Page 24 of The Do-Over

‘I wouldn’t say breakdown,’ she replies hurriedly. ‘But this is a big thing, and it’s very unlike you. I just wondered whether maybe things have all got a bit much for you lately. They do work you ridiculously hard. You might be suffering from burnout or something like that.’

‘I’m not suffering from anything,’ I tell her robustly. ‘I just decided I wanted to do something different with my life, that’s all.’

‘But you’ve invested so much in this and you’re obviously good at it. I just wonder, if you talked it all through with someone who knows about these things, whether it might be helpful. How are you sleeping?’

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘I read an article recently about how not sleeping well is linked to depression.’

‘I’m not depressed, Mum, and I sleep just fine.’

‘OK. Will you do one thing for me though?’

‘What?’

‘Come and stay, just for a few days. I’m worried about you. You were so thin and pale at Christmas, and now this. Let us look after you for a bit while you recover. I’m sure Saffy would be pleased to see you too.’

‘I don’t need to recover, because there’s nothing wrong with me.’ I’m starting to get seriously pissed off now.

‘Well, the invitation’s there if you want it. Think about it?’

‘Fine. I will.’

The conversation wraps up pretty swiftly after that. I think Mum realised that she hadn’t handled it particularly well and I didn’t really feel like talking to her after she’d effectively questioned my sanity. My mood is a lot darker as I stare out of the window. Am I burnt out? Is this a breakdown? I don’t feel like either of those things are true, but all the tears I’ve shed this afternoon might be telling a different story. As if on cue, they start falling again. What on earth is the matter with me? How can I have gone from high-flying lawyer to weeping wallflower in the space of just a few hours?

‘For God’s sake, get a grip, Thea,’ I mutter angrily as I dab roughly at my eyes.

I unlock my phone again and launch the browser, entering ‘Symptoms of depression’ into the search box. Most of them I can dismiss easily. ‘Low sex drive or low self-esteem’ are definite nos. Some of them are just irritating, like ‘neglecting your hobbies’. ‘I’m a lawyer,’ I snarl at the phone. ‘I don’t have time for hobbies.’ However, ‘feeling tearful’ strikes a nerve, as does ‘finding it difficult to make decisions’. In the end, I decide tocut myself some slack on that last one; I’ve made a pretty life-changing decision today, so the fact that I couldn’t put together more than two items on my to-do list shouldn’t be a cause for concern.

So I’m tearful, that’s all. Nothing to see here; move along, please.

Things are no better the next day. My drink with Rebecca last night was great fun, and I was tipsily congratulating myself on our blossoming friendship as I made my way home. However, as soon as I got into bed and tried to go to sleep, it was as if my mind had been waiting for just this moment to go into overdrive.

‘What the hell have you done?’ it whispered.

‘It’s fine. It’s the right thing.’

‘Is it? You shot your career in the face without a backup plan? I thought you said you weren’t like your father, but this looks exactly like the kind of thing he would have done.’

‘He wouldn’t have done it, because he would never have got as far as I did in the first place, and I’ve got a whole year to come up with a plan.’

‘Ha. You’ll be so intensely bored by the end of next week you’ll be crying out to go back. Would they have you back?’

‘Probably not, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to go back.’

‘You will. Maybe your mum’s right. Maybe you’re depressed, or burnt out. You should have just asked for a break, rather than burning the whole thing to the ground. You’re an idiot, and you’ve ruined everything.’

‘I know what I’m doing. It’ll be better once I have a plan.’

‘Honey, you patently don’t have a clue what you’re doing. People who know what they’re doing don’t nuke jobs they’ve trained their whole lives for.’

After a sleepless night, I called my mother again and took her up on her invitation to stay. I was surprised how delighted she sounded, and also how good it made me feel. Although I’m still a bit annoyed with her, the idea of home-cooked food and people around me is a lot more appealing than sitting in my house staring at the walls and eating ready meals of uncertain age from the freezer.

I’ve had to pull off the M20 into Maidstone services because I’ve been crying most of the way here. If I turn up at Mum and Phil’s like this, they’ll pack me off to a lunatic asylum before I’ve even crossed the threshold. At least I’m more prepared today; I couldn’t find any tissues at home but I’ve crammed a load of loo roll into the glovebox so, once I’ve finished my latest episode, I’ll use that to dry my face before sorting out my makeup using the rearview mirror. As I wait for the tears to stop, I turn my attention to the people coming and going around me. I’m reminded a little of how I felt walking to Skinners’ Hall after John Curbishley’s funeral inasmuch as I feel I really don’t belong here, outside, during the day. This is going to take quite a bit of getting used to.

‘Darling! We’re so glad you could make it,’ Mum exclaims as she opens the door and wraps me in a hug. From the tone of her voice, you’d be forgiven for thinking I was bestowing some enormous favour on her, rather than the other way around. ‘I’ve made up your room and lunch will be on the table soon. Phil’sat work, of course, so it’ll just be you and me. How long do you think you’ll be able to stay for?’

‘I don’t know. A couple of days? I don’t really have any plans but I don’t want to get under your feet.’

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