I saw Suzanne’s whole body tense up further, her elbows crushing against her ears. Her hand seemed to spasm slightly and without thinking I reached up and took hold of it. Her fingers clamped down around mine almost instantly, squeezing tight. I heard her exhale a shaky, gasping breath.
‘One time,’ I said in the most normal voice I could manage, ‘when me and Roz were about seven, my parents went through a phase where they wanted to keep chickens. In the garden, you know? Rosie thought this was really cruel, because we were taking their eggs away to eat, and if we didn’t eat them they’d become chicks. She thought she’d save one, so she took one out of the chicken coop before my dad could get it and put it in our airing cupboard so it would keep warm. But then of course she went home and forgot all about it. Problem is, we didn’t really use our airing cupboard that much, so God knows how long it was in there, but my dad eventually found it one morning before work, and he carries it into the kitchen, going to my mum, “Do you know anything about this egg?” and then it pretty much exploded all over his suit.’
I heard a snuffle of something like laughter from behind Suzanne’s arms.
‘One day I’ll tell you about the time we tried to make a slide on the stairs out of a piece of tarpaulin and a bit of fairy liquid and vegetable oil.’ I said.
‘Oh God,’ Shell said drily. ‘I’d forgotten about that.’
Suzanne’s elbows parted slightly and she peeked out at me. I put on my very best encouraging, this-is-a-safe-space smile and said, ‘Hi.’
‘Hi,’ she whispered.
Shell moved around me and sat herself down on the bench next to Suzanne, putting an arm around her shoulders and squeezing. I saw Suzanne stiffen slightly, but she let herself be hugged.
‘Shall I take you home?’ Shell suggested in a quiet, kind voice.
Suzanne’s fingers were bunched up inside her sleeves. She brought her fist to her mouth and bit down on her knuckles. ‘I’m not allowed to be at home by myself.’ Her face, which had steadied itself, crumpled again. ‘And Sarah’s at work.’
Shell looked worried. ‘If you give me her number, I’ll give her a call and explain the situation.’
A look of panic passed over Suzanne’s face. She looked seconds away from retreating back into herself. ‘But she’s at work,’ she managed.
‘I’ll go with you,’ I said suddenly, surprising all three of us. ‘Then you won’t be on your own in the flat.’ I thought of Rosie, probably still queuing for popcorn, wondering if she’d be mad at me for leaving her there with everyone else with no warning.
Shell looked at me for a moment, an unreadable expression on her face. Then she turned to Suzanne. ‘How about that?’
Suzanne scrunched the end of her sleeves between her fingertips, her eyes scanning my face. ‘Are you sure?’ There was something childlike about her voice. A reluctant, cautious hope.
‘I’m positive,’ I said.
It wasn’t until Suzanne shut her front door that I realized the two of us had never actually been alone together, unless you counted the confrontation outside the diner, which I tried not to. What did we have to talk about? Rosie was our mutual friend, and without her there to act as a buffer, were we really anything more than strangers? Rosie’s response to my text – ‘Sz had a panic attack, going to hers with her. Explain later? Sorry!’ – had been a surprised but pleasant: ‘OK! No worries, hope she’s OK? Call me later x’
‘Thanks for coming back with me,’ Suzanne said softly, dropping her bag on the floor and walking into the kitchen.
‘Oh, that’s OK.’ I could hear the awkwardness in my voice and it embarrassed me, but being aware of it didn’t make it any easier. ‘Um. Have you ever had a panic attack before?’
Stupid, idiotic, stupid question.
‘Yes,’ Suzanne replied, as if it had been appropriate for me to ask. ‘I usually handle them better than that. But it was . . .’ Her voice gave out and she let out a breath. ‘It was a shock. Seeing my dad.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. Still the awkwardness. ‘I guess it would . . . yeah . . . be a shock.’
‘How did you know that that was what it was?’ she asked, taking a couple of glasses from a cupboard and turning on the tap. She filled them both and handed one to me.
‘Oh, Tarin used to have them,’ I said, taking the glass even though I wasn’t thirsty. ‘You know she’s bipolar, right?’
Suzanne shook her head. ‘I didn’t know they were part of that.’
‘They aren’t always, but she used to have quite bad ones sometimes, and her doctor said it was all related.’ I glanced at the clock, wondering what time Sarah finished work. ‘How come you’re not allowed to be in by yourself?’
Suzanne looked at me for a long moment, her eyes just slightly squinting. If the earlier devastation wasn’t still painted across her face in tear-stained blotches, I’d have thought she was amused.
‘Sarah doesn’t think it’s safe,’ she said finally.
‘Oh,’ I said, none the wiser.