You should know … You should have …’ I swallow the rest of the sentence, not wanting to say it out loud.
‘That’s a bit unfair, Erin. Until now, it seemed as if you were perfectly happy to take it all on board.’
I make a noise that is somewhere halfway between a snort and a gurgling sob. Whatever it is, my nose runs. I stand up, grab for a piece of kitchen roll, and blow my nose loudly. ‘Well, I’m not coping, okay? Is that what you want to hear?’
I’m right up in Simon’s grill now. He backs away, looking pretty pissed off.
I don’t care. I’m on a roll.
He’s going to make me say it, is he, instead of working it out himself? Well, he might as well have it, both barrels. ‘You know what people tell me? You know what they say all the time if I tell them what happened to me?’
Simon shakes his head.
‘That on the outside, no one would ever be able to tell I’d suffered a traumatic brain injury almost six months ago. On the outside, apparently, I seem to be pretty much who I used to be – confident, together, on top of things. The doctors told me I’ve been a star patient, working hard at my physiotherapy and neurological programmes. I’m gearing up to go back to work. I’m getting married … But you know what the problem is, Simon? The outside is a lie. One I can’t stop myself from telling.’
He looks at me, more confused than angry. ‘I didn’t … Why didn’t you tell me?’
Because I wanted you to know!I scream inside my head. But he doesn’t.
‘I say nothing because I see the relief in my mother’s eyes when she knows that her remaining baby is going to be okay. Because I see how tired you are of all of it.’
Simon’s eyes widen, and even though I hoped I was getting it wrong, I know I’ve hit the nail on the head.
‘I don’t blame you. I probably have no idea how bad it was while I was unconscious or still in my post-traumatic amnesia stage, or even how taxing I’ve been since then. But I can see that it’s wearing you down just as much as it’s wearing me down. And I don’t want to be that person. I just want to go back!’
‘Back to what?’
‘Back to my life! Back to who I am.’ And then I just start to cry harder, like a big fat, whiny baby.
‘I don’t want to say I told you so, Erin—’
‘Then don’t!’ I flip from soggy to fiery with frightening speed. ‘And I know I’m being unfair. I know I’m being a nightmare. But I can’t help it, Simon. And I hate it …’ Uh-oh. We’re back to the waterworks again.Even I can’t keep up with my own emotions this evening.
Simon advances warily again, and since I don’t lash out at him, he puts an arm round me loosely. ‘I’ve been mulling something over, something …’ He shakes his head, as if he realizes he’s about to go into too much detail and needs to keep it simple. ‘I think you need to take a break.’
The thought of that just makes me want to cry harder. ‘I don’t want to go backwards … I want to go forwards. I want to make progress.’ My gaze is snagged by the oversized clock on the chimney breast, ‘Oh, God … We’re so late. I haven’t got time to have a breakdown now. Will you zip me up?’ I say, trying to hold back the sniffles and not doing a very good job.
‘No,’ Simon says.
I spin around to look at him. A wave of tiredness crashes over me, except it’s more like an avalanche than a wave, weighing me down. I sway on my feet.
‘It doesn’t matter that we’re late,’ Simon says. ‘Rachel and Tim will have another anniversary.’
I’m filled with relief. He’s going to say we don’t have to go, and while I feel horribly guilty for letting his sister down, I’m just so happy that Simon knows this is exactly what I need.
He takes the handbag out of the washing machine and puts it on the counter. ‘Listen, get yourself changed into your pyjamas.’ I nod, filled with relief we can just collapse on the sofa and do nothing, but then he adds, ‘I’ll go to dinner and explain.’
