by Janet Preece
Walking towards the door, she listened once more, a final check that nobody was going to interrupt her, before emptying pill after pill, painkillers, antibiotics, sleeping tablets, antidepressants; years of horded medication, siphoned off family prescriptions to build up her escape. ‘Every bride needs a bottom drawer’, she recalled those words from her mother, when she’d played dress up with her jewellery as a little girl. Her earliest memory, or maybe just her only happy childhood memory.
She stood up, her knees creaking as she admired the array of coloured sweeties spread across the floor, wondering how many would pop open easily, like in the movies, letting out an untraceable white powder, the secret to oblivion.
Her watch showed it to be nearly 10 in the morning, she had time.
Could I, a little taste?
Just a little bit would do no harm, just a peaceful dream, an outing into a world where life is repaired, as it should be. Besides, if she took too much, she’d never know anyway, wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences herself, then it would be up to Dan.
◆ ◆ ◆
She awoke to the sound of William and Jack shouting, arguing, banging about, but not asking for her, thankfully as Julie felt her head was going to explode if she didn’t vomit first. School must be over and with it, freedom gone. She’d slept on Tommy’s bed, grateful that she’d put the extra medication away beforehand while waiting for the drugs to kick-in. She was constantly surprised at how slow sleeping pills were to work their magic and how many she needed to knock her out for a substantial amount of time. She only wished she’d left just one out to take the edge off the hammering migraine that was crushing her skull.
Note to self, 1 less Triazolam next time and maybe an extra Xanax instead?
Through the haze, she heard her phone ping. It was Rachel, from the book club: All good for this Friday! Excellent! A night out at last – as long as Dan let her go.
She scooped herself off the bed, smoothed the covers and groggily walked down the stairs and out the door. Didn’t tell the boys she was off to pick up Tommy, didn’t want to see them, didn’t want to hear them, not in her current state. Maybe if she walked she’d be late enough to miss the other nosy judgemental parents, it’s not like she could drive anyway with that concoction likely still raging through her system. She leant over the curb and heaved, her head pounding all the more. Life just wasn’t fair.
Chapter Six
Julie: Sorry, can’t make it tonight, something’s come up xx
Julie sent the message to the book club group and sat down on her bed to look at the pile of reject clothing on the floor. She had nothing to wear despite a visually full wardrobe. The others would all be gorgeous and glamorous, dressed to impress like ladies do for each other. It had seemed like such a good idea when she made the plan, right up until the moment it was time to leave. Julie looked down as her phone started to ring. Rachel. She’s not taking no for an answer.
She picked up. ‘Hello?’
‘There is no way you’re staying home, not even if I have to drag your sorry arse down the street in your pyjamas. We haven’t seen you in ages!’
‘But I’m not feeling well,’ Julie started. ‘The kids are playing up – I need to help settle them.’
‘Nope, no excuses accepted. Let that lazy arse Dan do something for a change. Get your glad rags on, slap on the war paint and out you come. You need it, damn it. You deserve it, girl! I’ll see you at eight p.m., and if you’re not there, I’m coming to get you!’
The phone went dead as Rachel hung up. Julie sat staring at it. Well, it would be easier to just get over there than face the alternative. She didn’t want Rachel coming over to confront Dan – she knew how much they hated each other and avoided contact at every opportunity.
With a sigh, she picked up her long black dress with mini polka-dots. Very Eighties. It did nothing for her cankles, but it would have to do. She lifted it over her head, arms outstretched and tried to shuffle it down but it wouldn’t budge past her shoulders – and there was nobody there she could ask to help without humiliating herself. She tried to take it off but was stuck tight, feeling the warmth rising to her cheeks and the panic threatening to attack any second.
As she angled her body forward to give her tunnel vision through the overhead opening, she felt for the nail scissors and made contact. A few minutes later and she was free, the shredded dress lying deformed on the floor at her feet.
She assessed herself in the mirror. At five foot five, Julie had slim arms and a long upper body, which gave way to stumpy legs and an oversized stomach. She reached for one of the many grey tops in her wardrobe with matching slacks, feeling frumpy and way older than her forty years. They were supposed to hang loosely but everything was skin tight. She looked pale and gaunt, her eyelids drooping down, taunting her with the suggestion that a migraine might be imminent. She wanted to cry but couldn’t let Rachel down.
Pinching her cheeks, she remembered how her mum used to do the same thing to her when she was a little girl, before she left for school. Always act the part, darling, don’t let your front down.
A simple pinch of colour wasn’t going to cut it tonight – not with the book ladies. After applying an overzealous amount of blush, she reached for the lipstick, then thought better of it. It would only end up smeared over her face or on her teeth or would be wiped off before she even got there. Plus, if she was going to kiss the kids goodbye, there would be none of that. They seemed to have a phobia of lipstick – or was it kisses? Who knew? They hadn’t always been so lacking in affection.
Growing boys. Growing away; a natural progression. The pull towards independence.
‘Have a lovely evening, boys! Enjoy your lads’ night!’ Julie shouted, reaching for her leather jacket. It made her feel expensive. She’d owned it for years but saved it to wear on special occasions only.
It was a cold night, and the coat wouldn’t keep her warm – or dry, if it rained – but it made her feel a bit less mumsy, so it was a necessity for an evening out. Impractical clothing. That was what nights out with the girls were all about. They’d be more appreciative of her outfit than any man could ever be. She wanted them to feel envy, but doubted that was possible.
‘Bye, love you!’ Dan called from the gaming room.
Wow, she thought, he’s obviously too engrossed in his game to realise what he’s saying.
She could hear the excited giggles around the house and the boys settling in for their big gaming extravaganza, knowing they had ordered in kebabs, which were on their way. Julie felt redundant, worried for nothing that she couldn’t go out and leave them when, really, they were absolutely fine. More than fine. They seemed in a party mood.
Slamming the door behind her, she wobbled over to the car, out of practice and walking in her neglected heels and much more akin to her trainers. Just make the effort tonight, she told herself, the other girls will notice.
Bollocks, she’d forgotten her house key. Julie begrudgingly hobbled back and rang her doorbell, her feet already blistering from her impractical footwear choice. No answer – they all had their headsets on. She rang again and again. Seriously? She was already late from all her dilly-dallying.
Finally, Tommy answered the door.
‘Tommy, why are you getting the door? Dan! Tommy shouldn’t be answering the door!’ She scowled as he ran off, back to his game.
‘Well, it’s a good job he did, or you’d still be standing there ringing. He only got it because he’s hungry. Why are you back anyway? Did you change your mind? Too scared to leave the house?’
Julie grabbed the key and slammed the door, not humouring him with a response.
I’m going to have a great time, she thought, revving the car engine and driving off down the street. When she was safely a few roads away, she pulled over and entered the address in her satnav. She didn’t want to do it in front of the house –
didn’t want Dan to know she had no clue where she was going. Part of her wanted to drive off into the dark and keep going.
‘Proceed to the route, then, in two hundred yards, turn left,’ the American voice instructed.
She turned the radio on: Talk-Sport, of course. Fiddling with the control, Julie tried to access some sort of music, any type, but it just wasn’t happening. She turned it off rather than pull over again and risk being even later. She really didn’t want Rachel turning up at her house and having a go at Dan. It was a shame the two had never really hit it off, but Julie didn’t care if people didn’t like him. Hell, half the time, she didn’t either!
On arrival at the party, Julie couldn’t find a spot to park anywhere near the house, so she had to drive two roads down and squeeze her seven-seater Vauxhall Zafira between a fancy sports car and a Tesla. She hit the curb a few times and heard the hubcaps scrape as she went in too close. Oh, shit, she thought, Dan’s going to go crazy! She would have to worry about that tomorrow though. Everyone had clearly arrived early.
What happened to being fashionably late? When mums were let out, they needed to grab their time with both hands and run before the bedtime routine began – and if they could avoid making dinner too, then freedom!
Ding dong.
Nope, not ding dong. Extravagant church bell chimes played to a classical tune as Julie stood outside the double doors on the Greek pillared porch. Now, that’s a house! As the doors opened, Julie felt everything move in slow motion. White carpets, women in fancy gowns with champagne glasses and immaculate nails. A buzz of contented chatter came wafting out.
‘Come in! You must be Julie! Rachel warned me you were running late, so we’re still on canopies and champagne. Would you like one?’ Laura, the hostess, greeted with a clearly expensive smile. She was as glamorous as they came: a big-shot lawyer in the city by all accounts, single (on paper) yet never on her own. Laura was the life and soul of the party, with all the etiquette Julie had only ever read about in novels. Gorgeously sassy, with every curve defined in the skin-tight dress that looked like it had been poured on.
Wow, Julie thought, she’s living the dream. She couldn’t even contemplate bridging the gap between their two realities. Nerves buzzed in her stomach as she followed Laura down the hall, where a waiter approached with a tray of champagne glasses.
‘Okay, just one, thanks. I’m driving.’
She wanted to down it, take the edge off her humiliation at how inappropriately dressed she was in comparison with what seemed more like The Oscars than a book club.
‘Hi, stranger!’ came Rachel’s voice, interrupting her thoughts as she bounded around the corner. Julie grabbed onto her friend and they squeezed in a proper hug – someone who genuinely wanted to greet her, it was a rarity.
With a sip of her champagne, Julie relaxed a little and willed the glass to last until home time so she wouldn’t have idle hands. Why did she feel so self-conscious when she wasn’t holding a glass? It wasn’t about the alcohol, only the natural break a sip provided during an awkward pause in conversation. Looking around, she felt way too conspicuous in her drab clothing, thought any moment she’d be approached and asked to refill glasses as one of the hired help, God forbid, that would be humiliating.
How did they all get away with wearing glitzy jewellery too, she wondered, when most of them had little children? Maybe they all had nannies handling the day-to-day, safe without fear of a child’s hand reaching up with the single warning – ‘Pretty!’ – before the strangling dance began. With a quick, well-aimed hand or three, most of her own jewellery was destroyed and now sat bead-free, while her precious jewels adorned the redundant toy boxes.
‘Let’s go and sit down so we can have a proper catch up,’ Rachel said. She led the way into what could only be described as the ballroom – way too big for a lounge, but too fancy for a dining room (Julie suspected that was in another wing of the house). An imposing chandelier dropped far too low for safety despite the high ceilings and wood beams. The Art Deco style was like an image from Pinterest: a collage of old and new; an expensive way to make modern decoration look like it had been there for hundreds of years. It seemed to work. The effect was trendy and artistic. If Julie tried to replicate it, she would have to buy a whole shop and still wouldn’t get it right.
As they walked in, she couldn’t help but think of the potential dangers the room presented. The chandelier, obviously, could fall down, crushing the people beneath it while they danced in the ballroom (or was that a scene from Titanic?). A single shard of glass could fall from one of its many droplets and pierce the heart of an unlucky reveller below. The love dance would be broken forever. The victim’s Romeo would find her, remove the offensive object, gather her in his arms and weep for his lost love before uniting himself in death with his Juliet, using the same instrument of her demise for a torturous farewell.
And don’t get me started on the wood beams and fire hazards. Where’s the fire blanket? Every good house needs a fire blanket! She was mesmerised by the high ceilings, imagining smoke billowing up in clouds and hearing classical music as it swirled around in beautiful waves before devouring the whole house. There were no regulation smoke alarms wired into the main frame. Art had won on this occasion, but would death take its revenge?
‘So, what have you been up to, and why haven’t we seen you in forever?’ Rachel asked, startling Julie from her thoughts.
She smiled at her friend. Yep, back in the room, girl. What had she said?
‘Julie, what’s going on with you? Has Dan chained you to the kitchen sink?’
‘Oh, no, erm…everything’s fine. It’s just he’s working a lot, so I’m stuck home with the kids.’ In reality, she had simply let her social life slide.
Before, she and Dan frequently went out together – with friends or just the two of them – but now, he was coming home later and later and crashing out on the sofa in front of the television. To be honest, she didn’t miss it. On Friday nights, the thought of braving the elements to go out drinking with friends, chat-shouting above the din of a club, surrounded by a load of teenagers wearing the equivalent of underwear, was far from the top of her list. Food was the priority these days. Food and sleep and a glass of wine. Only the one, so she wouldn’t be punished at six a.m. when Tommy came in to wake her.
How could she explain to Rachel that it wasn’t the fact she didn’t want to see her friends, it was just that she couldn’t be bothered – not when the alternative was a quick message and a browse of Facebook from underneath her blanket. That would bring her right up to speed and allow her to enjoy the TV in the warm.
Julie realised she was daydreaming, watching her friend talk but not taking in her words. She was a bad friend.
‘Sorry,’ Julie said. ‘I’ve not been sleeping, and I’m just exhausted all the time. To be honest, I’m a bit fed up with being at home every day.’ She knew this would trigger a response and get Rachel talking more. It was an ongoing battle with her friends to try and reintegrate her into society. She was their pet project. Did Rachel really even like her? What was there to like? What did she really bring to the party? A building regulator’s to-do list?
Rachel looked seriously at her friend. ‘Come on, Julie, that’s not like you! What’s getting you down? Is it Dan? Or the kids? Most people get fed up if they spend too much time together, that’s why they escape off to work. I don’t know how you do it!’
‘Have you thought about going back to work? Introduce something in your life that’s about you rather than the family. What did you do before you had children?’
Here we go again… Many of the book club girls had met as new mums, desperate for distraction so in those days, they at least shared that in common. Rachel remained childless though, choosing to concentrate on her career, which she loved with a passion. She was a neighbour of one of the mums who’d hosted the first book club, and Julie had hit i
t off with her almost immediately. Rachel represented escapism; a dream-turned-reality of how Julie’s life could be in some alternate dimension.
One by one, all of her other book club mumsy friends had scurried off back to their careers. But not Julie. She had hated her job, hadn’t yet discovered her true passion and didn’t think juggling a young family and searching for a new career would do either of them justice. No, she and Dan had decided they would rather adapt their lives to live on a reduced budget than have her go back to work.
It used to be wonderful, in the early days. It was still okay for the most part, but she couldn’t help feeling… unnecessary? Inconsequential? A wave of annoyance washed over her every time people asked where she worked – followed by their feigned surprise trying to cover disdain.
‘Ooh, lucky you! I wish I didn’t have to work, but we just couldn’t manage without my wages,’ was the usual response, she’d heard it all before – over and over and over again.
Yes, clearly, you’d only manage one world cruise a year instead of the five you can afford now. It always made her feel guilty to think that way. Guilty pleasure.
But with Rachel, it was different. She was free by choice; she chose to work and was so enthusiastic. What could Julie say to placate her?
‘I’ve always fancied myself as a bit of a writer,’ she threw out there.
‘That’s brilliant! Although, it’s not going to get you out and about meeting people, and I think that’s what you need. Have you ever thought of seeing a life coach? They’re great! Really worked wonders for Sarah over there.’
Julie glanced in the direction she was pointing. She didn’t know Sarah but felt a wave of jealousy at her polished appearance. Julie hated her for it with an unnatural venom, the wealth she exuded. She glanced around the room. When had she turned into such a bitch?
