Chapter 10
TEN
WINDSOR
The Aftermath
That evening, as the train slipped its way out of the city on its way to the more suburban landscape of Windsor and Eton Riverside, Vic felt an anguish and despair she had never experienced before in her whole life. She wanted to crawl out of herself to escape what was happening to her. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be alive anymore, but she just didn’t know where she wanted to be. She had always loved catching a glimpse of the London Eye on the city’s skyline, especially at Christmas time, when it was all lit up. She also delighted in staring into the various offices and flats which looked out over the busy tracks outside Waterloo station. But today these small joys eluded her.
Sipping discreetly from the first of the three miniature bottles of wine she had bought on her way to the station, Victoria stared out of the window, her eyes blurring with tears she blinked away, in complete and utter shock. The tipsy chatter that surrounded her from those who’d been for an after-work Christmas drink soon became white noise as she imagined how Nate – and everyone else she loved, for that matter – would react on her telling them that she was now a woman living with HIV. But if she had it, Nate would have it! Maybe he knew already and just couldn’t tell her. Maybe that was why he had stopped pestering her for sex after Brighton. But no, if he knew, they surely wouldn’t have slept together at the wedding. He would never do that to her. Or, shit, maybe that was when she had contracted it. Vic’s face screwed up in anguish. None of this was making sense in her head now.
People talking far too loudly on their phones about their day, or communicating about what time they were getting to a particular station for their lift home, were really beginning to annoy her. Opposite her, a good-looking guy in a long, smart black coat was listening quietly to an iPod with his earphones, nodding his head away to whatever tune was taking his fancy. Taking in his chiselled features made Vic suddenly realise that if she and Nate were to split, she would be single for the rest of her life, because who in their right mind would want to sleep with someone with a metaphorical grenade up their fanny?
All these commuters carrying on with their normal lives, not having any clue what was going on within her mind – or body, for that matter – made her want to scream out loud, ‘Do you realise what’s happening to me?!’ ‘Do you care?!’ But on the other hand, she felt so dead inside she wanted to keep everything in, to not let anyone know what was going on. Because if she were to let out her emotions, or the fact that she had HIV, the reactions of others would be too intense for her own shattered self to cope.
The sexual health nurse could not have been nicer, but she had also been very matter-of-fact, leaving Vic under no illusion that she had a serious health condition and that life as she knew it had changed forever.
As if taking comfort from mother’s milk, and not caring what anyone thought of her, she kept her lips around the tiny necks of the wine bottles, downing them one by one until all three were empty.
Vic felt wobbly as she got up and made her way along the platform and to the public toilet at Windsor and Eton Riverside station. After peeing like a horse, she emerged in a complete daze. She loved the fact that it was cold and the wind in her face was biting. It was as if enduring the Arctic temperature was punishment for the mess she had got herself into.
She headed straight for the river and began to walk the path she had trodden so many times – times when the problems she had been facing had seemed so great. But now that her health was affected, she realised that without your health you had nothing. She had wasted so much time sweating over so much small stuff, all of which had had a clear solution. Solutions that she had been too much of a coward to carry through.
In a haze of alcohol and foreboding, she walked and thought. She passed Jake’s boat. It looked so warm and welcoming with its fairy lights and the cosy orange glow coming from the tiny windows. A bright red poinsettia sat on one sill, a miniature Christmas tree on another. A sudden childhood memory of long summer holidays, when Jake would allow her and Albie to run wild on deck, whilst he and her mother sat chatting in the sun, flitted across her mind. The recollection of such simple, beautiful times now felt like a different lifetime.
Knowing she wasn’t in the right frame of mind to speak to the old family friend, she sped up. She couldn’t see or tell anyone – not today, for this was her day of reckoning. Of processing what was happening inside her, and thinking about what her future may hold. Of punishing herself for being so stupid as to trust the one man she had thought would never fail her.
It wasn’t until she reached her favourite bench that she stopped. Looking around to check that she was alone, she finally allowed herself to cry, and the crying became so intense and powerful that her whole body shook from head to toe. An explosion of anger, resentment, disbelief – but mainly fear: terrible fear. When she felt like her body was empty of everything, she reached into her handbag for a tissue and her hand fell on the leaflets that Sandra had given her. Scrabbling for the miniature torch that had fallen out of the posh crackers her brother had probably nicked from somewhere last Christmas, and which had remained in the detritus at the bottom of her bag ever since, she began to read from one of them. If she focused on the words she could ignore the pain in her heart that threatened to consume her. But as she read that Terrence Lionel Seymour Higgins was one of the first people known to die of an AIDS-related illness, at just thirty-seven years old in 1982, the tears took over again. Soon she, too, would be that age, and it was so young.
When she had cried herself out, she wiped her face and forced herself to carry on reading. Born in Wales, Higgins felt alienated because of his sexuality. He moved to London, worked in the House of Commons by day and as a bartender and DJ by night. Higgins collapsed at the iconic Heaven nightclub and was admitted to hospital, where he died. The Terry Higgins Trust was formed in 1982by a concerned group of community members and Terry’s friends. It was named after him to personalise and humanise the issue of AIDS. It was formalised in August 1983, when it adopted a constitution and opened a bank account, and the name of the trust was changed ( Terrence rather than Terry ) to sound more formal. They offered support, understanding and information – all of which Vic sorely needed, right now.
She took out her phone. Shaking as she dialled the number, she was greeted by the soft, kind voice of a man. ‘Hello, THT Direct. How can I help you? ’
She began to blurt, ‘Hello, I’m Victoria. I found out today that I have HIV. I’m a bit drunk. Sorry.’ Vic let out another massive sob.
‘Today, you say. Well, I’m so glad you have called us, Victoria. My name is Brian and I’m here to listen. Feel free to talk or rant to me, I’m not going anywhere. You can ask me anything you like. It’s totally confidential here.’
His friendly, casual manner was a balm to Vic’s torn and battered soul.
‘It’s just so frightening,’ Vic wailed. ‘I haven’t told anyone yet and I don’t know how to, and I think my boyfriend has given it to me, which means he has it too. It’s just such a mess.’ She let out another explosive sob, and the man waited for her to settle.
‘So you tested because you thought your boyfriend has the virus, is that right?’
‘No.’ A weird little squeak came from her throat. ‘I didn’t know I had it. I just had a sexual health check and I found out then. And I have slept with someone else, but that was before… I just don’t know what to do.’
‘I can hear that you are very upset, Victoria, and it’s OK to feel that way after finding out about your diagnosis. Have you got an appointment arranged with a doctor yet?’
Vic sniffed. ‘Yes, tomorrow, at the Chelsea and Westminster. Happy Christmas to me.’ She let out a funny noise between a laugh and a cry. ‘I’m drunk – did I mention that? I’m sorry to call you when I’m drunk.’
‘Are you feeling OK at the moment?’
‘Yes. I had terrible flu recently so I’m a bit knackered, but I’m OK – physically, at least.’
‘That’s good you’re feeling OK now.’ The man’s understanding tone began to soothe her. ‘I was diagnosed a couple of years ago. I take tablets and my viral load is stable. I have a loving partner whom I met after my diagnosis. HIV isn’t the death sentence it used to be, Victoria, and research is ongoing and effective. There is hope that there will be a cure one day.’
‘Really?’ Vic sniffed.
‘Yes, really. Do you understand what having HIV means?’
‘I think so. The woman at the clinic gave me the basics, and a few leaflets, which I skimmed through. I want to understand it, though. What’s on my mind right now is just how huge the stigma is. I’m guilty of it myself. I didn’t even think women could get HIV.’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘How ignorant is that?’
‘You are not alone in that,’ the man replied kindly.
The stark reality of it all was beginning to sober Vic up. ‘I do remember seeing Princess Diana supporting the cause. You would have thought that she, of all people, would have been able to change people’s minds about it.’
‘She really did help massively, God rest her soul.’ Brian’s voice lifted slightly. ‘The London Lighthouse was remarkably close to her heart – it was amazing when she visited and got the press on board. It might be somewhere you want to go when you feel up to it. They host meetings where you will be able to gain any information you may need about living with the virus, or you can just go along and chat in general with people who understand, and, of course, won’t judge.’
Vic felt suddenly overwhelmed at this stranger’s outpouring of pure kindness.
‘Did you feel you could talk to people when you were diagnosed? I feel like I want to just hide away,’ Vic blubbered.
‘From my experience, everybody deals with it differently and it’s a great start that you’ve called us, so well done for that. The reason I do what I do is because the charity was, and still is, a lifeline for me.’
‘That’s so good to hear. Did your friends and family understand?’
‘Some of them. There will be people out there who can support you, Victoria, even if it is only a small community – and if not, then Terrence Higgins is always here for you. As are other charities. You don’t even have to tell anyone outside those who may be at risk if you don’t want to.’
Victoria started crying again. ‘Thank you, thank you so much… I forgot your name. Sorry.’
‘Brian. I’m Brian.’
‘Brian. You’ve been brilliant.’ Vic felt a wave of gratitude to this man just for being there. There was so much she needed to know, so much she would have to face now. ‘Before I go, is there anything else I should know, or that might be helpful for me to understand. I’m going to have to work out how to tell people, and I can’t even begin to think how to do that…’
‘Well, you need to know that some people are still terrified of HIV. They don’t understand it. They still do think it is a death sentence and they’re going to catch it from you. But in reality, it is a very fragile virus that doesn’t survive outside the body for long. And despite the misconceptions of so many, it can’t be transmitted through sweat, urine or saliva.’
Vic hadn’t even thought about that, but it was such a relief to hear it. ‘So, I can’t pass it on to my flatmate, for example if we share a cup or a towel, or have a hug?’
‘No. All of those things are perfectly safe – and you’ll be needing some of those hugs.’
Vic inhaled a deep breath of freezing air, which made her feel slightly giddy. She let out a little moan. ‘And how on earth am I going to tell the person who gave it to me?’
‘Everyone is going to react differently, Victoria, and they may not react in the way you expect. I would suggest that you are in a quiet place and have a leaflet handy about transmission. And maybe tell them how easy it was for you to get tested and suggest they go and seek medical care as soon as they can.’
‘It’s going to be so awful.’ Vic sniffed.
‘It’s going to be emotional, that’s for sure,’ Brian replied kindly. ‘And of course, you can obviously direct them to us if they need support.’
Vic shivered dramatically.
‘How do you feel now we’ve been chatting for a while?’
She hiccupped loudly. ‘Still shit, but better than I did. Thank you. Thank you so much. And happy Christmas, Brian. You’re amazing, do you know that?’
‘Get some rest if you can,’ Brian said gently. ‘Make sure to check out our website. You really are not alone. I can assure you of that. And do call us, whenever you need to.’
Arriving at her mum’s, Victoria hugged Chandler like she had never hugged him before, opened the back door to let him out for a pee, cranked up the heating, then went to the kitchen sink and downed half a pint of water. She could hear the television blaring in the living room. She went in and found her mother sound asleep, head back, mouth open, snoring, a half-empty litre bottle of vodka on the coffee table. Taking a big slurp from it herself, with a grimace, Vic turned off the TV.
Then she noticed that the familiar well-worn familiar Christmas tree had been decorated, and felt a small glimmer of hope. The battered white lace-dressed angel that had been in the decorations box ever since she could remember was sitting with her silver legs hanging over the side of the mantelpiece. Two envelopes, one with her name, one with Albie’s, were propped up beside it. She ripped at her own to reveal a To My Darling Daughter -embossed Christmas card. Inside a twenty-pound WH Smith voucher and the words: Thought you could get some drawing bits and pieces. I only just realised the word HEART contained the word ART. No wonder you’re good at it. Happy Christmas, Victoria. Love, Mum XX
Silent tears began to fall down Victoria’s cheeks. With the shield of alcohol wearing off, and feeling suddenly spent with emotion, she took off her coat, slumped down on the floor and rested her back against the sofa beside her mum’s legs. Placing a throw she had pulled from the armchair around them both as if they were in some kind of cocoon, she laid her head back on her mum’s knee.
Alcoholic or not, this was the only mum she would ever have, and she loved her. She loved her with all her heart. This was the mum who, when Vic had been sick as a child, would make her Heinz tomato soup and put mashed potato in it. The mum who would go straight down the shop and get her Lucozade as soon as she had a ‘bug’. The mum who would put a cool flannel on her head when she had a temperature, or calamine lotion on her itchy spots when she came down with chicken pox. And boy, did those spots itch! The mum who would sing ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’ to her baby girl when she or Vic were feeling sad, as it got to number one the year Vic had been born and Kath loved it. And the mum who would fight her every corner at school if for one moment she thought her precious girl was being treated unfairly.
Whether Kath Sharpe would be able to comfort her only daughter when the darkness came and pain was all around, Victoria didn’t know. But what she did know was that the only person in the entire world she wanted to be with at this moment in time was her.
When Victoria awoke with a jump from a weird, unsettling dream in which she was trying to drive up a sheer mountainside in a London bus, it took her a second to work out where she was. Lying on the sofa with the throw up to her neck, it seemed, and Chandler a dead weight on her feet. For one glorious moment, she felt happy to be surrounded by such familiarity. Then it all came rushing back and reality hit. Life as she once knew it really was well and truly over .
Pleased at least that the heating had clicked on, she brought her watch close to her face and squinted at it, just about able to make out that it was seven a.m. With her mouth dry as a desert, she pulled her feet gently out from under Chandler and made her way out into the hall. As she did, she heard heavy snoring coming from the dining room. Perplexed, she poked her head around the door to make out the silhouette of her mother under a mountain of covers, on what looked like Albie’s old single bed. Vic was just wondering how Kath had got up off the sofa and herself back onto it without her realising, and why her mother was now sleeping downstairs, when Chandler came tearing into the hall. Shushing him, Victoria splashed her face in the kitchen sink, put on her coat, then groaned at the thought of having to head back to London for her hospital appointment.
Wishing she hadn’t been quite so rash in her need for comfort and familiarity, and hoping Kath had been so drunk that she hadn’t realised that her only daughter had even been there, she reached for the dog’s lead and whispered: ‘Just a quick walk out the front, mister, then I must get to the station.’