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CHARLES
I tried, I really fucking tried. Because a forest green voice inside my head whispered that my mother’s way out wasn’t the only way. That I should keep taking my tablets, even if they did leave me with a metallic taste in my mouth, ruining what little appetite I had. The voice also suggested I take a break every now and then, even though every time I did, Marcus piled another sheaf of irresistible figures on my desk. And they were irresistible, they were like fucking crack cocaine, because when the bold black numbers aligned on my flat white screen? When the columns and rows added up to a neat strip of noughts, and the clients printed their names on the dotted line underneath? When the train flashed past at the speed of light? Then, like a night sky backlit with a trillion tiny stars, my head exploded with the most fucking awesome navy blue ever. Whoo-whooo!
To the exclusion of green, silver, buttery fucking yellow and everything other wishy-washy shade trying to tell me I didn’t know what was good for me.
My three a.m. demons torpedoed my dreams every single fucking night now. They’d found voices too. Not navy voices, nor green ones. But steely dark growls, slithering like serpents around my mind, reminding me with their silky hisses that my mother was at peace. That her clever mind was rid of ugly purple monsters forever. Urging me to take the pills, to swallow them all, so I could drift in a lush green haze until the end of time, navy too if I liked. Disappear to a world where sleep didn’t matter, where people, sums, Marcus, and work didn’t matter.
In those shadowy hours, when my heart pumped feebly and my lungs choked, my timid green whispered I should talk to Florian. Made my sweaty fingers hover over my phone, urging me to listen to his voice and let his silver wrap around me, soothing me from the horrors. But nobody phoned friends in the middle of the night; he’d think someone had died or something. The time I’d done it by accident, he’d asked me all those questions I hadn’t wanted to answer; he’d sliced through my tissue-thin veneer of sanity like a knife through butter.
And I could never let him see me broken like this. Could I? Best he remembered me as I was, with a brush in my hand, or in his arms and stealing kisses in a sunny garden. With hearts and flowers on my cheeks and sex-drunk eyes chock full of love.
My God, I was tired. So fucking tired. But if I stayed awake, the nightmares couldn’t hurt me, right? If I forced my eyes open, then the greys couldn’t reach me, tempting me with their poisoned fruit. If I focused on the black numbers and kept the floor spotless, then the greys would stay hidden behind the skirting board or under the bed.
Soon enough, shrouded in ugly charcoal, the greys came anyhow. Scuttling from under the bed, shuttling across the floor. Reminding me I had a choice. It had worked for my mother. Why not me? Who are you kidding Charles? they whispered. We’re home, we’re not going away. Orange moved in, too. Signed a long-term tenancy. Navy milled in and out, feigning disinterest. Charcoal drenched everything.
I almost missed Florian’s message. He’d stopped texting, which was probably for the best because then I didn’t have to lie about the project after this one, and then the project after that. But maybe when that one was done, I’d squeeze in a trip to see him if I made it out alive. I could surprise him at L’Escale. He’d glance up and find me, hovering in the doorway, and smile his slow, knowing smile. And I’d feel awkward, and out-of-place, like I always did amongst his handsome, cool friends, but it wouldn’t matter because Florian would saunter over to me in that sexy way he had, with silver flames erupting from his hair and streaming down his shoulders. Like the best fucking dream I ever had.
Disapproving of my thoughts meandering down this path, orange rippled in anger. Moody navy pretended not to care either way, as long as the sums got finished. Grey however, detested it.
I flinched at a beeping sound. An excuse to turn on the light and reach for my phone, occupy my hands and my mind from grabbing too many pills.
We did it Charles! Florian wrote. His words leapt from the screen in bold black and white. Singing out to me, even though they lacked the rhythm of my numbers. And they sang with Florian’s voice. We did it, mon chéri! The count was close – we beat them by only three votes! I couldn’t have won without you. Can you believe it? Credibility, logic, and emotion! It worked! We were a great team, non?
For a sliver of a second, a bright star of dazzling silver burst behind my eyes, shimmering amongst the navy, orange, and grey. Tugging my forest green along by the hand. Clutching the phone, I read the message over and over, until my salty tears blurred the screen. My wonderful little French revolutionary. My perfectly, perfect Florian.
We were a great team, non? Once more, deep in the burbling soup of my brain, a glimmer of goodness sparked silver. That goodness had a name, a pretty name to match his pretty face. I texted back.
Well done, Florian! (God, I wish you were here with me.)
Hey, Charles, you know it wasn’t just me. We did it together.
You must be thrilled, I hope you’re having a fantastic celebration. (Be happy, my love, you deserve all the happiness.)
Putain, yes. It will be one hell of a party in L’Escale tonight!
I’ll raise a glass to you. (Several. To wash down all the pills.)
Phone later, yeah? XX
I miss you too. (Sorry, my love.)
We were a great team. We were a great team. We were a great team.
Somehow, I would never know how, those words stopped me swallowing the pills.
The therapist from the last time; I’d forgotten her name. A short grey woman, with a peculiar otherness about her, squinty myopic eyes always focusing over my left shoulder, as if she could see shadowy creatures that weren’t real, too. Or, if I suddenly shouted ‘boo!’, she’d be joining me on this side of the desk. Nonetheless, do one small thing that calms you, she would advise in her urgent breathy manner, as if my imaginary shadows might overhear. When the mist descends, Charles, when the panic takes root. Make a cup of tea. Take a shower. Phone a friend.
The cup of tea only worsened the shaking. The caffeine buzz set my mind in motion so that the shower became an orgy of scrubbing until my skin screamed and my pores bled. I soaped the tiled walls until they were too slippery for bugs to stick; after that, I jammed the plughole with the rest of the bar of soap so the buggers couldn’t climb up it. Just in case, I huddled half-naked against the bath, poised to catch them if they tried. Then after that, reaching the end of her sage advice, I phoned a friend.
CHAPTER 27
FLORIAN
“Nico, I’m flying to England. Tonight.”
“What the hell? I thought we were going out to celebrate? I could have sworn the newly crowned head of the biggest independent salt cooperative in France promised to buy his best friends a drink or five!”
“I can’t. You need to stay at my house until I get back. To look after Papi.”
