out a page. The only mark was on the next piece of parchment where it was possible to see where he’d pressed so hard the words had made an impression.
Clive got the note from his bag to check it matched up and if it was definitely his writing. It was, but he was no closer to knowing what new allotment holder meant or why it had resulted in him defacing his precious book.
It really wasn’t the answer he’d been after. All that effort and it was something else he couldn’t remember or understand. The only upside was the combination of exercise and a midnight whisky meant he slept for the first time in what felt like forever, like he didn’t have a care in the world.
During the night, he dreamed of Nancy.
29
Keisha
In the morning, with only fits and starts of sleep to go on, I decide to write myself a list. I start scribbling it while enjoying my morning bowl of rice.
Lists are my go-to when life isn’t going to plan and I’m not sure how I’ve been flailing through the past week without one. I like to write down goals rather than tasks. Writing a list of tasks, such as ‘sort the laundry’ and ‘don’t forget to make sure Lucy’s red thong isn’t caught in the washing machine again’, won’t give me the same satisfaction as writing down goals.
Complete my PhD and find out if beetroot juice will help cure broken hearts.
Get through Tess’s 100 dates.
It is far easier to write those than the real underlying hope:
Find someone to love my broken heart.
Suddenly, I find I’m crying. It doesn’t feel satisfying writing them down after all. Instead, they feel too big. Too absolutely huge for me to tackle. I feel overwhelmed.
The thing is, not many people appreciate my passion for my PhD study. But my desire to look into broken heart syndrome stems back as far as I can remember. I feel like this is the mystery I’m supposed to solve – my life’s ambition. Nobody fully understands how takotsubo cardiomyopathy occurs. The sudden ballooning of one of the vessels is a little understood condition and while there are some drugs that can help heal a person if they survive, there is nothing available to prevent it from happening in the first place. There is no algorithm to indicate who will suffer from it and who will not. I’ve spent my life in a laboratory in an attempt to save at least one person. To make sure at least one heart doesn’t end up shattered. I am determined to make up for the life I was unable to save.
I often have to remind myself, on the days I am plugging endless figures into a spreadsheet, that this will one day help someone. I might not be there when it happens or oversee the event, but I could, one day, change the path of someone’s life. This could all be worth it.
Clearing away my tears, I realise my mistake. Perhaps I should try breaking down the goals into smaller steps.
I know what I need to do first before anything else.
Find new accommodation for Clive.
The anxiety about housing Clive has become too much, especially knowing he’s been out wandering. Something about it doesn’t sit right and I know I’m going to have to speak with him about it so I can put my finger on what’s wrong.
The next step is easy to come up with.
Get Lucy back to full health.
Another tear slips out at that thought. I am missing my friend dearly. I would normally be talking these kinds of concerns through with her. Having her back at work and home will get more than fifty per cent of my world back to where it should be.
Clive has been a great help, I have to give him his due. But, equally, labelling the telephone with ‘People will hear your smile!’ isn’t quite the same as liaising with cardiology consultants in different counties. There are skills I won’t be able to teach him in a fortnight.
Writing these things down makes my chest ease a little. It’s hard to admit that in the face of attempting to do the right thing it has ended up feeling like the wrong thing.
Alongside those goals, I add some mini ones.
Call George.
Find out how long the waiting list is for the flats Clive wants to move into.
I scribble a bullet point on the page, struggling to know what to write after it. I was going to add