When it was time to go, I stood by the front door looking in the mirror. I looked like a version of me that was only slightly familiar to myself. Thinner. Less color in my face. The bags under my eyes were maybe here to stay.
“You look nice. Smart.” My grandmother walked out of the kitchen and fixed the lapel of my coat that had tucked itself in. “Like my mother when she first came over to visit me. She was a proud woman. Go, go mek me proud,” she said.
“That’s a lot of pressure. I’m only going back to work,” I said. “Not stepping off the Windrush, Grandma.”
My grandmother turned me by the shoulders and pushed me out the door gently. “Don’t overthink things. What’s the word the therapy woman say? Catastrophize. Nah badda catastrophize.”
* * *
The journey was unbearable. But, I remembered, mainly unbearable because it’s commuting, and everyone finds public transport oppressive and horrific. It wasn’t just because I was weak.
At moments of acute anxiety, I did some deep breathing and tried to count all of the blue things in my eye line. When that didn’t work, all of the green things. By the time I’d gone through all of the colors of the rainbow, I was off the train and walking toward the Daily Read office.
I felt my stomach drop to my knees and stopped in my tracks. I held on to a nearby wall. “Morning! Welcome back!” Darcy beamed, launching herself onto me.
“Hello!” My voice gave me away.
“Right,” she said, very seriously. Solutions-driven Darcy was back in her element. “I have a list of reasons why you’re going to be okay. One: I am here for you, always. Even when I am in the loo. Two: We have all of your ways of coping written down. The deep breathing, the safe space, the color counting. So even if you forget them, I can go into the quiet room and remind you. Three: Nothing can harm you here. Four: You’ve made it this far, and once you make it to lunchtime, it’s basically the end of the day, and we can go and get a treat. Okay?”
I nodded and let Darcy take my hand. We got just outside the building, and she let go. “You can do this.”
We stepped into the building, and I closed my eyes as I took in its familiar smell. “You okay?” Darcy asked, grabbing me by the shoulders.
“I’m fine. Just smelling,” I said as we walked across the foyer, our steps echoing around the space.
“Phew,” Darcy said, pushing the button to call the elevator. My eyes darted around as others queued for the lift. Now was not the best time for me to see Ted.
My heart climbed in my chest with every level we ascended, and by the time we got up to our floor it was about to flop out of my mouth. We stepped out of the elevator, and I stood waiting for all eyes to be on me. Instead, everyone was just . . . getting on with their work. Wait until I cross the floor, I thought. That’s when they’ll all stop and stare.
I made my way over to my desk, Darcy behind me guiding me gently. We attracted no interest at all. I lowered myself onto my chair slowly and turned my computer on.
“You’re okay.” Darcy smiled. “I think Gina is going to come over and say hello, and then we can probably sneak to the kitchen for tea.”
Darcy left me, and I got back into the rhythm of things. The morning was mainly fine. Only minor wobbles when I forgot how to do the simplest things that I used to be able to do with my eyes rolled to the back of my head. I flirted with the idea of going home, but very quickly realized that the alternative to work was going back to my grandmother and trying to explain that I couldn’t do it.
After Gina had come to say a sheepish hello and Darcy and I had made a very swift tea, I sat back down as an e-mail popped into my inbox.
On Monday, 6th May, Lief, Jean <[email protected]> wrote at 11:55:
Dear Queenie,
It’s good to see you back. I knew that scumbag was lying. You can never trust a man wearing that much tweed. Just keep your head down.
With warmest wishes,
Jean
P.S. It’s not my place to say this, but you don’t look as good having lost that weight. You used to look so cheerful.
On Monday, 6th May, Jenkins, Queenie <[email protected]> wrote at 12:02:
Dear Jean,
Thanks for your e-mail. You know, apart from Darcy, you’re the only person to welcome me back, even though I annoy you so much by hovering by your and Darcy’s desks saying things not suitable for the office. I promise there’ll be none of that this time around.
Queenie X
P.S. I don’t much like myself having lost all this weight, either. I don’t think it suits me, really.
On Monday, 6th May, Lief, Jean <[email protected]> wrote at 12:07:
Oh, don’t worry about the chatter, Queenie. I’m 72 and I’ve been working at the newspapers for longer than I can remember. Nothing can shock me. I’ve heard all there is to hear.
Jean
On Monday, 6th May, Jenkins, Queenie <[email protected]> wrote at 12:10:
Darcy, does everyone know?
On Monday, 6th May, Betts, Darcy <[email protected]> wrote at 12:11:
Yes. But nobody is judging you. XXXX
Eating food at lunchtime wasn’t the ordeal I’d predicted, and by the time it got to five and Gina had signed my time sheet, even though I felt exhausted, also felt like I could maybe be all right again.
At five-thirty I packed up my bag and walked over to Darcy, who was waiting by the lift, as agreed. We went down, and when we left the building, a familiar face was waiting outside.
“Kyazike! What are you doing here?” I rushed over to my friend and hugged her, happy to see her, also relieved to be out of work.
“What do you meeeaaan, fam? I’m here to congratulate you. Back to the job and that. Working girl. You look tiny, fam!” She smiled, holding me at arm’s length. “I need to feed you up, we’re not meant to be skin and bone.”
“Okay, so, Kyazike, as discussed, Queenie isn’t drinking, so we’re going to a café for a little cake and a hot drink,” Darcy said cautiously.
“That’s cool. As long as the cakes aren’t them little ones that you pick up with two fingers and inhale. I want value for my money.” Kyazike put her arm through mine as we all walked. “Did you see that dickhead today?” she asked.
“Which one? There are lots of dickheads in my building. You need to be more specific,” I said.
“That married one. The biggest one,” Kyazike sneered. “The one you need to not let even look at you.”
“No,” I said quietly, hoping that what I was saying wasn’t a lie. “I won’t.”
And for the next two hours, I remembered what it was like to be normal again. Then remembered Janet saying that there was no such thing as normal, and was finally grateful that she hadn’t let me walk away after one session.
* * *
As the week went on, I grew more exhausted. I was coping, but I had never been so tired in my life. Halfway through the week, I e-mailed Janet to let her know that I was probably on the edge of a relapse, but she replied saying: “. . . the more tired you are, the more likely your defenses are to be down. Doesn’t mean relapse, means you’re adjusting to working again. Rest at the weekend.”
I was determined to fill in my time sheet for the week, so battled through the intrusive thoughts that popped into my head every other second. By Friday, I was hanging on by a thread. My stomach’s movements were incredibly dramatic and my head refused to stop buzzing. I had to work slower than I did when I first started, and when Gina sent me an e-mail asking me to go into her office at four, by three o’clock the contents of my desk were in my rucksack.
“I understand,” I said, walking into her office.
“You understand what?” Gina said, putting a pair of glasses on.
“Didn’t know you wore glasses.” I sat in the chair opposite her.
“They’re new. Contacts getting a bit too fiddly for me. Nice, though, aren’t they?” She looked up at me and smiled.
“Yeah, they’re nice,” I said. “Where are they—”
“We’re not here to talk eyewear,” Gina said. “Well done.”