Page 20 of The White Octopus Hotel
Even the window next to her seemed to be taunting her and she felt the fierce longing to put her fist through the glass, so she closed her eyes and concentrated on the box breathing. The breathing helped a bit sometimes, and so did the mindfulness—and practicing yoga and having a hot bath, or going for a walk outside and so on and so on. But those things only helped abit,when the black feeling wasn’t too huge and powerful. When the darkness was sleeping. But if it was awake and hungry, then doing some yoga was about as much use as trying to close a gate on a tsunami.
Did you close the gate?
She reached for Max Everly’s music instead, switching on the record player inside her head, letting the familiar notes wash through her until she could breathe again. And breathe. And breathe.
Chapter 13
Eve—2007
The idea of group therapy sessions had been Suzy’s. Eve went along with it to keep her stepmother happy—and because she accepted that she herself might no longer be a very good judge of what was or was not good for her anymore. But most of all she went because Suzy and her dad had said it was a condition of her returning to university. Eve desperately didn’t want to give up her place, and the university ran a support/therapy group, so here she was, wasting another sunny afternoon in a depressing campus hall with uncomfortable chairs and dreadful coffee. As she took a seat in the circle it was hard not to think of all the other things shecouldhave been doing.
And yet.
There was something a little comforting in realising that there were lots of other people out there who struggled beneath the weight of their burdens too. And they all seemed like nice, normal people—the type of people that Eve would never have guessed would come to a group like this. It made her feel like less of a freak. Less of a failure for unravelling the way she had. But she never felt much like saying anything herself. What would be the point? Theycould talk and talk and talk about Bella’s death and Eve’s role in it and how that made her feel, and how it made everyone else feel, but it wouldn’t change anything. And the emotions were a tangled knot that would have been impossible to put into coherent words anyway. Some things just couldn’t be spoken out loud.
“Right, everyone,” said Jill, the session leader. “Today we’re going to talk about coping strategies for when we’re finding things hard.”
Eve scowled. She was sick of coping strategies. They were for normal people with normal stress. They weren’t for people like Eve. They weren’t for people whose actions had caused something unspeakable to happen and who then had to live with the guilt. She listened as Jill went round the group, asking them what worked for them, what helped when they were feeling low.
“Going for a walk,” one girl with a sheet of long, dark hair said in a half-hearted sort of way. “Being outside helps a bit, I guess.”
Jill nodded. “Absolutely. Getting out in nature is always a good idea. Liam?”
The young man she’d indicated lifted his shoulder in a half shrug. “Deep breathing?”
Eve got the impression he was offering this up as an answer purely because he knew that Jill would nod and look pleased. She hoped there’d still be some obvious answers left by the time Jill got to her.
“Yes, and breathing is really a great one because we can do it anywhere, anytime, and no one even needs to know. Sarah? Have you found anything that’s helped you cope with stress?”
Eve glanced at the small, fragile-looking girl in the circle opposite her. She didn’t know what Sarah’s story was. Eve had never heard her speak in any of the sessions she’d been to. Her fingernails were usually bitten raw and she had a haunted look in her green eyes. Whenever Jill had asked her something directly before, Sarahhad shrugged or shaken her head without saying a word. This time, though, she looked up and spoke for the first time.
“Music.” Her voice was soft but steady. “Music helps.”
At once, there were murmurs of agreement from others and Eve found herself nodding as well.
“Music helps me, too,” Liam said, looking much more enthusiastic about this than the breathing he’d suggested before. “I’ve got a couple of albums I always stick on when I’m feeling crap. As soon as that first song starts to play it cheers me up a bit.”
“I’ve got a list of songs,” a girl called Kelly volunteered. “They’re my happy songs. Pop stuff, mostly. Music for dancing.”
“And how about you, Sarah?” Jill asked. “What do you listen to?”
Sarah picked at one of her broken nails. “A composer called Max Everly. He wrote music in the thirties and it was…I dunno what you’d call it. Classical or jazz or something.” She gave another shrug.
“And his music cheers you up?” Jill asked, smiling.
Sarah shook her head. “No, but it makes me feel like it’s okay to be sad.”
Eve was intrigued. The very next day, she tracked down some of Everly’s music and realised at once that Sarah was right. It wasn’t cheerful music that tried to bounce you out of your low mood, nor was it sad music that made your suffering worse. It was a steady hand holding yours in the dark. Like a friend who didn’t want to talk you out of feeling bad, or offer solutions or advice or opinions or strategies. Instead, Max Everly’s music was a person who climbed right into the deep, dark hole with you, sat beside you and held your hand tight, and said,I am here and we’ll sit together for as long as you need and it’s okay. It’s okay to not be okay.
Eve always felt so grateful to Sarah for mentioning Max Everly that day, for setting her on the path to discovering his music too.Soon, she’d listened to everything he’d ever composed. Eve played her favourite songs over and over again until she even heard them in her dreams. And what Sarah had said was true. The music helped. Even on dark, dangerous days, like Eve’s birthday, the music helped.
Sometimes, it was hard not to believe that the compositions hadn’t been written specially for her. It felt as if Max Everly was reaching out to her, down through the years, offering solace. Eve knew this was merely the mark of great music. Sarah probably felt like it had been written specially for her too. And so, probably, did all those other people who had found comfort in the deftly woven musical notes over the decades.
Eve knew the music hadn’t actually been written for her…but it may as well have been.
Chapter 14
Eve—The White Octopus Hotel, 2016
