He caught up with me in the kitchen.
I did not make it to work that day. I stayed a full week in hospital, sleeping in clean sheets and eating three square meals a day while I tried to piece myself back together. It felt like a holiday, despite having to repeat so many times the story Snake concocted to explain my injury. By the time I came home, Sam was back. One look at me and all his new resolve disintegrated. Life carried on as before, me taking care of my brother while we both tried to keep Snake happy. But I kept on working. I smiled and filled up customers’ water glasses and remembered which one had ordered the medium steak and who wanted the gluten-free bread. The metal tin of tips grew fuller.
Dylan came and said hello before I left rehearsal. We chatted about Christmas – his plans to visit family the week after Boxing Day, how I would be working as much as possible to pay for bridesmaid dress material.
He asked if any of my family or friends would be coming to hear me sing. I mentioned April and Sam. He asked me where Sam lived, and what he did and before I knew it, I had told Dylanabout my brother, stuck in a swamp of depression and going nowhere fast.
I blame it on natural politeness (it would have been rude not to answer all those questions) or the post-rehearsal high. Maybe it was because he was a minister and so easy to talk to. I hoped it wasn’t down to those gentle eyes; but for one, or all, of those reasons – I spilled more to Dylan about my situation than I had to Perry in the year we’d been together.
Afterwards, feeling a flush of embarrassment at my outpouring, I said, ‘You won’t tell anyone, will you? For Sam’s sake. Are you bound by priest-type confidentiality?’
Dylan pulled up his mouth on one side. ‘No, I’m not really.’
‘Oh.’
‘But, Faith, I’d like to think you know I wouldn’t speak about this because I’m your friend.’
‘Thank you. I didn’t mean to imply you would. I’m not used to having friends. Still learning the rules.’ There I went again, spilling my secrets.
Whoops – try to look normal, Faith.
‘Well, I’m honoured you trusted me with this. And, actually, I was wondering if?—’
I never found out what Dylan wondered, as at that point my phone rang. Sam.
‘I can’t remember if I’ve taken my meds.’ I could rate how Sam felt by whether he said hello to me or not. Half a second and I knew every time.
My stomach clenched up in the conditioned response to his call.
‘It’s okay, don’t panic. We’ll figure this out. Have a look and see if you can find the glass of water you’ll have taken them with.’
‘I can’t! She’s cleaned everything away.’
‘Try to remember what you did this afternoon. What you had to eat, if you had a hot drink. Work backwards.’
‘I can’t remember!’ His voice rose, hoarse with anxiety. ‘I had some with orange juice but that could have been yesterday.’
‘It’s all right, Sam. Try to calm down. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Just sit tight until then. Okay?’
The phone hung up. I hurriedly apologised to Dylan and said goodbye before interrupting April’s conversation. ‘We need to go.’
‘Is everything okay?’
I pulled her to one side, away from the group she’d been standing with. ‘Sam called. He can’t remember if he’s taken his meds today. Last time he did this, we could count forward from the date he started taking the latest pack. If we can’t figure it out, I’m not sure what we’ll do.’
‘He took them just before I left. I made sure ’cos he looked tired and I thought he might fall asleep. Anyway, I got him a thing where you put the pills in little compartments to mark off the time and the day. He should be able to check that and see. I’ll give him a ring.’
‘That’s great.’ I slapped away at the jealousy poking its head out from behind my hurting heart like an ugly goblin. ‘You can phone him in the car.’
‘But we don’t need to leave if I call him, do we? I haven’t finished my coffee and Marilyn won’t want to go yet.’
I gritted my teeth, stress levels surging. With all due respect, April, after a couple of months of playing nursemaid, do you really have a clue?
‘The problem isn’t the pills, April. Sometimes, Sam panics when he’s on his own. He’s worked himself into a state, and if I don’t go, he’s going to find another way to calm himself down.’
‘So, what, you drop everything and come running whenever he calls you a bit upset?’
I took a deep breath. ‘Yes. That is what I’ve been doing for the past six years. It’s called taking care of my very ill brother. If I didn’t, he’d be dead by now.’
