Free A Life for a Life by Andrew Puckett

look, adding several years to it.
    ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t think I could,’ she said in bed, a small voice, when he ran his fingers over her breast. ‘Please, just hold me.’
    She didn’t want to go out, she just read or watched TV. On the second evening, he made a lasagne, one of her favourites. She took a couple of mouthfuls and put her fork down.
    ‘It’s very nice, Fraser, but I’m not really hungry.’
    ‘Are you all right?’
    Her face soured as she stared at him and her mouth pursed. ‘God, you have no idea how sick I am of hearing that phrase – Are you all right ?’ she mimicked. ‘ Are you all right ?… Of course I’m not fucking all right, I’ve got fucking leukaemia, haven’t I?’
    She made to get up and go, but he caught her wrist.
    ‘We’ve got to talk about this, Frances—’
    She snatched her hand away. ‘Leave me alone … and get something into your head, I am not fucking depressed – OK?’ Without warning, she picked up her plate and propelled it into his face as though it were a custard pie, then she stared open-mouthed at him for a moment before collapsing on to her arms on the table, weeping hysterically.
    ‘ Help me please Fraser help me help me help me …’
    He hurried round the table, trying to wipe the mess from his face with a serviette. He pulled up a chair, sat beside her. ‘I’ll help you, please let me…’
    She threw her arms round his neck. ‘Please, please help me…’
    After a while, when he’d calmed her down, he left her on the sofa and phoned his GP’s surgery. His doctor was there, but with a patient. Fraser asked the receptionist if he could call back, urgently. He came back to him after five minutes, listened, then said he’d be there as soon as he finished his appointments.
    He was there in an hour. He examined Frances, listened to Fraser, then prescribed Prozac and a sedative to help her sleep.
    Fraser put her to bed and stayed with her, waiting for it to work. When she was asleep, he went downstairs. He knew there would be no sleep for him that night without bottled assistance.
    She was still sleeping when he woke in the morning, turned towards him and snoring slightly. Sleep had smoothed the lines round her mouth so that, with her hairless head, she looked like a baby, so vulnerable that he lay there watching her for a while.
    Fraser didn’t feel too bad, considering the booze he’d put away the night before, although there was an ominous fuzziness around his forehead. He showered, hoping the jets of water would drive it away, which they did for a while. She woke as he dressed.
    ‘What time is it?’ she asked drowsily.
    ‘Half-past eight.’ He sat on the bed beside her. ‘How are you feeling?’
    ‘OK.’ She looked up at him. ‘Why do you ask me like that?’
    He studied her face. ‘You don’t remember last night?’
    Her brow furrowed. ‘Oh… did we have a row? I thought it was a dream.’
    ‘You don’t remember Dr Parker coming here?’
    ‘No… we had a row and then you put me to bed… didn’t you?’
    ‘D’you not remember what happened in between?’
    She shook her head.
    ‘Well, it was some row.’ He thought quickly, decided it was best to tell her the truth…
    ‘Wow,’ she said when he finished. ‘And you think it’s the Alkovin?’
    He nodded. ‘I’m sure of it.’
    ‘Me – on Prozac. Wow – so I’ve finally made it. To the middle classes,’ she explained at his puzzled expression.
    ‘Yeah.’ He grinned. ‘So how are you feeling?’
    ‘Not much different from yesterday. Pissed off. Glad you’re here. How long does it take to work?’
    ‘Prozac? Anything between one and three weeks.’
    ‘Well, let’s hope—’
    The phone rang and he picked it up.
    ‘It’s your mother,’ he said, handing it to her. ‘D’you want some tea?’
    She nodded as she took it from him.
    He was at the door when she said, ‘She wants to come round – that’s OK, isn’t it?’
    An hour later, when mother and