feel. Just give me two minutes.’ I rush inside, grab some Dairy Milk and a wad of clean tissues, go back out on the balcony and pop them in the basket, carefully lowering it down to her. ‘Watch out, incoming.’
‘Oh, Jack!’ She’s laughing and crying now. ‘I’ve got the mixed emotions!’
‘Just have a good old nose-blow and some chocolate and you’ll feel better, I promise.’
I can hear her trying to blow her nose, but it sounds more like a mewing cat and we both burst into laughter. When we manage to stop, I call down again, ‘I thought maybe you’d rescued a cat for Bertie rather than a dog.’
She laughs. ‘No, although speaking of which, I’d better get ready. I’m meant to be going to see this little dog. I just don’t feel like facing anything. Somehow talking about my epilepsy brings it all back again.’
‘That’s okay,’ I say brightly. ‘Look, the specialist said you can’t do anything about it for a while anyway, didn’t he?’
‘Yes,’ she replies.
‘So I know it’s tough and easier said than done, but try dismissing it as much as you can for now. You don’t need to make a decision yet. Just mull it over and in time, over the next few weeks, how you feel will become clearer.’
‘I guess.’
‘Of course the other option is, like my mum says, do a “for and against” list. Sometimes, though I won’t admit this to my mum, it does help you work through your thoughts.’
‘That’s just the sort of thing my mum suggests,’ Sophia says.
‘Did it work?’ I ask.
‘Last time I tried it I was deciding whether to stay with an ex-boyfriend at teacher training college, and yes I think it did kind of work.’
‘There you go then.’
‘I’m sorry, Jack.’
‘For what?’
‘Bleating on, about my meds when you probably can’t …’ She breaks off.
‘Can’t what?’
‘You probably can’t stop taking yours.’
‘It’s okay, I didn’t even think of that.’ It dawns on me that for once I wasn’t thinking about myself. Sophia matters to me more than anything. ‘My meds are a fact of life. I’m so used to them I don’t even remember what it was like before I started taking them. Anyway as you know, I’ve done my fair share of running away and rebelling against them. As a teenager once I didn’t tell my parents but I hid my meds and didn’t take them for two days.’
‘Oh my gosh, that’s terrible … but I guess I can understand why.’ The fact she gets this makes me feel ridiculously happy.
‘Yeah, I was angry. Angry with why I had to take them and angry with everyone, really.’
‘What happened?’ she asks.
‘I felt ill and stupid. My mum found out and was upset, but she was cool. She just sat me down and said I didn’t have to take them but if I wanted to stay well it was pretty necessary.’
‘She sounds a sensible mum. I’d like to meet her.’
‘You know the invitation is there,’ I tell her. ‘She would adore you.’ She would too; I just know it. She didn’t ever really like Laura; I think she knew right from the start it was a mistake. Though she had tried very hard with her. Of course I was so determined to be independent, to go my own way, that I wouldn’t listen to her warnings. ‘Does your mum understand?’ I ask, biting into a piece of chocolate.
‘Not really,’ Sophia admits. ‘Because she’s a GP, she can be quite matter-of-fact. If you need meds, take them – she doesn’t always understand why you might not want to. She’s studied the whole science of it and is frustrated that anyone might refuse to take something that can make them better.’
‘Fair enough – she’s right really,’ I say.
‘She is, but it doesn’t take into account the emotions that go alongside, of wanting to drink, to go out partying, be like your friends.’
‘True but then no one really understands unless they’ve been through it,’ I reply.
‘I’ve never met anyone like you, Jack,’ she says softly, and my heart flips. ‘You just totally get it. I felt so alone before with this diagnosis, but not any more.’
I can’t believe she’s just said that. ‘Me too,’ I tell her. ‘I mean I’ve felt alone too. Even Sam doesn’t really understand, but you do.’
‘Well … we can be alone together,’ she says.
‘Deal, well – almost together, anyway.’
Chapter 33
Sophia
‘So soon things might be changing,’ I say to the kids, who are busy making May Day pictures out of wrapped-up