As I get to the park, I have a really bad moment. One of the old, scary kinds. Everyone around looks like a robot out to get me, and the whole place is crackling with this air of dread and threat. My lizard brain is really not enjoying the experience; in fact, my lizard brain wants to crawl under a bush. But I'm not crawling under bushes, I tell myself firmly. I'm not listening to any lizards. Even though I feel ill with fear and keep getting these weird, dizzy waves, I manage to stride into the park like a normal person, and spot Astrid sitting on a bench. Seeing her anchors me a little. Seeing her orange-segment smile splitting her face, all wide and happy, just for me, feels like someone stroking my lizard brain and telling it to calm down, everything's fine. (I haven't mentioned my lizard brain to Astrid. I mean, there are some things you tell a girlfriend and there are some things you totally keep to yourself; otherwise you sound like a nutter.) "Hey, Rhubarb." "Hey, Orange Slice." I touch her hand and we brush mouths together.
"OK," says Astrid, as soon as we part. "I have one. Go and ask that man if ducks are vegetarian." She points to an elderly man throwing bread at the ducks. "Are ducks vegetarian?" "Of course they're not, you dope. They eat worms. Go on." She pushes my shoulder and I get up with a grin. I'm pulsating with dread but I force myself to have a conversation with the guy about ducks. Then I return to the bench and tell Astrid to go and ask a bunch of French tourists which country we're in. Astrid is a master. A master. She tells the French tourists in tones of consternation that she was aiming for Sweden, and must have gone astray, and they all start looking at maps and phones and saying "Angleterre! Eeengland!" to her and gesticulating at the red buses that pass the park every five seconds. "Oh, England," says Astrid at last, and they all nod furiously and say "D'accord! Grande Bretagne! Eeengland!" and at last they head off, all still gabbling and looking back at her. They'll probably talk about her for the rest of their holiday. "OK," says Astrid as she returns to the bench. "Go and ask that guy if he sells coconut ice-cream." She nods at the ice-cream seller who has had his stall in the park every summer for as long as I can remember. "He doesn't." "I know. That's why you're asking." "Too easy," I say proudly. "Think of another one." "Can't be bothered," says Astrid lazily. "Go and do ice-cream guy." I head over to the stall and patiently wait my turn, and then say, "Excuse me, do you sell coconut ice-cream?" I know what he's going to say. I've asked for coconut ice-cream every year since I was about eight, but he never has it.
"I do today," says the ice-cream seller, his eyes twinkling. I stare at him stupidly as he reaches for his scoop. "I'm sorry?" "Coconut ice-cream for the young man," he says with a flourish. "One-day special. Just for you." "What?" I blink in disbelief as he scoops white ice-cream into a massive cone. "Is that coconut?" "Just for you," he repeats, handing me the cone. "And a chocolate-chip for the young woman," he adds, handing me a second cone. "All paid for." "Coconut's my favourite flavour," I say, in a daze. "But you never have it." "That's what she said. Your young woman. Asked me to get it in special-like." I swivel round, and Astrid is watching, her smile wider than ever. "Thanks," I say to the ice-cream seller. "I mean, thanks." As I reach Astrid, I fling my arms round her without dropping either ice-cream and kiss her. "I can't believe you did that!" I hand her her cone and lick my own. It's nectar. It's bliss. Coconut is the best flavour in the world. "Oh my God." "Nice?" "I love it. I love it." "So do I," says Astrid, licking her own cone. "You." Her words catch on my brain. So do I. You. The park is a riot of sunshine and ducks quacking and children shrieking, but right now it's as though the whole world has shrunk to her face. Her blonde hair, her honest eyes, that crescent smile. "What...do you mean?" I force the words out. "What I said. I love it too," she says, not taking her eyes off mine.
"You said you." "Well...maybe that's what I meant." I love it. So do I. You. The words are dancing round my mind like jigsaw pieces, fitting together this way and that way. "What, exactly?" I have to say it. "You know exactly." Her eyes are smiling to match her orange-segment mouth. But they're grave too. "Well...I love it too," I say, my throat tight. "You." "Me." "Yes." I swallow. "Yes." We don't need to say any more. And I know I'll always remember this moment, right here, standing in the park with the ducks and the sunshine and her arms round me. Her kiss tastes of chocolate-chip and I'm sure I taste of coconut. Actually, those flavours go very well together. So.
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And it's only later that life disintegrates. She doesn't understand. She won't understand. She's not just opposed to the plan, she's angry. Physically angry. She hits a tree, like it's the tree's fault. "It's fucking nuts," she keeps saying, striding back and forth over the grass, glaring at the squirrels. "Bonkers." "Look, Ally..." I try to explain. "I have to do this." "Don't give me that bollocks!" she yells. "I thought your therapist banned those words? I thought the only thing you 'have to' do in life is obey the laws of physics? Didn't you learn anything? What about living in the present, not the past? What about that?" I stare at her, silenced. She was listening more than I realized.
"You don't 'have to' do this," she continues, "you're choosing to do it. What if you have a relapse? What then?" "Then..." I wipe my damp face. "I won't. I'll be fine. I'm better, in case you hadn't realized—" "You're still wearing fucking dark glasses!" she explodes. "You're still practicing having three-line conversations with strangers! And now you want to face down some bitch bully boy? Why would you even give him the time of day? It's selfish." "What?" I stare at her, reeling. "Selfish?" "Yes, selfish! You know how many people have tried to help you? You know how many people are willing you to get better? And you pull a stunt like this, just because you 'have to'? This is dangerous, if you ask me. And who's going to pick up the pieces afterwards? Tell me that." She's so righteously indignant, I feel a surge of fury. What does she know? What the fuck does she know about me? "There won't be any 'pieces,' " I spit at her. "For God's sake, seeing one boy in Starbucks isn't dangerous. And anyway, it wasn't what happened that made me ill. That's a common mistake people make, actually. Stressful events don't make you ill, actually. It's the way your brain reacts to stressful events. So." "OK, so how's your brain going to react to this stressful event?" she shoots back with equal ferocity. "Do a dance and sing 'Happy'?" "It's going to react fine," I say savagely. "I'm better. And if by any chance it doesn't, don't worry, I won't expect you to pick up the pieces. In fact, you know, Ally, I'm sorry I've caused you so much trouble already. You'd better find someone else to hang out with. Someone who doesn't possess any dark glasses. Maybe Thomas, I've heard he's super-fun."
I'm scrambling to my feet, trying to keep my poise, which isn't easy when the landscape is looming at me and my head is singing loud protests. "Henry, stop." "No. I'm going." Tears are coursing down my face, but that's OK, because I'm keeping it twisted away from Astrid. "Well, I'm coming with you." "Leave me alone," I say, wrenching my arm out of her grasp. "Leave me alone." And finally, after managing to ignore it all day, I surrender to my lizard brain. And I run.
