Now, I stood in the bedroom, in my underwear, suddenly wholly unable to make the simple decision about what I should do next: have a shower, eat something, go straight to bed? My mind pinged between these basic possibilities as if they were life or death decisions, and I could feel my heart begin to race as my breathing became shallow. The more I tried to force a decision, the more I panicked, until eventually I collapsed onto the bed and started crying, great tearing sobs wrenching through my body, my throat aching with the gasping effort. All my attentions were on trying to calm myself down, so it was a moment before the urgent knocking on my front door registered.
‘Fallon! Fallon! Please open up!’
It was Sam’s voice. I dragged myself to my feet, yanked open the front door and fell into his arms.
‘Oh, my darling, my poor darling,’ he said, hugging me to him as he kicked the door shut, then helped me to the sofa. ‘Come on, breathe, that’s it, in and out.’
As he coached me, rubbing my back, his soothing voice eventually had an effect and the gasps turned to gulps and then calmed altogether as my chest released slightly and I began to relax.
‘Sorry,’ I said, sniffing, and reached for a tissue. ‘I’m okay, just a bit tired.’
‘Fallon,’ he said sternly, wiping my eyes like I was five years old. ‘You are not okay. I knew that tonight, which is why I came over. If you were okay, you would not be sitting here sobbing in your underwear at four o’clock in the morning.’
That made me laugh, even as tears still dripped down my face.
‘Sorry about the underwear, too, not that you care,’ I said. ‘To be fair, I wasn’t expecting you. I’ll go and put something on – I’m cold.’
I ran to the bedroom and grabbed a dressing gown, avoiding the mirror as I was sure I looked beyond terrible. When I returned, Sam was in the kitchenette, making tea.
‘I assume you don’t want anything stronger?’ he asked.
‘Definitely not, although maybe I’ll need it, if you’re about to lecture me.’
‘I’m only lecturing you for your own good. You’ve done an amazing job with the business, but you’ve been working too hard. You cannot carry on like this, and as your friend as well as your business partner, I cannot let you.’
‘But I can’t possibly bail out at this time of year – it’s too busy.’
‘I disagree. As I said before, everything is in motion, and Talitha and I can handle it. In a way, it’s thebesttime of year to take some time off, before all the new bookings pour in. You’re on the verge of burning out, darling, and if you push it too far, you’ll end up having to take even more time. What about those headaches you keep having?’
‘I can get on top of them with painkillers,’ I said sulkily, knowing he was right.
‘Well, I’m staging an intervention,’ he replied. ‘You must take some time off. Starting tomorrow.’
‘But I’m seeing my mother for lunch tomorrow,’ I protested. ‘I’ll need to do some work either side of that for the mental health benefits.’
He pulled a face.
‘Ha ha. Monday, then.’
‘Monday’s the last day to finalise everything for that law firm’s Christmas do. I promise –promise– that I will take some time after that. I know I need to.’
Sam smiled.
‘Great. A nice, relaxing break over Christmas will do you the world of good.’
If only we had known then how my ‘nice, relaxing break’ would end up, he might have been less confident.
TWO
FIVE DAYS LATER
For many people, being alone in a car with my mother for four hours would be a dream; it was my idea of a nightmare. But nevertheless, here we were, hurtling up the motorway and probably both glad of the fact that the back of the chauffeur-driven car Douglas had sent for us came equipped with a couple of bottles of champagne.
‘Your suitcase is very small – are you sure you’ve brought enough clothes for the time we’ll be there?’
Twenty minutes of silent sipping since our last conversation about why I couldn’t get some highlights – as my greys were sure to be coming through soon, given what my mother considers to be my advanced years – and this is how she breaks it. Funny how I seem to be catching her up in age, rather than the gap between us remaining the same, but that is just one of many mysteries my mother is fond of nursing close to her ample bosom. Others include my father’s identity and exactly what goes into her morning ‘vitamin mix’.
I sighed, wishing I was tucked up on my sofa at home watching daytime TV, stroked Runcible’s head, with its random sprouts of hair, and replied:
