Thank you again to North200 for patient, insightful editing and more general support. And thanks to everyone for your comments and emails, they've been great! Here's the final part of Beth and Salvo's story. I hope you enjoy it (or something).
*****
Beth starts at the sound of the phone.
"Hey Beth!" without pausing for breath Angela launches straight in to her reason for ringing. "It's my birthday on Thursday. Listen, I totally understand if you can't make it but there's a gig at the Hope & Anchor on Saturday night. We're all going! I'd love it if you could come."
"Oh Angela, thank you so much for inviting me but I... I can't. I don't think I'm ready."
"But it won't be so busy, its always quiet at the start. You could just stay for a little bit, I can get us on the guest list."
"I'm sorry, I thought I was getting better but I got caught up in the crowds on the tube a few weeks ago and I'm not doing as well as I thought I was."
She can still feel the absolute terror that descended on her. She's been travelling by bus ever since, despite the time it adds on to her journeys.
"Oh Beth! I'm sorry. You don't have to come, I completely understand. Shall we have lunch together one day next week instead?"
Beth has gone back to work, just two days a week. They were happy to let her have more time off but she needs the distraction. She needs the structure to her days.
*
The following morning Beth brings the gig up with Abigail her therapist. Her response is surprisingly enthusiastic.
"You could see this as an opportunity, Beth. It is a slightly stressful situation, but one you could manage. You can use the strategies we've been learning. Make sure your friends understand what your needs are. Don't stay for too long. Don't drink too much alcohol. Have an exit plan. But it's good to expose yourself to the things that frighten you and it's better to become desensitised to them when you're in control, as opposed to when you're not expecting it." Abigail pauses. "But it's important you only do this when you're ready."
Beth nods slowly. "Yes, I suppose you're right."
She isn't sure how she would have coped without Abigail. After she first came back it was like she had forgotten how to live when he wasn't there to tell her what to do. She wasn't used to going outside, to being around people, to not having to ask for permission, to not having to wait for someone else to bring her food. For weeks, she had to eat in small doses because her body had forgotten how to manage normal meals.
She learned that she was only there for a total of six weeks. It had felt like far longer. She'd lost 12? kilos. She was anemic, dehydrated, her hair was thinner. It took months for her periods to start again. It was while reading about herself in an old newspaper that she discovered they'd told the Italian government that they'd killed her.
That was the first time she'd had a panic attack.
*
A few days have passed and Beth is perched on a high stool at the breakfast bar in Gerry's apartment. They're chatting about Angela's call, while Gerry potters around the kitchen, adding the finishing touches to the chili con carne and putting the rice on. Things are starting to feel almost normal. Beth isn't thinking of
him
every waking moment of every day. She hasn't had a panic attack for almost a week. She's feeling tentatively optimistic that one day in the future she'll be able to function like a normal person again.
There are some other people coming over too, but Beth is early. This is her first social event, it feels good to be doing this. It feels safe.
Beth sighs. "I used to love seeing live music."
"You should go, just stay for a little while, it will be good for you."
Beth still isn't sure. "My therapist said that too. Tiny steps she said. I was surprised, she has always told me to take things slowly before now."
"There you go, she must think you're ready, you should do it! What's the worst thing that can happen?"
What
is
the worst thing that can happen?
They change the subject when the other guests arrive. Everyone keeps saying how lovely Beth's new short hair is. How much it suits her face. How it brings out her eyes. They are drinking red wine, Beth has a glass. Everything is going swimmingly. She decides she is going to go to the gig. She is even a little bit excited.
They're just finishing their food when Gerry sashays in from the kitchen waving a bottle.
"I bought a bottle of my favourite liqueur in Rome, lets all have a small glass, it makes a wonderful digestif."
Gerry retrieves a set of tiny green antique sherry glasses from a kitsch side board tucked away in a corner. As she sets the glasses down on the table, she tells them about the ancient order of monks and their safely guarded, century old recipe of bitter herbs. She unscrews the lid and starts to pour.
Betf was already starting to suspect she would know this liqueur, but still the smell hits her like a freight train.
She is back there, back in that house, in that room with Him. She stands and sways. Her head is spinning. Black spots appear in front of her eyes. She must get away from here. Away from this smell. Away from the sea of concerned faces staring up at her.
Gerry is by her side, taking her by the elbow, steering her gently through the small kitchen. Out on the balcony the bitter smell of the liqueur is mercifully replaced by the heady aroma of jasmine. She is gulping the cool night air, trying to get him out of her head. There are so many feelings fighting for supremacy in her chest.
She had no idea a smell could effect her in this way.
Gerry pulls out a packet of her signature Marlboro lights out, offers one to Beth. They both light up, and for a long time neither of them speak. The other guests are taking quietly in the dining room.
"It reminds you of
him
doesn't it? I am so stupid, why didn't I think?"
Beth can't yet speak, she can only nod.
She still has nightmares about him, and erotic dreams too, often both at the same time. They fuck, he threatens to kill her and then she wakes in a cold sweat, and waits until dawn.
When she gets herself off she thinks about him, and then she feels ashamed.
