“You probably shouldn’t have gone,” Mum says. We’re driving back to the flat. It’s raining.
“But I thought that I’d be able to help Seb pack up the flat,” I say. “Forgot that when my mood is low I can’t do that much and that mess and disorder paralyse me and that…”
“It must have been stressful for Seb, trying to look after you as well as packing up his flat,” Mum says. “He’s got a lot on his mind at the moment: he must be anxious about starting university and moving again and his grandma’s just died and…”
“That’s why I thought I’d go and help him,” I say. “Obviously I didn’t realise that I wouldn’t be any help and that it would all be so stressful and…”
“You should have realised,” Mum says. “I think you need to leave him to move to his new accommodation and then go to see him once he’s settled there or…”
“But our time together is so limited,” I say, staring out of the window at a place on the riverbank where, sometimes, a heron stands. He’s not there today. “And, well, I suppose I assumed that by now either I’d be dead from the cancer or better or…well, just not in this situation where I’ve got a chronic mental disorder and a chronic terminal illness and I’m on these drugs for it with these terrible side effects and…”
“I know darling,” Mum says. “It’s rubbish.”
When I arrive at the flat, there’s a message from my Seb. So that’s good. And now I’m writing this from my bike at the gym. And in a few minutes I’m going to lift some weights. That usually helps.
The panther lies on the treadmill behind my bike. It’s good to get him out of the house. He seems to enjoy the gym environment.
See if you can spot someone in the attached photo…
Happy Tuesday everyone!
*2014. By Henning Mankell. Detective novella in which Kurt Wallander moves house…