Clark - Secrets for the mad: obsessions, confessions, and life lessons

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An Imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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Copyright 2017 by Dodie Clark

Cover design by Dave Brown Apeinc.co.uk

Cover illustration Benjamin Phillips BenjaminPhillips.co.uk

Originally published in Great Britain in 2017 by Ebury. Ebury is one of the Penguin Random House group companies.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Keywords Press Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

First Keywords Press/Atria Paperback edition November 2017

Keywords Press/ and colophons are trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Clark, Dodie, author.

Title: Secrets for the mad : obsessions, confessions, and life lessons / Dodie Clark.

Description: New York : Atria/Keywords Press, 2017. | Includes bibliographical references and index.

Identifiers: LCCN 2017043514 (print) | LCCN 2017035858 (ebook) | ISBN 9781501180118 (ebook) | ISBN 9781501180101 (paperback)

Subjects: LCSH: Clark, Dodie. | BloggersUnited StatesBiography. | Authors, English21st centuryBiography. | BISAC: BIOGRAPHY & AUTOBIOGRAPHY / Personal Memoirs.

Classification: LCC PR6103.L37253 (print) | LCC PR6103.L37253 Z46 2018 (ebook) | DDC 823/.92 [B]dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017035858

ISBN 978-1-5011-8010-1

ISBN 978-1-5011-8011-8 (ebook)

Hey Sammy, who should I dedicate my book to?

Sammys weight falls to one side, his movements suddenly flamboyant. Pouting cheekily, he struts past, hand on hip.

Me.

This is for Sammy.

SECRET FOR THE MAD

Ive got a secret for the mad;

in a little bit of time it wont hurt so bad.

And I get that I dont get it

but you will burn right now but then you wont regret it.

Youre not gonna believe a word I say,

whats the point in just drowning another day?

And I get that I dont get it

but the world will show you that you wont regret it.

Little things, all the stereotypes,

theyre gonna help you get through this one night,

and there will be a day when you can say youre okay and mean it!

I promise you, itll all make sense again.

Theres nothing to do right now but try;

there are a hundred people who will listen to you cry.

And I get that they dont get it

but they love you so much that you wont regret it.

Youre at the bottom, this is it;

just get through, you will be fixed.

And you think that I dont get it

but I burned my way through and I dont regret it.

Little things, all the stereotypes,

theyre gonna help you get through this one night,

and there will be a day when you can say youre okay and mean it!

I promise you, itll all make sense again.

Is she alright?

Its a sunny spring day in April and my flatmate, Hazel, and I are on our balcony. Jack, Hazels boyfriend, is making us a cup of tea inside and singing to himself playfully, a light soundtrack of clinks and hums. Below us, about twenty metres away, theres a young girl in her early teens in a black puffa coat sitting on the kerb of the road by a tree and staring off into space. Every now and again the wind blows her hair and she breaks out of her spell, tucking it behind her ear, shuffling her legs and looking around, before settling back into her daze. Shes been sitting there for about half an hour while mums push their prams by, barely double taking, their kids running around them like maypole dancers.

Hazel frowns and leans over the balcony.

Shes not, no. She looks like shes... getting away a bit.

I give her a knowing look.

Ive been there.

Ive been there, she echoes immediately. We grin at each other and my chest aches as I remember sitting alone on the swings in the park down my road, teeth chattering, head spinning, snot running. Hazel shivers a similar memory has clearly also just been replayed. We turn back to the girl and sympathetically watch her pick apart her shoes and poke sticks into the ground.

Should we invite her in? Make her a cup of tea?

Im the one making the tea. Whats this? Jack joins us outside, handing us full hot mugs and collapsing into a garden chair thats facing the sun.

Hazel gestures towards the tree. That girl over there. Shes not alright.

Jack leans forward in his chair and peers over the edge.

The girl hugs her chest with folded arms.

Ah, shes fine. Shes probably just waiting for someone.

Clearly, no chilling memory plays in Jacks head.

* * *

We finish our tea in the sunshine, a happy cycle of side eyes and cackles from Jack as he winds us up, and returned tuts and playful smacks from me and Hazel. They grab their sunglasses and bags and ask if I want to come to town for lunch, but I tell them I want to write today and that Ill join them later for a movie night and spaghetti bolognese round Jacks. We sing our goodbyes, I hear the door close, and then a minute later I hear them shout my nickname from the street.