‘They’re not,’ she said, placing them out of view in her lap.
‘It’s a bit late now. It took two attempts for that lighter flame to find the end of your cigarette.’
Alex was hoping that he hadn’t noticed. ‘Jay, what’s wrong?’ she asked, gently. There was a leaden quality to his voice. It was deadened as though all the joy had been sucked out of him.
‘You need help,’ he said, finishing the cappuccino. ‘You need to see someone about your problem. You need something like AA.’
‘You have to be fucking joking,’ she exploded.
Jay shook his head. ‘It’s getting worse and you can’t do anything about it until you get help.’
‘Jay, I love you dearly but you are talking serious shit. I like a few drinks and I’ve had a rough couple of weeks. I’m not a fucking loser.’
Jay shook his head and smiled wryly, as though he’d expected her response.
‘You forget that I’ve seen it before.’
‘I’m not your father.’
He winced at her words. She knew his childhood had been painful because of alcohol, but she wasn’t like that. She knew she could stop if she wanted to, but at the moment she just didn’t want to.
‘You’re exactly like my father. He pulled away from the people who loved him because he was ashamed. He distanced himself from his family so that he became a stranger. He had no involvement in the lives of his children. He had no knowledge of important events in their lives.’
Jay’s voice had grown wistful and Alex knew he was clamouring, knee-deep, through memories of the past.
‘But I’m not like that,’ she said, touching his hand. For a brief moment he left it there as he travelled back to the present. His eyes filled with tears and he gently let go of her hand.
‘Nicolas left me last week for a middle-aged banker.’
‘Oh God, Jay. I’m so sorry. I don’t know—’
Jay stood and tossed a note on to the table. ‘Thanks for being around, friend.’
Alex watched in horror as Jay walked away and disappeared from view. She lit a cigarette and replayed their conversation in her head. She’d lost the only person that she gave a shit about and he’d accused her of being an alcoholic.
Fuck, now she needed a drink.
Nine
Catherine
The collared doves were out early, Catherine realised as she stood at the door. She watched as they stood on the fence, necks stretched, heads bobbing, looking around all the time.
The morning breeze brushed past her cheek. The movement disturbed the conifer in which they were nesting, and the couple disappeared from sight.
She closed the door and poured more coffee, hoping it would take effect soon. She had ground more beans than usual in the hope that the extra caffeine would infuse life and energy into her dormant muscles.
Maybe the third cup would ignite her mind so that she could return to the folders still strewn across the dining table. If only her brain would kick in she could work for another hour or so before Tim and the girls woke.
Her stomach churned at the thought of Tim and the expression on his face the previous evening. He’d been less than thrilled when she’d cried off the reservation he’d made for them all at her favourite restaurant, but she’d consoled him with the promise of a late-night takeaway in front of the TV with the girls, giving her a little extra time to work.
He had not been overjoyed with the idea but had conceded anyway. Three hours later, when she showed no signs of joining them, he ordered pizza for the three of them. The sound of their laughter while watching a Disney film had reached her ears.
She’d been tempted to join them but she knew she couldn’t sit by idly watching the television with so much work still to be done. So she quietly closed the glass doors that separated the two rooms.
Tim had come to stand beside her, silent but with folded arms.
‘I know, I know,’ she defended, without looking at him.
‘You’ve missed Saturday night with your family. It’s now the early hours of Sunday morning.’
‘I have to finish this,’ she said tersely, preparing herself for the battle, but it hadn’t come. Tim had simply looked at her, shaken his head and gone to bed.
‘I had to finish it,’ she explained to the morning sun. The weeks were slipping by and she didn’t feel as though she was on schedule. The majority of the working week was being swallowed by progress meetings, team meetings and brainstorming. Meetings with press, radio and television people to programme adverts.
She was arranging the filming of the first commercial to launch the new brand of cosmetics. She was meeting with her team to work on the campaign to secure the rest of their product lines. And that was the part that was worrying her. The presentation needed her input but she was barely around to offer it, and when she was she felt too strung out from meetings to offer anything remotely creative.
The whole of last night she’d spent analysing the presentation word for word, reviewing the storyboards, trying to refine the language, but her worst fears had been realised. Something was missing.
This presentation didn’t have the same tone or energy or drive of the first one, the one that had won the contract. She could feel the pressure from her bosses to land this second contract. She was sure they had already ordered newer, faster cars, larger, more luxurious houses on the back of it.
In short, there was no room for failure on this and she knew it. She had won the initial contract, so as far as her bosses were concerned, the rest was merely a formality. If only she could be so sure, Catherine thought as she circled the dining table, moving from one brightly painted storyboard to the next. The pitch was right, she knew.
She started moving the boards around in the hope that inspiration would strike and melt the ice block in her mind. Her brain had been so saturated with the minutiae of details that the creative urge had gone to ground.
‘No luck?’ Tim asked, coming to stand beside her. She hadn’t heard him approach.
She shook her head. ‘It’s just not working.’
He moved along the storyboards, sipping coffee as he appraised the ideas.
Catherine followed his eyes, trying to gauge what he might be thinking. His forehead furrowed occasionally and a slight smile tugged at his lips when he reached a section that she had inserted as an afterthought.
‘Well?’ she asked, holding her breath. Even now his opinion meant everything.
‘It’s good.’
‘But?’ she pushed, hearing the unspoken word in his voice.
‘It reminds me of a thousand similar campaigns already running.’
Catherine didn’t take offence at his words. He was only confirming what she’d already been thinking.
‘It’s restrained and safe. A gorgeous model wearing the lipstick, a fresh-faced teenager modelling the skin cream. Nothing new.’
‘I know.’
‘I can’t see much of you in it. It’s unlike you to settle for something like this. I can pick out the parts that are yours but it’s not enough to lift the whole thing.’
Catherine nodded her agreement. ‘I know that it’s missing something but we only have two months left to make the presentation. Trying to rework the whole idea is impossible.’
‘Why?’ he asked, moving back into the kitchen to refill his cup. Catherine followed.
‘Because there’s too much work involved. There’s no way I could pull it off. We’d end up with nothing to present.’
Tim shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t hurt to throw some ideas around.’
‘Really?’ Catherine asked, surprised. It had been so long since Tim had taken an interest in her work that she rarely expected it any more.
‘I can’t pretend I agree with the job you’re doing.’ He held his hands up in defence as Catherine opened her mouth. ‘Wait a minute. It’s not because of the long hours or the work that you bring home each night. It’s not even because I’m forced to watch you work yourself into
the ground or because you now spend zero time with the girls. It’s because it’s not the right job for you.’
‘Tim, please,’ Catherine pleaded. It was too early in the day for an argument.
‘I’m not arguing, honestly. I understand your reasons for wanting promotion and I think you worked hard to get it. You deserved the opportunity but I think you should have turned it down.’
‘Are you mad?’
Tim nodded and smiled. ‘Probably by your standards, I am. The job you did before suited you. It gave you an opportunity to be creative, to think about throwing a different light on something. You loved to push the boundaries and throw unique ideas into the pot. If seven people said yes, then you said no.
‘In your old job you had the chance to dream up scenarios and make them work. You could use your initiative and creativity, your ideas and your thoughts, but it seems to me that you can’t do that any more. You’ve been penned in to the small print of the business. You’re attending meetings all day that are sucking the lifeblood from you. Your brain is too mashed to—’
‘Enough,’ she said, smiling, despite his words. He wasn’t getting at her; he was merely trying to explain his point of view. She understood what he was trying to say, but ultimately the only way was up and much as she had enjoyed her previous job, promotion had been offered to her and she’d had no choice but to accept.
‘Despite that,’ Tim continued. ‘I think if you allow yourself to try and find the ideas that still lurk in the back of your mind you may be able to salvage something and have a serious attempt at landing the contract.’
‘Do you think?’ Catherine asked, hopefully. At this point she was willing to believe anything.
‘Just talk,’ he instructed. ‘Tell me about the sessions that led to this campaign and we’ll see if there’s anything there that was overlooked.’
Catherine sat at the table with a fresh cup of coffee and began telling him about the meetings. Two hours later, with her feet resting comfortably in Tim’s lap, Catherine realised that she had filled seven pages with notes. A familiar bubbling began in her stomach. It was the excitement of trying something new.
Tim had helped her turn the old idea on its head. She felt renewed, energetic and desperate to start, but she knew better. The new ideas needed time to circulate around her head and grow into something she truly loved before she set them in concrete. This was the best time. Sowing a seed of something new and observing what it became within the fertile earth of her mind.
‘I love you,’ she said, impetuously, reaching across and snaking her arms around Tim’s shoulders. She raised her head for a lingering kiss. Tim planted a peck on the top of her head and tapped her feet lightly.
‘I’ll go and rouse the girls. It’s almost nine thirty. They’ll never sleep tonight.’
For a brief time it had been like the old days. She acknowledged the wave of resentment that washed over her and tried to hide from the guilt. She loved the girls. She knew she did, but sometimes…
She prepared the breakfast bowls ready for their arrival. As usual Lucy entered the kitchen serenely and placed herself at the kitchen table. Jess wasn’t far behind and then Tim followed, sitting at the head of the table so that he was between the girls. Instantly he was chatting and joking with them about the wrestling match they’d all had the previous day. Catherine envied his ability to do that. Ten minutes ago he had been helpful, supportive partner. Now he was a loving, nurturing father. How did he manage to become another person in such a short space of time, without even a costume change?
‘What are your plans for the day?’ Tim asked, as she placed bowls of muesli on the table for the two of them.
‘I thought I might go and see Beth,’ she said, startling herself. The words hadn’t formed in her head before they exited her mouth. It had been on her mind since Beth had called two days ago inviting her to choose a keepsake from their mother’s possessions.
The only thing she wanted from her mother was a copy of the death certificate but she did want to see her sisters again. Both of them.
‘Really?’ Tim asked, looking surprised but pleased.
‘There’s no reason for me to stay away any more. I just want to make sure Beth’s okay.’
‘The girls would enjoy meeting their Aunty Beth,’ Tim said, ruffling Jess’s hair.
Catherine blanched. Both girls looked at her excitedly at the prospect of meeting a new relative.
‘But… ’
‘I did tell you about the match,’ Tim said.
Jesus, she had forgotten all about it. Tim had told her last week that he was playing rugby in a match two hundred miles away. Damn, she wished she’d never said a word. Otherwise she could have settled the girls down with some toys and got back to work.
‘Catherine… ’ Tim said, gently.
The girls were still eyeing her with muted interest.
Catherine desperately wanted to refuse – she couldn’t recall the last time she was alone with them – but the hopeful expression on Tim’s face stopped her. How could she refuse after the help and support he had given her earlier? He had taken the time to encourage and assist her despite his feelings about what she was trying to do.
She wiped her mouth with the cotton napkin. ‘I’ll be ready to go in one hour.’
‘For goodness’ sake, Jess, I asked you if you’d been to the toilet before we got into the car,’ Catherine growled as Jess began squirming in the rear passenger seat.
‘I did, Mummy, honest.’
‘You couldn’t have or you wouldn’t be so desperate to go now, would you?’
Catherine was already regretting bringing the girls. She should have insisted that they went to visit Tim’s mother for a couple of hours. Jess had already thrown half a packet of sweets over the seat and floor and removed her seatbelt twice.
‘Stop it,’ Lucy hissed at her sister in the back seat. ‘Don’t make her angry.’
Catherine smiled at the sensible attitude of her oldest child. She was suddenly struck by a thought. How many times, as a child, had she said those same words to Alex? She shook herself, filled with horror. She wasn’t her mother and this situation was completely different.
‘Jess, sit still,’ she ordered. ‘We only have a few miles to go and then you can go to the toilet.’
‘But I need to go now,’ she cried, desperation in her voice.
‘Well, you’re just going to have to wait,’ she snapped.
‘Don’t wanna go, anyway,’ Jess said, kicking the back of Catherine’s seat.
‘Stop it,’ Catherine snapped.
Another thud caught her in the small of her back.
‘Jess, I’m not joking. Stop it right now.’
‘Won’t,’ she said, kicking out again.
‘Jess, so help me I’ll smack your bottom once we get out of this car.’
‘Stop it,’ Lucy said, tapping Jess’s left leg lightly.
Jess ignored her and did it again. Catherine realised that she was playing into Jess’s hands by reacting. She clenched her jaws and ignored the blows to her back, hoping the child would get bored.
‘Why don’t you colour a picture?’ Catherine suggested when the blows continued to land.
Lucy reached for the books from the bag of toys that Catherine had packed to keep them quiet. She passed one to Jess before opening a page and beginning to colour a picture.
Jess threw the book on the floor and used the crayons to daub marks on to the upholstery of the back seat.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ Catherine screamed, viewing Jess’s antics through the mirror.
Jess met her eyes in the mirror.
‘Doing what you said, Mummy. I’m colouring a picture.’
Ten
Alex
Ker chunk, ker chunk, ker chunk. Alex tried to focus on the sounds of the train but Jay’s face wouldn’t leave her mind.
It had been a week since she’d seen him, since he’d walked away from her. She remembered little of t
he four days that had followed but on the fifth she’d woken up with a sick feeling of regret in her stomach. During that brief period of lucidity she had replayed their conversation over and over again like rewinding the part of a movie that you just don’t understand. She kept pausing on the section where Jay had insisted she needed help.
During day four she had resolved to go and have it out with him. How dare he say such things to her? Who the hell was he to tell her how to live her life? She’d proved his accusations wrong when she’d waited until eight o’clock before having a drink. The first two she remembered toasting to her absent friend and then, two days later, she could recall little else.
But today she had determined that she would not have a drink. Today, she had planned to clean the flat and seek forgiveness for her absence from her boss. But then she’d had the call. Somehow, as the ringing had punctuated her consciousness she had known it was Beth and, despite Alex’s repeated protestations that she wanted nothing from the house, Beth had begged her to come and take a look.
Alex sighed again and all will to resist temptation disappeared. She headed for the buffet car and bought two cans of lager. The circle on the first can pinged with satisfaction. She took a slug that ended halfway down the can. She sat back aware that the trembling in her fingers was beginning to abate. Her stomach broke loose of the knots that had been tightening inside her. Her muscles began to relax.
It was a difficult day today, she reasoned. It was no problem. She’d stop drinking tomorrow.
The second can kept her company until she disembarked at Cradley Heath station. A smoke accompanied her to the street, but as she turned the corner her stomach lurched.
Fuck, she wished she’d never agreed to this. Why had she? She knew why. Beth had asked her. Beth. And the guilt for Beth’s life would never leave her.
She smiled wryly as she spotted Catherine’s car outside the house. Its bright, shiny newness glared its exclusion in the narrow, dingy street.
Alex knocked on the door, already eager for the moment she’d be leaving the house. Damn the Sunday-service trains. The first one back to Birmingham was two hours away.
Dear Mother: A gripping and emotional story that will make you sob your heart out Page 9
