ward, in turn, gave the hotel manager
my mobile number. I’m now trying to
explain to him that Marina has
bipolar, and she’s not taking her
medication. Usually when people are
ill, they’re only too happy to receive
treatment. But mania can be a
strangely enjoyable experience. Marina
is ecstatically happy; uncontrollably on
top of the world. This is in sharp
contrast to the deep depression that
goes hand in hand with this illness,
and which any sufferer dreads and
knows will follow. So, of course, she
resists it when we try and give her
medication. Why would you want to
take a tablet to take away the best
feeling you’ve ever had? The optimism
mania gives you isn’t founded in reality
but when you’re manic, you can’t see
that. I try and explain this to the hotel
and promise I’ll find a way to pay thebill that doesn’t involve my credit
card. I call back a few days later to
arrange a re-payment plan taken
directly out of Marina’s benefits.
“Oh no, Sir, the bill’s been paid,” says
the manager. I’m confused. “Another
guest settled the bill,” he explains. It
transpires that someone overheard
the commotion and when Marina left,
paid the bill for her. Marina’s delighted
at the news. The following day she
knocks on the door to my office.
“Thank you,” she says, and produces
a package. It’s a cashmere jumper.
“Oh no, Marina,” I shout out, in
total exasperation.
“I couldn’t decide which colour to
get you,” she says. “So I got you all
four shades,” she adds, producing
three more packages.
“Please tell me this is a joke,” I say,
as I put my head in my hands. nAUGUST 2019 • 51ILLUSTRATION BY FRANCES MURPHY