Page 40 of To Hell With It
‘You’ll need more than that.’
‘And trees.’
‘I’m serious.’
‘You were the one who wanted me to do things cold turkey.’
Mairead’s eyes fixed on mine as she put on her therapist’s voice. ‘I just think perhaps this is a bit too cold turkey. It’s not that I don’t think you can do it, I think you can, it’s just that you’ve not been very far for so long, and you’re going on your own. What about people sneezing or coughing on the plane, how will you deal with it?’
‘I’m going to bring wipes in my hand luggage and can shower when I get there.’
‘And the toilet?’
‘I’ll go at the airport.’
‘Isn’t it something like a twelve-hour flight?’
‘Fourteen for the first flight and I can hold it in.’
‘And if you can’t?’
‘I will.’
Mairéad was the sort of person who instantly made me feel safe. She spoke with a soft, slow voice, and I could tell she chose her words carefully, making sure they matched my every need. Although, I wasn’t sure how she did that given she didn’t really understand my needs, not completely anyway.
Her raven hair bobbed around her face and her eyes were creased with concerned lines. She paused for a moment, like her thoughts were catching up with what I had told her. Then she looked at me and I thought she was going to cry.
‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’
I nodded.
‘Take it all one day at a time.’ She smiled. ‘Be kind to yourself, be patient, and take the pressure off that you’ve got to conquer it all. You don’t have to conquer it all, Pearl.’
I wanted to grab my notebook and write it all down so that I could remind myself of what Mairéad had said when I was in New Zealand. I’d always written stuff down, diary entries, things I saw that I liked, things that gave me inspiration.
I wrote in the evenings, just for an hour when the house was quiet and still between my checks and impulsive thoughts. My dream was to become an author, best-selling, published around the world. I told Una my books would be turned into films and she’d told me that I’d have to travel around the world with them to sign the copies.
I’d pushed that thought from my head. I would remain anonymous, like JK Rowling, who I idolised for being so mysterious (and brilliant) all mixed into one. Part of the appeal would be that no one could interview me.
‘Try and read when you’re on the plane.’ Mairead fanned her finger across my books that were displayed neatly along my windowsill.
I had them in order of height, not author, because it made me feel better to see them neat and tidy. I knew books were supposed to be worn and thumbed and creased and torn, but for some reason I got a kick from seeing them still and quiet and undisturbed. I didn’t know why.
‘I actually haven’t read most of them,’ I confessed, and Mairéad looked surprised.
The truth is I hadn’t read a book in years. I just found it hard to sit down and switch off long enough to do it. I loved to look at my books and imagine I knew them inside out, only I didn’t. I just knew them out.
‘Reading can be great escapism.’ Mairéad smiled. ‘Just ten minutes in the evenings, when you’re in bed, you’ll soon get through a book doing that. If you want to be a writer, you should read more.’
I knew she was right, so I made a promise to myself to read at least two books while I was away.
‘I’m proud of you, Pearl,’ Mairéad said.
Then she got up and gave me a hug. Mairéad had never hugged me before. It was warm and comforting and I didn’t want her to let go.
‘One last challenge before you go,’ she whispered into my ear.
‘What’s that?’ I said into her shoulder.
