Sue Townsend - The Woman who Went to Bed for a Year

He went back to bed but couldn’t sleep. He had the single paper clip in his hand and he twisted it into a tiny spear. He knew that, unless he placed it somewhere, he would be awake until daybreak.

He opened the window as far as it would go and flicked the twisted paper clip into the cold night. Before he closed the window he looked up at the clear sky, where hundreds of stars were shining down on him. He looked away quickly – before he had time to start identifying them, or could think too deeply about the billions that remained invisible.

Brian Junior woke at dawn, feeling agitated. He got out of bed and went outside to look for the paper clip. It didn’t take long to find it. When he came to the main door, he couldn’t get back inside. He had forgotten his key, as he had done at least twice a week since he was thirteen.

He sat on the cold concrete doorstep, and waited.

It was Ho who let him in and volunteered the information that he had been sent down by Poppy to buy breakfast for her. A double latte and an Early Bird Breakfast. Then, from the newsagent, twenty Silk Cut, Hello! and The Sun. I make joke with Poppy. I say to her, “Cannot buy Sun.”. She say, “Why not?” Then – this is my joke – I say, “Nobody can buy Sun, it too far away and too hot!”‘

Ho’s round face beamed.

He was delighted with his joke, until they heard Poppy shouting through the crack in Ho’s window, ‘Yo! Ho! Get a fucking move on!’

Ho let Brian Junior into the building, then broke into a run as he headed for the shops.

After Eva had been in bed for a week, Ruby sent for Dr Bridges.

Eva could hear her mother talking to the doctor as they ascended the stairs.

‘She’s very highly strung. Her dad used to say that you could play a violin concerto on her nerve endings. My legs are very bad, Doctor. The veins on my inner thighs look like a bunch of purple grapes. Perhaps you could have a quick gander at them before you go?’

Eva didn’t know whether to lie down or sit up. She was anxious that Dr Bridges would think she was wasting his time.

‘Here’s the doctor. You walked through the snow when she was ten and had meningitis, didn’t you, Dr Bridges?’

Eva could see that Dr Bridges had tired of Ruby’s imagined intimacy years ago. She sat up and hugged a pillow in front of her chest.

Dr Bridges loomed over her. With his tweed cap and Barbour jacket, he looked more like a gentleman farmer than a GP. He said, in his booming voice, ‘Good morning. Your mother tells me that you have been in bed for a week, is that right?’

Eva said, ‘Yes.’

Ruby sat on the side of the bed and held Eva’s hand. ‘She’s always been a healthy girl, Doctor. I breastfed her for two and a half years. She ruined my poor boobies. They look like them balloons what have lost most of their air.’

Dr Bridges examined Ruby with a professional eye. An overactive thyroid,’ he thought, ‘and a red face -probably a drinker. And that black hair! Who does she think she’s fooling?’ He said to Eva, ‘I’d like to take a look at you.’ Then he turned to Ruby. ‘Would you mind leaving the room?’

Ruby was hurt and disappointed. She was looking forward to giving the doctor the details of Eva’s medical history. She reluctantly went out on to the landing. ‘There’ll be a cup of tea waiting for you when you’re done, Doctor.’

Dr Bridges turned his attention back to Eva. ‘Your mother tells me there is nothing wrong with you…’ He paused and added, ‘Physically.’ Then he continued, ‘I looked at your notes just now and I see that you haven’t consulted me for fifteen years. Can you explain to me why you’ve been in bed for a week?’

‘No, I can’t explain,’ Eva said. ‘I’m tired – but everybody I know is tired.’

‘How long have you felt like this?’ the doctor asked.

‘For seventeen years. Ever since the twins were born.’

‘Ah yes,’ he said, ‘the twins. They’re both gifted children, aren’t they?’

Ruby said from the landing, ‘You should see my front room, it’s full of the lovely maths trophies they’ve won.’

This came as no surprise to the doctor, who had always thought that the Beaver twins belonged somewhere on the autistic spectrum. However, Dr Bridges was a firm non-interventionist. If his patents were uncomplaining, he left them alone.

Ruby, who was now pretending to dust the banisters while looking through the gap in the door, said, ‘My blood pressure’s terrible. The last time I had it took the black doctor at the hospital said he’d never seen anything like it – it’s lower than a centipede’s arse. He took a photo of the result with his phone.’ She pushed the door open and continued, ‘Sorry, but I’ve got to sit down.’ She swayed towards the bed. ‘It’s a miracle I’m still here. I’ve died two or three times.’

Eva said irritably, ‘So, how many times is it you’ve died? Two or three? You shouldn’t be so casual about your own death, Mum.’

‘Death’s not as bad as they make out,’ Ruby said. ‘You just go down a tunnel towards the golden light, isn’t that right, Doctor?’ She turned to Dr Bridges, who was preparing to take blood from Eva’s outstretched arm.

He said, as he began to draw up blood with a syringe, ‘The tunnel is an illusion caused by cerebral anoxia. Your brain’s subsequent expectational processing supplies the white light and feeling of peace.’ He looked at Ruby’s uncomprehending facial expression and said, ‘The brain doesn’t want to die. It is thought that the bright light is part of the brain’s alarm system.’

Ruby asked, ‘So, while I was in the tunnel I didn’t hear James Blunt singing “You’re Beautiful”?’

Dr Bridges muttered, ‘A vestigial memory, perhaps.’ He decanted Eva’s blood from the syringe into three little vials. He labelled each one and placed them in his bag. He asked Eva, ‘Have you have felt any pain anywhere in the last week?’

Eva shook her head. ‘Not my own physical pain, no. But, and I know this is going to sound mad, I seem to pick up on other people’s pain and sadness. It’s exhaust-ing.’

Dr Bridges was mildly irritated. His surgery was very near to the university. Consequently, he had more than his fair share of new age patents, who believed that a piece of moon rock or crystals could cure them of their genital warts, glandular fever and other maladies.

Ruby said, ‘There’s nothing much wrong with her, Doctor. It’s that syndrome. Empty nest.’

Eva threw the pillow down and shouted, ‘I’ve been counting the days until they left home from the moment they were born! It felt as though I’d been taken over by two aliens. All I wanted to do was to go to bed alone and to stay there for as long as I liked.’

Dr Bridges said, ‘Well, it’s not against the law’

Eva asked, ‘Doctor, is it possible to have post-natal depression for seventeen years?’

Dr Bridges suddenly had an overwhelming desire to be gone. ‘No, Mrs Beaver, it’s not. I’ll leave you a prescription for something to minimise your anxiety, and you’d better wear surgical stockings for the duration of your -’ he cast around for the right words and came up with ‘- holiday.’

Ruby said, ‘It’s all right for some, eh, Doctor? I wish it was me in that bed.’

Eva muttered, ‘I wish it was you in your own bed.’

Dr Bridges clipped his bag shut, said, ‘Good day to you, Mrs Beaver.” and, with Ruby slowly leading the way, went downstairs.

Eva heard Ruby saying, ‘Her dad was given to melodrama. He’d burst into the kitchen every night after work with some dramatic story. I used to say to him, “Why are you telling me stories about people I don’t know, Roger? I’m not interested.”‘