Blue Monday

Chapter Two

Carrie saw him from a distance, walking across the grass towards her in the fading light, his feet stirring the piles of damp brown leaves, his shoulders slightly hunched and his hands thrust deep into his pockets. He didn’t see her. His eyes were fixed on the ground in front of him and he moved slowly and heavily, like a man just woken from sleep, still sluggish and wrapped up in his dreams. Or nightmares, she thought, as she watched her husband. He looked up and his face cleared; his steps quickened slightly.

‘Thanks for coming.’

She put an arm through his. ‘What’s up, Alan?’

‘I just had to get away from work. I couldn’t stay there any longer.’

‘Did something happen?’

He shrugged at her, ducked his head. He looked like a boy still, she thought, although his hair was prematurely grey. He had a child’s shyness and rawness; you could see his emotions on his face. He often seemed slightly at a loss and people wanted to protect him, especially women. She wanted to protect him, except when she wanted protecting herself and then her tenderness was replaced by a weary kind of irritation.

‘Mondays are always bad.’ She made her voice light and brisk. ‘Especially Mondays in November when it’s starting to drizzle.’

‘I had to see you.’

She pulled him along the path. They had walked this route so many times before that their feet seemed to steer them. The light was fading. They passed the playground. She averted her eyes, as she always did nowadays, but it was empty except for a few pigeons pecking around the rubberized Tarmac. On to the main path and past the bandstand. Once, years ago, they had had a picnic there. She didn’t know why she remembered it so clearly. It had been spring and one of the first warm days of the year, and they had eaten pork pies and drunk warm beer from the bottle and watched children run around on the grass in front of them, tripping over their own shadows. She remembered lying on her back with her head in his lap and he’d stroked her hair from her face and told her she meant the world to him. He wasn’t a man of many words, so perhaps that was why she held such things in her memory.

They went over the brow of the hill towards the ponds. Occasionally they took bread for the ducks, although that was really something for little kids to do. Anyway, the ducks were being chased away by Canada geese that puffed their chests and stretched their necks and ran at you.

‘A dog,’ she said. ‘Perhaps we should get a dog.’

‘You’ve never said that before.’

‘A cocker spaniel. Not too big but not too small and yappy either. Do you want to talk about what you’re feeling?’

‘If you want a dog, let’s get one. How about as a Christmas present to each other?’ He was trying to work himself up into enthusiasm for it.

‘Just like that?’

‘A cocker spaniel, you say. Fine.’

‘It was just an idea.’

‘We can give him a name. Do you think it should be a him? Billy. Freddie. Joe.’

‘That isn’t what I meant. I shouldn’t have said anything.’

‘Sorry, it’s my fault. I’m not …’ He stopped. He couldn’t quite think of what it was he wasn’t.

‘I wish you’d tell me what happened.’

‘It’s not like that. I can’t explain.’

Now they found themselves back at the children’s playground as if they were drawn to it. The swings and the seesaw were empty. Alan halted. He took his arm out of hers and gripped the railings with both hands. He stood like that for some moments, very still. He put one hand flat against his chest.

‘Aren’t you feeling well?’ Carrie said.

‘I feel odd.’

‘What kind of odd?’

‘I don’t know. Odd. Like a storm’s coming.’

‘What storm?’

‘Wait.’

‘Take my arm. Lean on me.’

‘Hold on a second, Carrie.’

‘Tell me what you’re feeling? Does it hurt?’

‘I don’t know,’ he whispered. ‘It’s in my chest.’

‘Shall I call a doctor?’

He was bowed over now. She couldn’t see his face.

‘No. Don’t leave me,’ he said.

‘I’ve got my mobile.’ She fumbled under her thick coat and brought it out from the pocket of her trousers.

‘I feel like my heart’s going to burst through my chest it’s pounding so hard.’

‘I’m calling an ambulance.’

‘No. It’ll pass. It always does.’

‘I can’t just stand here, watching you suffer.’

She tried to put an arm around him, but he was such an awkward shape, bunched up on himself, and she felt useless. She heard him whimper and for a moment she wanted to run away and leave him there, bulky and hopeless in the twilight. But of course she couldn’t do that. And gradually she could sense that whatever it was that gripped him was loosening, until at last he straightened up again. She could make out beads of sweat on his forehead although his hand, when she took it, was cold.

‘Better?’

‘A bit. Sorry.’

‘You’ve got to do something about it.’

‘It’ll be all right.’

‘It won’t. It’s getting worse. Do you think I don’t hear you in the night? And it’s affecting your work. You’ve got to go to Dr Foley.’

‘I’ve been to him. He just gives me those sleeping pills that knock me out and give me a hangover.’

‘You’ve to go again.’

‘I’ve had all the tests. I saw it in his eyes. I’m no different from half the people who go to their doctor. I’m just tired.’

‘This isn’t normal. Promise me you’ll go, Alan?’

‘If you say so.’