Two friends stay with Dan at the flat while Jane and  Graham drive to London, hoping to bring him home

To access previous chapters, visit Jane Read’s Author Page.

Chapter 8.                                                                   

JANE

               

               “Much madness is Divinest sense to the discerning eye. Much sense the starkest madness.”

                                                      Emily Dickinson

Dan talks enthusiastically with Carl and Mark about false prophets, the book of Revelation, the twelve horses of the apocalypse and other important matters before standing up to conduct them as they sing songs from ‘Jesus Christ Superstar’. During the chorus he drops to his knees, arms outstretched, head back, eyes closed as he hits the crescendo of the lament in the garden of Gethsemane,

‘Why— should—- I— die !!’

He beams at his two companions stating again,

‘I am the way, the TRUTH and the life!’

This time, Mark’s response is more direct,

‘No Dan.  You’re not!  You’re just …… tired!’

There are several more calls on our way to London. Sue’s first, checking if Dan will be expecting them. She sounds nervous. I put her onto speaker phone.

‘Yes, I’ve told him you’re coming. He sounds very positive about seeing you again and two friends have agreed to stay with him until you arrive. He might be saying some strange things and not making much sense’.

‘If you could just try to keep him safe in the flat until we get there or maybe even persuade him to go back to your house’. Graham suggests. ‘But if you can’t manage him, or the situation starts getting dangerous, please, don’t hesitate to phone for an ambulance,’ he adds, putting his foot down and accelerating onto the dual carriageway.

It is rare, if ever, that I’m invited to drive when we travel together. It’s even less likely that Graham will invite me to take the wheel in the middle of an emergency. He prefers to be the one in control. Besides, I am constantly on the phone to different people, monitoring the situation as we go along. I hand him extra strong mints and sips of water as he drives through the night. I just keep checking that he is ok, every few miles.

Once we have confirmation that Steve and Sue have arrived, we relax a little but keep in close touch. Steve phones periodically to offer updates on what is happening. His voice is calm and reassuring. He says things like,

‘Yes, we are fine. Just having some interesting conversations about God and Shakespeare and evolution.’ (Probably the last thing they imagined they would be doing in the early hours of a Monday morning, at the start of a working week!)

I am thankful for their help, unsure about what we would have done had they not been around that night. From time-to-time Steve steps outside the door of the flat and onto the street, to talk to us more privately. He describes Dan’s behaviour.

‘He is breathing strangely and keeps blowing on us both then putting his hands on top of our heads. Sue is a bit nervous of him. He is pacing around and we can’t persuade him to eat or drink or even sit down. He refuses to get into our car or come home with us and seems convinced that God wants the whole family to be together in his flat.’ (I’m guessing this might be because of my earlier instruction.)

I want Graham to drive a bit faster but dare not suggest it. He always takes care, even mid-crisis, approaching any journey with what seems to me, exaggerated slowness and cautious consideration. Even the morning of my father’s death was like that. I’d been told he was nearing the end and wanted to get there as quickly as possible. But I’ve never been able to rush my cautious husband, who opted to eat breakfast, pack methodically and prepare thoroughly for the two-hour drive ahead. I was relieved that he was escorting me and I didn’t have to do the driving by myself that particular day but in the end, I missed my dad’s passing by about twenty minutes, resolving this unfortunate timing with the knowledge that he would have preferred me to be looked after and kept safe, rather than rushing recklessly to his deathbed.

As urgent as my need is to get to my son tonight, I must remain patient. It is wiser to trust Graham with the planning of an operation of this magnitude. It feels as thugh we are jointly facing a steep and terrifying mountain face, ill- equipped, with scant supplies, our energy reserves running low. Even standing as far back as possible, tilting our heads and straining our necks, we will not be able to catch sight of the summit from here. We are woefully ill-prepared we are for what is to come. We haven’t the slightest idea that our arrival in London is only the equivalent of reaching base camp.

The first sight of my boy is one of relief. He is here, standing before me, beautiful to see, wide-eyed, wild looking, handsome, full of the strangest energy and more elated than I’ve ever seen him. Clearly not in his right mind. Not the Dan we know, but as though someone else is inhabiting his body. He is pacing around, with tousled hair, shirt unbuttoned, sweaty armpits, and clammy hands, bare, dirty feet, grinning broadly at us with the strangest and most disturbing smile on his face. He is so changed, but clearly unaware of the extreme changes we are all seeing. But at least he is here and he is alive, so extraordinarily alive!’ These are my thoughts on our arrival at Dan’s flat in Baron’s Court at three am that November morning.

Steve and Sue have somehow worked out what to do with this new version of Dan, how to humour him when he refuses to answer to his name, how to keep him calm and contained.  But it is our turn now. He is in our care for however long it might take to restore him to sanity.

Sue makes us all a cup of tea. She has been busy cleaning the surfaces and washing up in the kitchen before our arrival. We sit and listen to Dan’s ‘preaching’ for a while, as he paces backwards and forwards, his leather folder tucked underneath one arm which contains his Shakespeare script as well as the brown foolscap envelope of professional headshots. He tells us that he knows that,

‘Shakespeare was a Christian,’ smiling constantly and putting strong emphasis on individual words in a peculiarly compelling and charismatic way. He uses his playscript as an evangelist would a Bible, opening it and delivering ‘prophecies’ to each of us in turn. He picks out lines from Shakespeare’s ‘Much Ado about Nothing.’ which he directs at someone in the room, pointing authoritatively and reading aloud to each of us in turn,

“Pause a while and let my counsel sway you” …….

“Will your Grace command me any service to the world’s end?”

 

Many of the lines he chooses are thought-provoking and surreal. After our journey it feels as though we are being swept up into some extraordinary, outlandish piece of theatre. At times Dan’s ramblings seem to make some ironic sense and hold a disturbing shadow of meaning for those listening. He is both convincing and compelling in the way that he speaks. It crosses my mind that in another time or in another culture, he may well have been hailed as a prophet, or a shaman, gathering a faithful band of disciples around him.

The next step is to decide what action to take to have Dan assessed and treated. Should we bring him back to York to help him back to his senses, or will he have to be hospitalised here, in London?  Graham is collecting Dan’s laptop and wallet and a few items of clothing from the flat. I start trying to persuade Dan to come home with us,

‘The family is waiting to see you back in York, Em and Rob are there already, and Tom will be coming to our house too, once he’s finished his hospital shift.’

But when we step outside things seem to escalate. Dan tries to force Steve and Sue into the back of our car, wanting to take them home with us as well.

Tension builds when I ask Graham to run back inside to grab my coat (which in the confusion, I’ve left inside the flat). Dan is impatient to embark on his new mission and doesn’t think we should bother with trivialities such as coats. When Graham comes back with it in his hand, he snatches it away and flings it down on the pavement, yelling loudly. My mouth is dry. I am trembling, feeling guilty for being the cause of this scene and forgetting my stupid coat in the first place. It would have been better to have just left it behind. Maybe we’d have had chance to get away sooner. Thankfully there are no passers-by at four thirty in the morning at Barons Court. It is so dark and uncannily quiet, apart from the distant sounds of traffic and the occasional rumble of an underground train.

Dan then tries to prevent Graham from closing or locking the door of the flat,

‘But we can’t leave it open.’ Graham argues. ‘Your keyboard is inside and Carl’s stuff is in there too. It might get stolen’

Dan is getting angry and agitated, pacing up and down, pounding the wet paving stones, shouting aggressively. Graham and Steve put their heads together and decide it is too dangerous to attempt the drive back to York like this. It is time to call for back up.