‘Ouch.’ He wasn’t dying, but it did seem like he was brewing a nasty infection.
I tucked him up in front of the television under a duvet, praying that a few hours of sleep would let nature do its thing. A miracle-requiring prayer, given that his swollen throat couldn’t swallow the stockpiled paracetamol tablets.
‘You have to call Cee-Cee,’ Joey croaked, after gagging on his latest attempt. ‘I need Calpol.’
Even if he didn’t strictlyneeda good dose of strawberry medicine, he jolly well shouldn’t have to go without it when there was a pharmacy in the village square half a mile away.
But no way on this earth I was calling Cee-Cee.
* * *
Despite my now nightly trips into the back garden, stepping out through the front door was like walking onto a ship in a raging storm. My rational self knew the evening was mild, the air gentle. But somehow the ground dipped and bucked, as the street ahead spun like the whole village had been chucked in a tumble dryer. I clung to the door frame, gulped in a wisp of oxygen, tried to find somewhere on the front path that would stay still for long enough to be a focal point.
Holding my arms out either side for balance, crouched low like a goblin, probably sounding like one as I wheezed and gibbered, I shuffled first one foot forwards, then the other.
‘Go, Mum!’ Joey cheered feebly from the sofa as I pulled the door closed behind me. ‘I love you!’
Keeping my head down, I shuffle-squat-scampered to the gate post at the end of the garden, feeling like a piece of debris hurtling through open space. I grabbed on with both arms, taking a moment to steady myself. I had left at six-thirty. The pharmacy closed at seven. It was an eight-minute walk for a normal, functioning human. For me, in this state, it could end up taking hours.
Pressing on, I shambled along, clutching the fences that lined the path to the square, my body pressed against them, face turned in. Trying to push down the waves of nausea and wipe the sweat dripping off my forehead without letting go. I was still breathing, albeit in frantic, shuddering gasps. My heart most definitely continued to beat, thundering in my chest like a racehorse. I was actually doing this, one tiny step at a time.
And then I reached the road. And beyond it, the square. Fifty metres of wide-open space stretched out like the Kalahari Desert.
Crap.
‘Come on, now. You can do this.’ I closed my eyes, counted to ten in my head and prepared to make a run for it. A car suddenly roared past, music blaring, and I nearly disintegrated right there on the pavement. I opened my eyes again. Prised one hand off the fence post. Stretched out my feet closer to the kerb, until I couldn’t go any further without letting go of the fence altogether. But I didn’t let go. Instead I felt the panic begin to bubble, boiling over like a hot pan, so I retreated back to the fence. I crouched down, pressed up against the wood, vaguely aware that somehow, at some point, I had to pull myself together, get up and go somewhere. But helpless to do anything while the world spun all around me, I buried my head in my knees and tipped over into the abyss.
‘Hey. Hi.’
I gradually became aware of a hand on my shoulder, pulling me back to planet Earth.
‘Are you okay?’ A man’s voice. I clung to that sound like a lifebuoy as he continued to talk, asking me whether I was hurt, or ill, if there was anyone he could call.
Eventually, my head the weight of a rhinoceros, I dragged it up to see soft grey eyes full of concern as he crouched on the pavement.
‘Panic attack,’ I slurred, the all too familiar tsunami of shame bearing down, as the anxiety began to recede. ‘Agoraphobic.’
‘What can I do to help?’ he asked. ‘Can I get you home? Do you need a few more minutes first?’
‘No!’ My mission came flooding back to me, and I bolted upright. ‘I need to get to the pharmacy. My son needs medicine,’ I gabbled. ‘Is it seven yet?’
The guy, who looked to be around his mid-thirties, glanced at his watch. ‘Two minutes to.’ He looked across at the rows of shops lining the square. ‘I could run and fetch it for you, but I don’t want to leave you here…’
‘Can you walk with me?’ There was no point worrying about my pride at this point. And as long as I could get there, then the mission wouldn’t have been a total disaster. Everybody needs a little help sometimes, right? I’d done well to get this far, all things considered.
He helped me up, and we stood there self-consciously for a moment while I tried to figure out the best way to do this, bearing in mind my legs were about as helpful as Joey’s old Slinkys.
‘Shall I…? Um, does this help?’ He put one arm loosely around my back, but it felt awkward and weird. I’d also been sweating pretty heavily for the past twenty-eight minutes.
‘Would you mind holding my hand, instead?’ I asked, and he jerked his arm away instantly.
‘Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to… Sorry.’
‘No, it’s fine. Honestly. I just want something to grip on to. It helps.’ There was no time to bother about how we were both melting with embarrassment, or how when his face turned pink under his beanie hat, he looked so gorgeous my heart froze for a second. No time to notice how, despite me being taller than most men, he would have been the perfect height to lean in and tuck my face into his neck. Not a second to worry about how my hand felt safe, cocooned, wrapped inside his. And how that made the rest of me feel safe too.
But, for goodness’ sake, Amy, no time for that nonsense!
We sprinted over the road and across the square – or rather, I sprinted, he barely needed to break into a jog. Arriving at the pharmacy door puffing for breath, I didn’t know if it was worse for him to conclude I was completely unfit, or had turned to a wheezing wreck due to touching a fully-grown man for the first time in, well, too long to think about.
