Dark Night of the Soul

Chapter 9

Saturday morning.

If our task is to cross a river, we cannot cross it without a bridge or a boat. Unless the bridge or boat problem is solved, it is idle to speak of crossing the river. Unless the problem of method is solved, talk about the task is useless.

Anna awakes with a start, her forehead clammy, bolt upright staring at the bare wall at the foot of her bed. Was it all a dream? She shakes herself awake and shudders as snapshot memories of the previous day try to force themselves into her mind. 'I thought I'd changed,' she muses to herself, 'become a better person. Perhaps I'll never escape my past. Does anyone?' As she props herself up against her pillow she sees something sticking out from under the mattress. Reaching down she takes it out: a faded, dog-eared polaroid. Two young girls, squinting into the sun eating dripping ice-lollies. The thoughts she tried so hard to suppress push themselves to the surface.

Alex. It was a name she struggled to say out loud. Her big, bright, beautiful sister had always been the one to pick her up when she fell, to hide her secrets from their over-protective parents. Alex had been the popular one at school as well as being teachers' pet.

But they had grown apart after Alex left home to marry Dan Walker. He was older than her, on his way to becoming a consultant neurosurgeon. Alex worshipped the ground he walked on, it really was quite pathetic. As time wore on, she had become unbearably smug, condescending and judgemental.

At the same time, Anna's life was beginning to unravel. She felt she could never compete with Alex academically, but found her home in drama classes. Finally, she could play the roles of someone else: someone successful, attractive, desirable. Like her big sister. Anna threw herself into performing, encouraged by her teachers. She revelled in the attention from the audience. Her first, and deepest, love was with them, the eyeless crowd in the dark. She would forget they were there until the eruption of applause as the curtain fell. Other relationships, 'real' relationships, were more difficult. And painful.

One day she met a BBC TV producer called Jonathan. She had been hanging out at the local theatre bar where all the young hopefuls dreamed of being whisked off their feet. She had felt Jonathan's eyes on her as she told one of her over-dramatic stories. Everyone laughed too loudly. When Anna looked up, slightly embarrassed by the fakeness of it all, he was still staring. He was very ordinary looking, wearing chinos and a crumpled pink shirt, but something drew her to him.

Later, she brushed past him on her way to the cloakroom. He had touched her wrist and caused her to shudder. That was the start. He had whispered something in her ear and before she knew it, she was scribbling her phone number on one of his fancy business cards.

From that day on, she lived in Jonathan's shadow. 'You have something, Anna. Something special,' he used to say, 'something you can show the world.' Anna trusted him implicitly. Jonathan rose through the ranks in the BBC and eventually was given his own series to direct; a set of challenging kitchen-sink dramas of grime and poverty. Anna was the lead actress. The critics in the Guardian and the New Statesman lauded her, tipping her as 'the next big thing', but the audiences at home were left cold. Dwindling viewing figures caused the series to be cancelled, and Jonathan was moved to another department. He had one more chance to make a successful show or it was back to the penury of the theatre.

Anna had tried to be understanding but years of trying vainly to impress TV executives had led her to develop a drug habit. At first it had been a snort of cocaine to give her confidence; she never could shake the feeling that she was worthless and second best. But before long, coke wasn't enough. Anna found herself turning to heroin. 'It will be the death of me,' she thought.

At his lowest point, Jonathan had called all of his eager interns to a brainstorming session. 'No-one leaves this room until we have a hit TV series,' he had bellowed. One bright spark, an over-ambitious PPE graduate from Oxford, had suggested a trippy kids' TV show. Speeding miniature trains, doleful air-balloons, a jumpy blue boy with a blanket, and a singing girl who slept in a bed in the middle of a bright green field. Jonathan had nothing to lose. His own addled brain had no better ideas, but at least he came up with the name 'In The Night Garden'.

Soon, all of Jonathan's time was spent creating the new programme while Anna sank further into herself, and her drugs.

When it came to the casting, Jonathan knew Anna must be Upsy Daisy. His muse. She could play anything. Anna felt she had little choice. Despite the critics' plaudits she had been out of work for months. Reluctantly, she donned the hot, furry costume for what she thought was ten 30-minute episodes.

Jonathan hadn't noticed how emaciated Anna had become over the months. All he could see was Upsy Daisy. He glowed with excitement every time she stepped on to the set. He didn't hear the sobbing behind the mask.

The only person who really knew Anna was Alex. She had spotted the very first mark on Anna's arm, when she had embarked on heroin's downward spiral. She had even tried to send her to rehab. Dan knew a wonderful doctor who could make her better, she had boasted.

Anna couldn't cope with the intrusion and lived in constant fear that Jonathan would find out. He was like an excitable child; she couldn't bear to let him down.

But Alex would not leave her alone. She would sit outside Anna's flat in her Range Rover, a smug smile playing on her face. If Anna tried to ignore her, Alex would call up to her window in her cloying, sweet voice. Anna was feeling more and more suffocated. The insipid inanity of her acting job, her insufferable sister still trying to rule her life, the constant need for that narcotic blanket to numb her life.

As In The Night Garden became a global sensation, everyone wanted to know about the actors behind the costumes. Anna ignored the journalists who offered to tell 'her story'. Tens of thousands of pounds they said, but she couldn't bear the thought of people knowing it was her in that awful costume. But when they contacted Alex, she saw a chance to finally fix her little sister. She called Anna to meet her for a walk. Hyde Park, 10am, Monday morning. 'I'll tell them everything, Anna,' Alex said. 'Just quit the drugs for good. Dan will help you. Please, Anna.'

Anna had just stared at Alex, her brain struggling to connect thoughts. 'I really do need help,' she thought. Alex's voice droned on. Dan, Dan, wonderful Dan.

They stopped on a path at the end of the Serpentine, where Alex had swum all through the summer. Anna tried to focus on the swans skidding across the ice. A darkness raged through her mind and her muscles twitched involuntarily.

As if possessed, she gave Alex an almighty shove towards the frozen lake. Alex fell through the ice, leaving her handbag behind. Anna stood, arms folded, as Alex plunged into the water. Bubbles rose to the surface and Anna almost thought she could hear Alex's voice as she disappeared from view.

Again, the darkness dominated and she walked slowly away, back through the park, past the roller skaters and runners. Life would never be the same again but she couldn't turn back.

Propping herself up in bed, Anna turns the faded photograph over: 'To my dearest Anna, All my love, Alex Walker (Big Sis) xx'. Pushing the photo back under her mattress she leans back against her pillow and weeps.