Predictably, everyone is weird when I return to work. They all talk slower, like I’ve had a week off for hearing problems or something.
‘How are you?’ they over-enunciate.
‘Fine, I’m fine.’
‘Did you have a nice break?’ Katy asks, like I’ve just come back from a week in Cephalonia.
‘Yes, lovely thanks.’
Mike, at least, is brisk and business-like. ‘Nice to have you back, April,’ is all he has to say on the matter, before summoning me into the meeting room to ask how recruitment for volunteers is going. It’s good to feel professional again.
‘Numbers aren’t brilliant, but they’re also normal for this time of year,’ I say. ‘Once we get ourselves in front of eager Freshers in September, I’m sure we’ll hit our targets.’ I show him the postcards I designed, encouraging people to become advisors.
‘This is great, really great. Good work.’ He doesn’t mention the other part of my role, or my absence, or anything else. And I almost feel like hugging him for it.
When we walk out of the meeting room, I feel people’s necks craning in my direction, examining me for signs of madness. At least six people offer to make me coffee. ‘I’ve already got one, thanks.’
All the fans are whirring, making no dent in everyone’s bombarded basal core temperature. Matt is the only other one who treats me normally. He sends an email, which I don’t see until just before lunch as it takes me all morning to catch up on the deluge of mail I received when I was away – mostly informing people that ice lollies were in the kitchen.
From: MatthewWeAreHere
To: AprilWeAreHere
Subject: You OK?
I missed you buddy. You feeling any better?
I look up from my screen, just as he happens to look up from his. I smile.
From: AprilWeAreHere
To: MatthewWeAreHere
Subject: RE: You OK?
I missed you too! Sorry I can’t be your buddy for a while. Feeling a bit better actually. Though guilty that it’s put more work on you and the volunteers we are yet to recruit.
From: MatthewWeAreHere
Don’t be stupid! I’m just happy you’re feeling better. Lunch?
From: AprilWeAreHere
I’d love to actually! Shall we see if Katy wants in too?
Katy looks thrilled to be invited, and we plan a park picnic for 1 p.m. I’m proud of myself for saying yes, though I know it’s going to take a lot of self-control to not ask him about the inbox and what’s come in. One piece of advice Carol gave me before signing me off was to imagine I carry a container around with me. I can make it any type of container I like – basket, Tupperware – but it has to have a lid. And, whenever I have thoughts about all the abuse that happens and how overwhelming it is, I have to visualise myself putting my thoughts into the container and pushing the lid down.
‘That’s not to say you’re never going to think about these things again,’ she said. ‘It’s not about repression. But it’s a way of not having to think about it all, all of the time. Really work on that mental image of storing it away.’
It seems to be working. At eleven, my calendar tells me that my shift is coming up because I forgot to cancel the reminder. Go to the inbox. Even though you’re not supposed to. See what’s in there. I bet it’s bad. I bet so much bad stuff has happened, and you’re not even going to help are you? Because you’re so selfish and weak? I picture a giant Tupperware box and I shove these thoughts into it. I hold the top down with my palm so I can snap the clips into place. There. Thoughts fully contained.
I drink a cup of coffee at my desk and work out the volunteers’ rotas. I have to re-jig a lot as they’re taking on an extra shift each because of me. Because you’re too weak and pathetic and useless and …
Into the container. Push down the top. Snap down those clips again.
It works as a coping strategy until after our lovely team lunch, where we stuff ourselves with strawberries and yogurt and do very well at not bringing up difficult subjects.
Megan calls me as we’re walking back to the office from the park, providing further distraction. ‘I miss him.’
‘No you don’t. You miss the idea of him.’
‘Since when did you become Yoda?’
‘Throw yourself into your work.’
‘I can’t ring celebrity publicists when I am crying in