Prologue
If it was possible to learn what your future held, would you want to know? For most people that would be one of those questions you’d never seriously consider answering. Even if you wanted to. Considering the practicalities of the matter, obtaining this knowledge would simply feel impossible. And to some that don’t believe in that sort of thing, it might even sound insane. But what if you were open to believing that it could be possible? That you didn’t have to know how it worked, just that it did. Would it be wise to want to know what happens tomorrow or even if there was a tomorrow for you? It could be fortune or suffering or anything in between. What would be the point of knowing, of anticipating what you can’t change? I wasn’t sure where I stood on all this. Whether I believed it or not and if I did, whether I wanted to find out.
The thoughts whizzed around in my head as I stood in front of a towering building with its dizzying decorations. A rainbow of deities. How did I end up here, in this town in the South of India? I came a long way from the person I was a year ago lying on that hospital bed back in London; confused, scared, grief stricken and generally a bit lost.
My life had taken turns I never thought it would, and I had to learn to swim with the tide rather than against it. But being here felt like the end of something. Perhaps the beginning of something too.
Staring at the dark archway in the middle of it all I felt a pull. I wasn’t made to come here. It was my choice. I could walk away if I wanted to but something in me wanted to peer inside.
Other than the cold stones that held up the place and the images of otherworldly beings adorning the walls, I wasn’t sure what I was expecting to find. Peace perhaps. A connection with someone I’d lost a long time ago. Maybe answers to the ever-present questions in my life. Was it realistic to think I would find those here? Maybe not. But one thing I knew was: I couldn’t find them standing out here.
Chapter 1
This wasn’t the way I had planned to spend the start of my birthday weekend. The air was cool around me. I’d been squinting for so long trying to screen out the brightness coming from the overhead neon lights that my head had started to hurt. The strong smell of disinfectant not helping the matter either.
The walls were void of life. A dull ache from somewhere deep within myself reflecting back from them. The barrenness made me crave colour. The muffled sounds of rushed steps outside kept me alert. Some nearing, some quickly fading away. The occasional snippets of conversation. A word. A question never answered. Like the approaching tide with its promise to lap at my feet before retreating again.
‘Are the results ready for Mr Lucas in room two?’
The sounds outside had waxed and waned. But the predictable beep over my head reassured me that I was still here. Alive. I still wasn’t sure what happened exactly. The last couple of hours were a bit of a blur. A nurse took my vitals and vials of my blood, before whisking me away down the corridor for some more tests. But where did it all start? I remembered being scared. I still was to be honest. It’s not much fun waking up in cold sweat with the feeling that your heart might just break out of your chest and thirty minutes later still trying to pin it on a nightmare you couldn’t recall having. The intensity of dred that had started to take hold, took me by surprise. It was so primal. The clammy cold sweat that clung to my skin made me shiver. Pins and needles in my arm and my heart racing frantically. The fear! I could still feel its hold. I shut my eyes tightly trying to barricade my mind from this awful memory.
How I got downstairs and the taxi journey from Kingwood Road was still a bit hazy. But the thing I could recall clearly was the expression on the driver’s face when I got in wearing my pyjamas. Like he had seen it all before. Young people in fancy dresses, people nipping somewhere in flip-flops in the dead of winter. But the lines on his face seemed to soften when he glanced at the destination on the screen. He probably guessed that no-one went to Charing Cross’ to have fun. That one glimpse in the rear-view mirror was enough to see his concern as he sped up over an amber light turning the corner of St. Dunstan’s Road. I couldn’t hold his gaze for long. Instead, I stared out of the rain-streaked window. I didn’t want to talk. I wasn’t ready to deal with someone else’s concern; I wasn’t even sure I could deal with my own.
But here I was. Arguably in the best possible place. I was exhausted. For a while now I hadn’t been prodded or disturbed, but no matter how much I tried to get into a comfortable position, it wasn’t happening. I couldn’t sleep. Every now and then the sticky pads fixed to my chest were tugging on my skin; the wires getting in the way. I had no idea how long I’d been waiting for or how much longer it would take for someone to come to my cubicle with some news, but I was ready. Ready for anything. Anything was better than nothing at that point.
My mind was flowing freely conjuring up images of alternate possibilities. None of them particularly promising. I tried to stay calm, twirling the charm on my bracelet. The motion so automatic, tracing over the grooves of the pattern.
Memories flashed back from a long time ago. Another time, another hospital room smelling of disinfectant. I must have been about twelve, lying on a bed in Sarzana with my arm in a sling. My father by my side telling colourful tales to distract me. It was working. My mother was pacing anxiously. There was nothing that could distract her.
Today I really missed his level-headed optimism. His steady words full of life; how he could transport me out of that room into a world of wonder. But I was here now. Alone, cornered by these cold walls of reality and no-one to take me out of it. My throat tightened, the backs of my eyes prickled, and I swallowed the emotions before they could have their way. They couldn’t have it. Not for a long time. Not with me on guard. I got too good at it.
I continued to twirl the charm when footsteps stopped outside my cubicle. The curtain opened. I don’t know why but for a minute I expected dad to appear. Of course, it wasn’t him. That wasn’t possible anymore, but seeing Elliot there was the next best thing. His face was creased by lines of worry. Not an expression I saw often. I was more familiar with lines of annoyance or disappointment lately.
‘Tash told me you were in here. Why didn’t you call or text?’
He came in and planted a kiss on my forehead. I wanted to say it was good to see him, but instead I felt the urge to apologise. I didn’t know when this had all started. Me feeling apprehensive about his reactions. But I knew it wasn’t always like that.
‘Sorry,’ I said, the word a whisper. Escaping like the last bit of air in a deflating balloon. ‘I knew you had a busy shift, and I didn’t exactly have time to think. I was in the safest hands here anyway. Besides, I still don’t know what’s wrong with me. I spoke to the nurse, and she said she’d ask the doctor to let you know I was in here.’
‘She did. You didn’t half scare me, Elena. What happened?’
‘I don’t know. One minute I was asleep and the next my heart was pounding like mad. I thought it was just a nightmare, but I didn’t remember having one and the felling just wouldn’t go away. Then I started to have all these weird sensations. It was awful,’ I said, giving my head an involuntary shake. As if trying to rid myself of the flash of memory. I could hear the monitor beeping faster.
‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘You’re here now. I’m sure Tash will figure out what’s going on.’
‘What time is it?’ I asked.
‘It’s ten to three in the morning.’
Just as Elliot answered, the curtain opened again, and Dr Bruce appeared with a pile of paperwork.
She doesn’t look too worried, I thought. That must be a good sign. If there was something awfully wrong, she’d look more concerned. Or maybe not. You couldn’t do this job without a good poker face.
‘How are you feeling Elena?’ the doctor asked.
‘Tired,’ I replied truthfully.
‘What’s the verdict, Tash?’ asked Elliot.
A quick exchange of looks passed between them that I wasn’t even certain I didn’t just imagine before Tash addressed her answer to me.
‘Your pulse was significantly elevated when you came in and your blood pressure slightly higher than we’d like for your age. But it had come down nicely since then. Your blood work is good. No obvious cause for concern there either. Your chest X-ray was clear too, so we could rule out a potential blood clot,’ she said, her tone warm and reassuring.
I felt slightly lighter, but I still couldn’t explain what had happened earlier.
‘But why did I feel so awful then? I thought I was having a heart attack,’ I said. Wanting to take back the words immediately. I knew I probably sounded over dramatic.
‘We’ve ruled that out,’ she said reassuringly. ‘There’s nothing in your results that would suggest an underlying condition. The most likely explanation is that you had a panic attack.’
‘A panic attack? But I was asleep when it happened,’ I gasped.
I was dumbfounded. Maybe I had a few worries. Who didn’t these days? But I was asleep when these symptoms came on. How could that be a panic attack? And why?
‘I know it might seem unusual, but it can happen. Have you been under more stress lately? Has anything out of the ordinary happened?’ she asked.
‘No, I don’t think so. Just the usual stuff. Been feeling a bit run down in the last couple of days, but that’s all.’
‘That’s not strictly true. You’ve been working a lot lately,’ Elliot interjected.
‘That’s quite normal in the run up to Christmas. A bit busier than usual sure, but it’s nothing I’ve not done before.’
‘Stress can build up over time and if we don’t address it, it can find its way out. And it usually happens not when you are busy rushing about, but once the adrenaline had worn off. Just try to take things easy for the next week or two. If it happens again, come straight back and we can run some more tests,’ said Tash.
I was shocked but too tired to argue and since Elliot had finished his shift, I was glad he was there to take me home. Still, the idea that stress or the thoughts in my head could have caused me to feel like I was having a heart attack sounded preposterous.
***
We sat in silence in the back of the taxi, Elliot placing his hand on mine.
‘Don’t worry. Tash said there was nothing major to be concerned about. You just need a bit of rest.’
I wanted to believe him. It was true, I had been a little stressed about work lately. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something more was at play. But I was too tired to think. All I wanted was to go to sleep.
‘You better call Holly tomorrow and cancel your evening plans.’
My eyes darted wide open at his remark. This was the last thing on my mind, but I was looking forward to our girls night out.
‘We’re only having dinner and a few drinks. That’s hardly stressful,’ I said.
‘Tash said to take things easy for now. You can celebrate in a couple of weeks. I’m sure Holly will understand. You and I can have a night in instead.’
‘I thought you were working late again tomorrow.’
‘I was, but I swapped my shift with Eddie. Thought I could cook you something nice. Maybe I could make that vegan lasagne you like. Watch a movie?’
I knew Elliot’s words were coming from a good place, but I couldn’t help thinking the vegan lasagne wasn’t my favourite, not even close, it was his. Dad would have been turning in his grave if he saw me eat that strange concoction, but I felt ungrateful for even having the thought.
‘Lasagne sounds great. I’ll call Holly tomorrow,’ I conceded, knowing there was no point arguing with Elliot.
***
I wish I could say that I was recharged over the weekend, but I felt far from it. I was meant to be celebrating my 26th birthday. Instead, I felt like an invalid. Begrudgingly, I cancelled my dinner and drinks with Holly. I didn’t want to worry her, so I told her I was a bit under the weather, which was kind of true, and that we’d arrange something in the next few weeks. She was disappointed but she was more concerned about me. I think she knew there was something I wasn’t telling her.
With Elliot insisting that I did very little around the flat over the weekend, I had heaps of time catching up on a couple of half-read books and pretending to watch documentaries with him. I found them mildly interesting up to a point, but it wasn’t the kind of entertainment I needed. I craved something overflowing with positivity and inducing side-bursting laughter. Something to occupy every last bit of my attention in the best possible way so that I could avoid conjuring up more worst-case scenarios that could have brought on another panic attack. But Elliot didn’t see much value in re-watching old episodes of sit-coms. The jokes too obvious and the plotline too predictable. So, it was a choice between documentaries on South American drug cartels or one of his true-crime programs. I found neither of them appealing.
I had to cancel Sunday lunch with mum too. Elliot didn’t think it was a good idea for me to travel. I hadn’t been back to see her for over a month. This wasn’t unusual given the time of year, and I was due to visit in a few weeks anyway. So, I went along with his overprotective request. Not to worry mum too much, I told her I’ve had a bad cold, and I didn’t want to pass it on. I wish I could have been honest and told her what had happened, but I wasn’t sure it was a good idea. She was always a worrier but since dad passed away, she had become even more protective of me. In any case, I didn’t really know what was going on with me. So, I would have been no good at reassuring her either.
The full-on panic may have subsided, but I still felt on edge. I chalked it up to being anxious that it might happen again. I didn’t want Elliot to know, so I tried to deal with things internally whilst putting on a show that everything was fine. Like a swan, my feet were frantically flapping under water whilst I glided gracefully over the surface. It was hard work at times, but we got to Monday in the end.
***
Thankfully, Elliot had to get back to the hospital and at last, I could go back to work. I’d been working at Enigma for the past five years.
After finishing my art degree, I felt a bit lost. For a brief moment I had the wild idea to follow in dad’s footsteps, creating my own art and setting up my own studio one day, but I didn’t think I was good enough. I told myself it would have never worked. So, I got a job at Enigma, a cutting-edge creative and design agency as one of their junior creatives. They were one of a kind, using natural materials like paper and wood to create art installations for their clients. I was excited as soon as I saw the ad and couldn’t believe when they offered me the role.
I loved the job, the place, the people and I was soon given more responsibilities. My designs were often unconventional but Hannah, my manager, loved them and saw the potential in me. Eventually, I was promoted to be one of their Lead Creatives and given one of my own clients. My list grew from there.
Lately, Hannah had been encouraging me to take the next step, considering working towards the role of Head of Creative, but I didn’t think I had what it took to do the job well and Elliot thought it would cause me too much stress, so I told Hannah I wasn’t ready.
‘I think you’re brilliant, El! You’ve got a talent that not many people have in this industry. Any challenge I’ve given you, you took it in your stride and excelled at it. You just need to start believing in yourself.’
I knew she had a point. Somewhere along the way I stopped believing that I could create things that were special.
