LITMIR.BIZ

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want to think of Louise broken on the floor down there. ‘I will think of the hope you are giving me.’ Even though I can’t hear her, perhaps she can hear me, and she must know how grateful I am.

      The wooden skateboard scrapes on the metal of the cycle rack, pulling my gaze down to the youth practising his tricks.

      I see a free runner when I look back at the tops of the high buildings; I see bravery and body strength to balance, watching an imaginary me jump along the tops of the buildings. Me. A Marvel superhero making this world mine. If I weren’t ill, I might have become someone with that much freedom. Not a superhero, obviously. But unrestrained. That was the good thing about my bipolar: it made me vibrant at times, capable of anything.

      I will not be a free runner now, but Louise’s gift means I will be able to do other things to set this heart on fire with adrenalin.

      The colours of the rainbow fade.

      A girl’s laugh rises from somewhere in the lower levels of the car park and a mother’s sing-song voice responds.

      A child – that is what I want to set this heart on fire. I just want to fill this heart with love. To fill the hole in me.

      A sadness that is overwhelming pushes through my chest, forcing its way in. I think it is Louise’s sadness. I don’t feel sad.

      Perhaps I have made her think about her children. They’re orphans now. Like me. But not like me, because they have grandparents.

      ‘Why were you here, Louise?’ The words are swept away on the breeze, without answer. She had parents who loved her, and children.

      ‘How did you fall? You can’t have wanted to leave your children.’

      The long grey smudge of rain is moving past Swindon, along the outskirts, over the distant hills, blown by the wind higher up in the atmosphere.

      I swing my leg over and drop down onto the tarmac.

      There is somewhere else I want to go before I catch the train back to London.

      There’s space on a park bench next to a young woman. I perch on the edge because there’s a missing piece of wood in the seat.

      The heels of my shoes tap a quick beat on the pavement. It is a nervous habit that I have had for as long as I remember – ‘You have a twitchy leg,’ Simon used to say when we were sitting in waiting areas for whoever would collect us next.

      There is dust from the wall on my jeans. I brush it off.

      The woman is looking at two young boys who are feeding the ducks. A swan is hissing at the boys to persuade them to drop their bread. They throw the bread into the lake and run to the woman beside me, shouting at the swan, ‘Go away.’

      There’s a picture of the blond children feeding ducks in this park. Perhaps Louise walked along this path to reach the car park?

      Perhaps Robert and Pat walk here with the children.

      Louise tells me that they do, without words; it is just a knowledge that I seem to have always had. I look along the path as if I’ll see them. She wants me to see them.

      The path wraps around one edge of the lake.

      They’re not here.

      On the other side of the park there’s a grass area where they might be. I can’t leave the park without looking.

      I get up and walk around to look.

      They’re not there.

      On the way to the railway station, thoughts spin in my head. They distort and jump like a vintage LP. Louise could not have fallen accidentally. But why would she have chosen to die when she had children who love her?

      Was it murder?

      Are the police investigating her death?

      I stand on the station platform, looking along the track for the train to appear, with one question in my mind, which escapes my lips. ‘Do I have your heart for a reason?’ I want her to answer. ‘Tell me.’

      I won’t know unless she answers.

      Was I chosen or found?

      Pump-pump.

      Pump-pump.

      The same banging but no answers.

      Why won’t she put the answer in my mind?

      ‘Did you leave a space for me to take?’ Is that it?

      She has nothing to say about her death, so is she looking for me to step in and fill the gap she’s left in the children’s and her parents’ lives?

       Chapter 11

       21.35.

      ‘Are you decent?’ Simon’s call resonates through the bedroom door.

      ‘Yes.’

      The door opens in a hesitant way that says he has come to be a father, not a brother.

      I smile as I say, ‘Yes,’ again, in a tone that adds, go on, then, speak up. I move my leg so he can sit on the edge of the bed.

      He holds out the stack of medicine packets. I left them on the kitchen work surface. I should’ve put them in the cupboard away from the boys.

      ‘Thanks.’ I take them and put them on the short chest of drawers beside the bed.

      ‘You okay?’ There’s an undercurrent in the enquiry.

      ‘Yes.’ Why?

      ‘You’ve been disappearing a lot lately.’

      ‘I went to Swindon to find out about another job. I told you.’

      ‘I know what you told me, after agreeing you weren’t ready to go back to work. But it’s not just that you are disappearing physically, you’re disappearing into yourself a lot. Even when you’re with the boys, you go silent at times when they’re talking to you. And why are you so determined to look for jobs in Swindon?’

      ‘Because I’m well enough to live alone and I can afford somewhere in Swindon if I find a job. I’ve had a heart transplant, Simon. I have a lot to think about. I can do things I haven’t been able to do for years. I’m thinking about what I want to do with my life.’

      A smile touches the corners of his lips before a sigh leaves his throat, then he breathes in. ‘Let me know if I can help.’

      ‘I am the only one who can decide.’

      His lips purse and he leans to one side to reach into his trouser pocket then pulls out a brown plastic bottle. ‘The tablets for your bipolar.’

      ‘Don’t tell me you’ve been counting the pills to see if I’m taking them? You weren’t there to count my tablets when I lived with Dan.’

      ‘I know.’

      I snatch the bottle, rattling the pills. ‘I am taking them.’

      ‘Good.’

      ‘And I’m not taking one in front of you because I’ve already taken one.’

      ‘All right. I believe you. I care about you, that’s the only reason I interfere. The last thing you need is to be sectioned now.’

      ‘Thank you for reminding me about one of the worst times in my life. That’s the last thing I want to think about now.’

      ‘I know. But you are so physically healthy I want to make sure you are thinking about your mental health, too.’

      ‘I am. You don’t need to lecture me. I don’t want to be unwell.’ I think this lecture was spurred on by Mim. She’s been watching me with increased intensity.

      My bipolar frightens

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