The Mirror World of Melody Black

22

OUT

Melody screamed and screamed.

It’s a rare thing to be able to say you know the exact quality of someone else’s pain, but in this case, of course, I did. I could remember precisely how that moment felt. It was a pain that obliterated every other sensation and thought, as if a dozen white-hot needles were being fed into your nerves. The only difference between my case and Melody’s was that I’d been drunk when I crushed the cigarette into my flesh. Melody lacked even this token anaesthetic, so, if anything, her pain must have been worse.

I had my arm around her shoulder in seconds and managed to propel her towards the doorway. She didn’t offer up any resistance, but neither did she do anything to help. I’m not sure how far she was even aware of my presence. It was like trying to steer a shopping trolley with a broken wheel.

Inside, two nurses were already converging on us, and I could see that some of the other patients had also come out into the corridor to find out what was happening. Melody’s screams had diminished to a series of ragged yelps, but her initial outburst had been loud enough to be heard through the nearest walls and windows. Apparently, I had started yelling too, and as the nurses approached, I managed to convey that Melody had burned her hand and we needed to get it under cold water. I was able to help manoeuvre her to the closest bathroom, but after that some sort of official protocol kicked in and I was ushered out by another nurse.

As we left, I caught a glimpse of Melody still being held at the sink, her whole body shaking. I remember it very clearly because it was the last time I saw her. Later that morning, she was moved back to Nile.

Dr Hadley was adamant that I not be allowed to visit, even after I broke down in her office and started sobbing that I had to go and make things better right that instant.

‘I think it would be an extremely bad idea,’ she told me again, in a voice that was both gentle and firm.

Some hours later, after I’d calmed down, I could see that she was right. There was still nothing I could say to Melody, nothing that would make any difference. And anyway, what I really wanted was the impossible. I wanted her to tell me that it wasn’t my fault – that it was just an awful, awful coincidence. I wanted an absolution.

It’s a unique sort of guilt, when you hurt someone you care about and whom you never intended to hurt; and for a while, I thought it was my unique guilt, as if no one else could ever have experienced anything remotely similar. It was my mum who set me straight, when I tried to explain this feeling to her several weeks later.

‘God, Abby,’ she said. ‘You’ll find that most of the hurt you cause in your life will be unintentional. And almost all of it will be inflicted on the people you care about. It’s one of life’s unfortunate ironies. It’s much easier to hurt the people you’re close to.’

I’ve never thought of my mum as particularly insightful; she’s more insightful than my dad, but that goes without saying. Yet in this instance, I could see that she knew a hell of a lot more than I did. The only intelligent addition I could make to our conversation, at this point, was to quote Oscar Wilde.

‘Each man kills the thing he loves,’ I told my mum.

‘Yes, exactly,’ she replied. ‘Or each woman – just as often.’

That night – the night after Melody burned herself – I realized it was time for me to leave St Charles. This wasn’t a knee-jerk reaction to the events of the previous day, and it wasn’t a decision I came to lightly.

I was given more diazepam and slept through for eight unbroken hours, waking around five thirty. After that, I lay wide awake until breakfast, as I had on so many other mornings over the past weeks. But this time was different. My head felt surprisingly clear. I was rested and lucid, and able to look at my situation with a new objectivity.

Dr Hadley had already convinced me that there was nothing I could do to help Melody at the moment; what she hadn’t said, of course, was that my being here – just a few corridors away – might have the exact opposite effect. But this was something that occurred to me now. I knew that by the time Melody was off Nile, I’d probably be gone, and, in any case, there was no way we’d be put on the same ward again. But still, wouldn’t it be better if I were out of the picture entirely? The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that this was the one thing I could do to make her time here easier.

As far as my own recovery went, I honestly believed that I was as well as I was going to get inside a hospital. Being out in the real world was still a daunting prospect, but I could see that my being here served no further purpose. It was odd, but the moment Melody had crushed that cigarette into her hand, it was almost as if I’d been shaken awake from the last grip of a nightmare. Admittedly, I’d felt awful over the past day, but this was not the same as feeling depressed. I found that I could label all my emotions – guilt, fear, sadness, remorse – as if they were ingredients in a recipe, and there was nothing there that wasn’t normal and proportionate given the situation. More importantly, I knew that these feelings would pass. There wasn’t the sense of lethargy and hopelessness that characterizes depression. I wanted to get out of here and get my life back on track; and then, in time, there might be some way I could make things right with Melody.

I turned all this over in my head several times, rehearsing my lines of reasoning for what was to come. Then, straight after breakfast, I washed, dressed and went to knock on Dr Hadley’s door. I knew she’d be in from around eight thirty, but it was unlikely she’d have anything scheduled that early, so this would be my best chance to say the things I needed to.

She waved me in and gestured that I should sit. The other chair was already angled towards hers, as if waiting for me.

I asked about Melody, of course, but there wasn’t much Dr Hadley could tell me – just that she was calmer now, and being taken care of. So after that, I got straight to the point.

‘I think I’m ready to leave,’ I told her. ‘The sooner the better.’

I could see the scepticism written all over her face, but this was as I’d expected.

‘You know, Abby,’ she said after a few moments, ‘before yesterday I’d have agreed with you. You were ready to leave, or near enough. But considering everything that’s happened . . . I think it would be prudent to give it a few more days. See how things go.’

‘Yesterday clarified a lot of things for me,’ I said, ‘and staying here isn’t going to help me any more; if anything it’s going to be detrimental.’ Then I ran through most of what I’d been thinking that morning, very methodically, setting out my arguments like lines of toy soldiers. The only thing I left out was my realization that this might be better for Melody too, because I knew this would weaken my case. Dr Hadley would be trying to figure out what was best for me, putting all other issues to one side for the moment, and I didn’t want her to think that guilt was my prime motivation here.

‘I’m extremely grateful for everything you’ve done for me,’ I concluded, ‘but I honestly think it’s the right time for me to go. You said yourself that it would be better if I made the final decision.’

Dr Hadley tapped her pen against her cheek a couple of times. ‘Yes, I did,’ she acknowledged. ‘But things were quite a lot simpler then, weren’t they?’

I decided to change tack and come at this from Dr Hadley’s perspective, because I could see she wanted to be persuaded, but wasn’t going to agree to anything until she was certain.

‘What do you need from me?’ I asked her. ‘I mean, if you were to draw up a checklist of things that had to happen before you’d be happy to let me go, what would be on it?’

Dr Hadley smiled faintly, perhaps because of how I’d phrased this. ‘First, I’d need to know that you were going somewhere safe and secure, with family or friends to support you. I’d also have to be satisfied that your mood is as stable as you say it is. That would mean at least two more days in here – ideally more – and an independent assessment by one of the other doctors. And you’d have to agree to transitional support for the next few weeks, either as an outpatient or under the supervision of another healthcare professional.’

I nodded. There was nothing here that seemed problematic. ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I also have one other thing to ask you. A favour.’

Dr Hadley nodded for me to go on.

‘Once I’m out, I have something I’d like you to give Melody for me. Or, in any case, there’s something I’m leaving behind for her. You can decide when or whether to pass it on. It’s nothing that will upset her, I promise. It’s . . . well, it’s an apology of sorts – one that I think she’ll understand. But as I’ve said, it’s your decision what to do with it. I trust your judgement.’

I was out of Dr Hadley’s office a little before nine. Then I went straight back to my room and phoned my mum.