The Mirror World of Melody Black

20

REVELATIONS

I couldn’t stay still that morning. I tried lying with my eyes closed and counting down from a hundred. I tried listening to music as a distraction. I tried reading Gone with the Wind. I managed a few pages before my mind drifted away. After that, I just sat up in bed, checking the clock every few minutes.

He was due to arrive at eleven and would stay for up to an hour, depending on how things went. Right now, I wasn’t sure I’d manage fifteen minutes. This felt weirdly like a first date – same butterflies, same anxieties about what we’d have to say to each other. I’d even thought about putting on some make-up, before deciding it didn’t feel appropriate. There was a part of me, I suppose, that was already preparing a defence. I didn’t want to appear too normal, too bright or healthy. I was still recovering, after all, and I thought no make-up and dressing down – tracksuit bottoms and a plain, baggy top – was the best way to convey this.

Was it slightly manipulative, trying to control his perception of me like this? Possibly; but it would be equally manipulative if I made any sort of effort to look nice. It’s a strange thing, trying to readjust to normal life, with all its complicated social interactions, and it doesn’t get any easier once you start worrying about how best to act natural.

The choice of a first meeting place was likewise something that continued to give me a headache. I’d ruled out the dayroom as I couldn’t imagine trying to have a serious conversation in there, with Homes Under the Hammer blaring in the background and Mrs Chang hovering like a silent spectre in my peripheral vision. The smoking area was, unfortunately, also out of the question. Wonderful as it would have been to be able to smoke, Melody was certain to be present at some point; she had a ten o’clock with Dr Hadley, and I assumed she’d come straight out after that. Of course, she knew Beck was coming, and she knew I was worried about it, but that didn’t mean she’d have the tact to allow us any space for a private conversation. More likely, she’d come over and start talking about ECT or self-mutilation.

That left just a few more options. There was the kitchenette – bright, functional and relatively quiet, with bad instant coffee on tap, but also a high probability of people walking in and out every few minutes. The only other communal space that might work was the non-denominational prayer room – but then we’d have to find a nurse to accompany us off the ward, since one room served the entire mental heath unit. Plus it wasn’t impossible that someone might actually want to use it for prayer.

After a lot of consideration, my bedside had seemed the least problematic choice, and it did have the advantage of meeting expectation. When you visited someone in hospital, you expected to be sitting by a sickbed, and this could work in my favour. It was another of those visual cues that would make it clear I was still in a fragile state. Yet, at the same time, it felt like a bit of a charade. I never stayed in bed this late any more. Not that I was exactly in bed at the moment. I was kind of half in, half out, fully dressed but with the sheets pulled up to my waist; I was certain it all looked far too artful, like someone posing for a painting: Convalescing Girl.

These concerns all disappeared the moment Beck entered the room, to be replaced with a fresh wave of dilemmas that I hadn’t even considered. The first was that I had no idea how to greet him. I ended up performing a strange sort of half-wave, even though he was standing just a few feet away. When he bent to kiss my cheek, the angle I was sitting at meant that I had to twist my waist and neck awkwardly, placing an unsteady hand on his shoulder blade to keep my balance. My whole posture felt stiff and apprehensive.

‘I brought flowers,’ he told me, as he seated himself in the chair by the window, ‘but they were confiscated at reception.’

‘Yes, they’re worried we’ll eat them,’ I replied, immediately wanting to retract this. It would be better, I decided, not to appear facetious. ‘Actually, I think it’s a hospital-wide policy,’ I told him. ‘They get in the way, upset people’s allergies. They can bring in bugs, too. I don’t think you’re allowed flowers even if you’re dying.’

‘Oh . . . What about plastic ones?’

‘I’m not sure about plastic ones.’

There was a small silence. Beck gestured at the book that was still splayed on top of my bedside cabinet. ‘How’s Gone with the Wind?’

I shrugged. ‘About the same as the film. The odd difference here and there. Ashley’s in the Ku Klux Klan.’

Beck smiled because he assumed I was joking, which of course I wasn’t. ‘And how are you?’

‘I’m getting there,’ I replied. ‘They have me on lithium, and I’ve been tolerating it pretty well for a week or so. I still have good days and bad days, but slightly fewer of the latter now. Things are heading in the right direction.’

He nodded slowly. ‘Have the doctors given you any idea of when you might be out?’

‘My personal therapist thinks it could be as soon as next week. But she’s also said that they won’t discharge me until I feel ready, and . . . well, I’m not sure.’

I could see that he was turning this statement over in his mind, searching for the implications.

‘Actually, I’m a little terrified of coming out,’ I blurted. ‘I mean, there’s a lot of stuff I’ll have to deal with. Stuff that—’

‘That we’ll have to deal with,’ Beck corrected – and it was such a sweet and generous correction that it made me hate myself for what I had to say next. But I didn’t have much choice. He wasn’t yet in a position to understand what he was offering.

‘Listen,’ I began. ‘It’s not that I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done— No, I’m sorry. That’s wrong. That makes it sound like you’re doing me a favour, and I know this is so much more. Let me try again.’ I closed my eyes and took a breath to steady myself. ‘You’ve been incredible, and it’s much more than I deserve.’

‘Don’t—’

‘No, please let me finish. This is hard enough already.’ I waited for a few moments until he nodded for me to continue.

‘You’ve been incredible,’ I repeated. ‘But there are some things I need to come to terms with on my own. My medication, for one.’

‘You’re going to stay on it?’ His voice was measured, but there was still an undertone of alarm there that made me feel oddly vindicated.

‘I’m going to try,’ I told him. ‘The way I’ve felt over the past few weeks, since I came here, I don’t ever want to put myself through that again. But that still doesn’t make the decision easy – and yes, I know how hard that is for anyone else to understand. But there are things that I’m going to miss – that I already miss. I can’t help it. I feel diminished, and that’s something I’m going to have to learn to live with.’

Beck didn’t say anything for a long time, and neither did I.

‘Do you know what the worst thing is, for me?’ he asked eventually.

‘I can think of a dozen things,’ I said.

‘It’s being held at arm’s length all the time. As soon as you feel hurt or scared or threatened it’s like this barrier comes up and nothing’s getting through. The last couple of weeks, not even being allowed to see you – well, I wish I could say that came as a shock, but it didn’t. It felt pretty typical.’

‘There’s nothing you could have said or done. I was suicidal. I could barely communicate.’

‘God, Abby – you’re so bloody dense sometimes! It’s not about anything I could have said or done. You didn’t have to go through that alone. I could have been there with you. Wouldn’t that have made some sort of difference?’

‘I still would have been alone,’ I told him.

I could see how much the words stung, but I had to be honest at this point. It would be kinder in the long run. Anyway, there was worse to come; and I thought if I didn’t tell him now, then I wouldn’t tell him at all.

‘There’s another reason you being here wouldn’t have been helpful,’ I said. ‘For either of us.’

He looked at me but didn’t say anything. I think he must have known from my tone that this conversation wasn’t going to get any gentler.

‘The night I walked out . . .’ I began. ‘I don’t know what Dr Barbara has told you – not much, I’d imagine.’

Beck laughed, humourlessly. ‘Patient confidentiality again. She said you were safe and hadn’t come to any serious harm – anything else would have to come from you, when you were ready.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I know that can’t have been very reassuring.’

‘No. It wasn’t.’

‘I booked myself into the Dorchester. Did she tell you that much?’

‘Yes – or she said that’s where she picked you up. But that was all.’

‘Okay.’

For the next five minutes, Beck didn’t say anything. He just sat very still while I gave him a complete account of what had happened that night. He stopped making eye contact when I got to the man in the bar – the man whose name I couldn’t even remember – but I don’t think that made it any easier to go on. The only small consolation I could find was that he must have been prepared for a worse ending than the one I gave him.

‘We went back to my room,’ I said. ‘We kissed, he touched my breasts – but that was as far as it went. I stopped things before they got any further. Actually, I started screaming the place down. Some of the night staff came in. That was when I called Dr Barbara.’

The silence when I’d finished speaking seemed to hang in the air like a storm cloud.

‘That’s everything?’ Beck asked.

‘Yes.’ The only detail I’d left out was that he’d hit me, but I didn’t think it was fair to bring this up. I didn’t deserve to look like a victim in any of this.

Beck looked at me again, his face more or less blank. ‘I don’t know what I can say.’

‘You can say whatever you feel like saying. Shout if you want. You have every right to.’

‘Do I?’ He let the question hang for a few seconds. ‘You see, that’s the problem, isn’t it? I honestly don’t know how much of that was you and how much was . . . I don’t know – illness, mania, something separate.’

‘Neither do I,’ I said.

‘Can you even tell me what was going through your head at the time? Can you give me any idea?’

‘My head was all over the place. I was really out of control – drunk, confused, hyperactive, but . . . God, this just sounds like I’m making excuses, and I don’t know that I can. The truth is, there was a part of me that knew exactly what I was doing. But I still couldn’t stop it, or I didn’t want to stop it. I don’t know which. It was completely irrational and self-destructive. I suppose the closest I can come to explaining is to say that I didn’t really care what happened. I didn’t have the capacity to care. Except this isn’t the full story either, because obviously there was a part of me that did care too.’

I fell silent. As messy as this explanation was, it was the only honest answer I could give, and I think Beck understood this – although I could see that he was still at a loss as to how to respond. So I thought I’d make it easy for him.

‘Listen,’ I said. ‘I need some time alone to get my head straight. And so do you. When I get out of here – whenever that is – I think it would be better if we spent some time apart.’

He left soon after that, and I immediately went outside for a smoke. Melody was already there, as predicted. She smiled as I walked over, and I smiled back.

‘How’d it go?’ she asked.

‘As well as could be expected.’

‘That bad?’ The way she delivered this line made me certain that she must have heard it on TV or in a film. But I still found it oddly endearing. The truth is, I was glad she was there to talk to.

‘I think it might be over,’ I told her.

‘Shit.’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘My boyfriend dumped me, too,’ Melody told me, to convey solidarity, I think. ‘That’s when I started cutting again. We’d been together ages. Seven, no, eight months.’

‘Beck didn’t dump me,’ I corrected. ‘We’ve agreed to spend some time apart. It was a mutual decision.’

‘Mine was by text,’ Melody said. ‘Turned out to be fucking awful timing too. It was only like a week before . . . Well, before I came here.’

There was something missing in this account, I knew, but it wasn’t the first time Melody had been vague about the circumstances that led to her being admitted here. It always struck me because it was pretty much the only area in which Melody was vague. With everything else, she was insanely forthcoming. I knew about the thirty-two paracetamol, of course – almost the first thing she told me – and I knew she’d been cutting from the age of fourteen and on medication by the time she was sixteen; we’d exchanged extensive notes on the various antidepressants we’d both tried. But there was still this conspicuous gap when it came to the days just before her suicide attempt. The only other topic on which I could remember her ever being cagey was her personal therapy, which was fair enough, really. When I asked her, one time, what she talked about in her sessions with Dr Hadley, she gave me the exact same answer I’d given her: ‘Daddy issues mostly.’

The ex-boyfriend, I thought, was another piece of the puzzle, but there had to be more, obviously. Still, I assumed that if she ever wanted to tell me the rest, she would do it in her own time. I wasn’t going to press the issue, and she was quick to shift the conversation back to my problems.

‘You live together, right? You and the boyfriend?’

I nodded.

‘So what’s going to happen next?’ she asked. ‘You know, once you’re out of here. You gonna move out?’

‘Yes, I suppose so. For a while at least. In all honesty, I haven’t really thought that part through. But my options are pretty limited; I can’t afford much. I’ve got this massive credit card debt to pay, and I’m still going to be contributing my half of the rent on the flat. For the next couple of months, anyway.’

Melody shrugged. ‘Stay at mine if you want. I’ll ask my mum, next time she’s in.’

This offer was so unexpected and unthinkingly generous – albeit on her mother’s behalf – that I was at a loss for words for several seconds. Then I reacted as anyone would. ‘Oh, no, I really couldn’t impose like that. I mean, thank you – really, thank you – but—’

‘You can pay if it makes you feel better,’ Melody interrupted. ‘I give Mum sixty quid a week for rent and bills. You can afford that, right? Just sell a few of them magazine articles and you’re sorted. You got any more up your sleeve?’

I smiled. ‘Perhaps. I’d promised to write this piece for the Observer; God knows what’s going to happen with that. But, anyway, I still think it might be a bit unfair on your mother, having a complete stranger in the house.’

‘Oh, she wouldn’t mind. She’s good like that. I mean it’s not a palace, obviously – it’s a council flat in Acton – so you might have to kip on the sofa. Or you can have my room, if I’m not out by then, except . . . well, I think I might be.’ Melody smiled, a little shyly. ‘Lisa’s been talking about me becoming an outpatient. I’d just have to come back here a couple of times a week for therapy.’

I have to admit I was surprised by this, though I’m not sure why. A number of other patients had been released since I’d arrived on Amazon; it wasn’t as if the hospital was meant to provide long-term accommodation. I suppose it was just that I took Melody’s continual presence here for granted. I saw her so many times a day she was like part of the décor.

‘That’s great,’ I said, after a small hesitation. ‘You must be pleased.’

‘Yeah, I guess. Pleased, scared – you know what it’s like.’

I nodded. Because I did know, and I realized then how rare that probably was. It was strange: Melody and I had so little in common in so many ways – it was inconceivable that we would have become friends outside this place – and yet I felt we understood each other on a much deeper level. With Melody, I didn’t have to explain or justify concepts that others would have found irrational, just as she didn’t have to explain to me why she liked to cut herself.

That was the reason, I think, why the idea of staying with Melody once we were out of here no longer seemed so outlandish; or not for the next few hours.

That afternoon, I had an extra session booked with Dr Hadley. We’d agreed it would be sensible, in case I needed to talk after Beck’s visit. However, it also meant that Dr Hadley had been forced to rearrange her schedule and slot me into the gap between two other appointments – an hour that would usually have been free office time. Consequently, she had had a very busy day, and was uncharacteristically flustered before our session.

She was coming out of her office as I was about to knock on the door, her cheeks flushed and her lips pursed. ‘Oh, Abby.’ She gave a small, tired smile. ‘Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten. Can you just give me a couple of minutes? You can wait inside if you like.’

I went in.

Dr Hadley was a compulsively tidy woman. I’d never seen her office looking anything but immaculate, and even now, it wouldn’t have been called messy by any normal standards. There was just a handful of signs that today had been exceptionally fraught: a pen on the floor, an unwashed coffee cup, a pink Post-it stuck to the side of her computer screen. But as I sat down in my usual chair, I found these details made me smile a little. Being in an NHS hospital, Dr Hadley’s office was inevitably rather plain and institutional, lacking the more personal touches I was used to from my therapy with Dr Barbara. But in addition, I’d often thought that this environment reflected something of her personality. She’d always projected a kind of austere professionalism that was difficult to warm to. So witnessing even this limited disorder felt quite refreshing; it was nice to see her human side.

I reached down to pick up the fallen pen and then placed it back in Dr Hadley’s pen pot, and as I did, I glimpsed what was written on the pink Post-it note:

Call CRT re: Melody Black.

It seemed completely innocuous at first – and in every normal sense it was. It wasn’t personal or sensitive information. CRT, I knew, was the Community Rehabilitation Team, and from this I guessed it must be something to do with what Melody had told me that morning, about her possibly becoming an outpatient. But it wasn’t this content that caused me to smile again. It was Melody’s name.

Odd as it may sound, I hadn’t known Melody’s surname up to this point. Mrs Chang aside, I don’t think there was another service user whose surname I did know. We only ever used first names, as did the staff when they addressed us. So this was the first time I knew Melody as ‘Melody Black’, and straight away it was a name I loved. It was so gloomy and lyrical it could have been a line from a Sylvia Plath poem.

There was something more than this, though – some other connection that I couldn’t yet put my finger on. I thought, at first, that it was just a strange feeling of aptness, as if the two words now resonating in my consciousness were someone’s taut synopsis of all the beauty and darkness of the past seven weeks.

It must have taken mere moments for the full revelation to hit me – and this really was how it felt. It was the Dorchester all over again; I’d been slapped full force across the cheek.

Of course, later I’d spend hours trying to convince myself that I might be wrong, that I was suffering from some kind of massive delusion. But the truth is I knew. In that precise instant, all the pieces of the puzzle – the conversations with Melody about her dad, the peculiar gaps in her backstory, even the fact that she looked weirdly familiar – fell into place. And this left no room for doubt.

Simon’s surname had been Black.

Melody was Simon’s daughter.