rational side of my brain to wean myself. Two minutes become three and three become four. It takes me just over an hour to achieve a ten-minute gap. Realising I’ll be here for far too long at this pace, I brave increasing it by two minutes at a time so I can reach my usual half-hour break.
When I finally get there, in my exhaustion I feel elation and defeat all at once. If this is what it has come down to, why am I even trying to function? Letting the anxiety win seems like such a pleasing possibility. Because why does it matter?
The thought makes my scar pulse without me having to feel for it. I promise myself to never go there again. Even if it means taking my pulse constantly, I am never going back to a place where that seems like the best option.
36
Clive
Arriving at Keisha’s house, Clive thought it was nice to know that he wouldn’t be waiting on the police this time round.
‘Get your shoes on,’ he insisted, when she opened the front door.
‘I’m not dressed to go out.’ There was a paleness to Keisha’s skin and her neck had the start of a blossoming bruise, right on the point of her carotid.
Clive didn’t need the science degree requisite to work in the cardiology lab to figure out why.
‘Get changed then. I’m afraid I’ve sent the taxi away now and I don’t know anyone else around here so you’re going to have to let me in until you’re ready to come out.’ Clive knew that a little tough love would be needed; a built-in instinct had told him so. One he was unable to explain. He had a bag of unusual gifts with him to help soften the blow. He’d put them in place while Keisha got ready.
Thankfully, she let Clive in, but her reluctance was apparent in her hesitation.
‘I know life can be a bit much at times. I thought you might like a walk. Only round the block or something. Not far.’
Keisha wasn’t able to hold his gaze. Her eyes darted about, unable to settle on anything for any length of time.
‘I can go if you don’t feel up to it. I just thought it might help.’
‘Yes, I’d like to. I just need to go and get ready.’ She was still in her dressing gown and it was likely that she had been all day.
‘I’ll make myself at home. Take as long as you need.’
Clive really did take the opportunity to make himself at home. First out of the bag was a colourful fruit bowl that he placed near the microwave on the kitchen side. Next was a cheap oil painting he’d picked up. It was a portrait of a woman staring out her window and at the view beyond. She appeared to be at the start of something: the glorious day awaiting her just outside. When he’d been here before, he’d noticed the landlord hadn’t bothered to remove any of the previous fixtures and fittings. There was a nail ready and waiting for him to hang the painting from. Last, he produced a pretty rose-coloured glass vase from his bag along with the pink flowers he’d got to match. After he’d unwrapped them from their newspaper protection and completed his flower arranging, he’d admired his efforts. His charity-shop finds lifted the place from the white box it was currently decorated as. He hoped it would provide the same lift for Keisha, and for Lucy on her return.
Keisha reappeared in a pair of jeans and a slogan T-shirt that had some algebra on there that Clive wasn’t able to make head nor tail of. But still, it was nice to see her out of the lab coat she normally lived in.
‘I hope you don’t mind. I brought a few things to brighten the place up. I thought it might be nice for Lucy when she returns. And for you.’
‘They’re lovely. Thank you.’
‘Let’s go and get some fresh air, shall we?’
‘Thank you,’ Keisha said meekly. It didn’t sound like her voice, it was so caught up in her throat.
For some time they got by in companionable silence. There was a chill in the air as if the day was willing to give up and wanted to go to sleep already. Clive knew how that felt.
There was silence as they tried to find a rhythm to match each other: Keisha’s pace was much slower than usual and Clive upped his to what he could comfortably manage.