The Food of Love

by Amanda Prowse

  ‘How long will she have to stay in?’ Charlotte asked.

  ‘Not sure, love. But they are doing all they can, she’s in a good place.’ Lockie’s smile of reassurance was fleeting. He headed for the kettle.

  ‘I want to go and see her, take her in some magazines and stuff.’ Charlotte turned her head back to her textbook.

  ‘She would love that!’ Freya smiled. ‘When she’s a bit better. In the meantime you need to study.’

  ‘What do you think I’ve been doing all day?’ She waved her book in the air.

  Freya swallowed the bile of guilt. She was such a good girl, sitting alone studying all day despite the disappointment of her trip. She made a new vow to make it up to her, somehow, when all this was over . . .

  ‘I feel terrible, you know, Charlotte, about Geneva. I really do. We will make it up to you.’

  ‘Mum’s right, we will,’ Lockie echoed as he put the teabags into the mugs.

  Charlotte jumped up and rushed towards her mum. ‘Don’t. Right now I can honestly say that I’m glad I’m not there.’

  ‘Well, you’ve changed your tune!’ Lockie sounded glad of the slight upturn in the atmosphere.

  ‘Tara’s having a house party.’ She hugged herself.

  ‘Do her parents know?’ he asked.

  ‘Um, the answer is the one that means you don’t try and stop me going.’

  ‘I think that answers it perfectly. I must say I have to question the sanity of any parent willingly giving over their home to a bunch of teenagers.’ He tutted. ‘Just be careful. Don’t go nuts.’

  ‘Dad. I play the cello. I read French textbooks in my spare time. I have never had a boyfriend and I only hang around with Milly and Tara. I’m hardly a party animal.’

  ‘Is Daniel going?’ Freya tried to keep the enquiry casual.

  ‘Who is this Daniel you speak of?’ Lockie asked sternly.

  ‘Fear not, Dad, he is uber cool and way out of my league.’ She sighed.

  The glint in her eye told them both that whilst that might be the case, she was not averse to trying her luck. Freya gave Lockie a knowing smile; Charlotte’s anticipation was almost palpable.

  ‘What do you want for supper?’ Freya asked, again feeling the flash of relief at being able to mention food and cook without worrying about Lexi’s reaction, followed almost immediately by an equally strong feeling of guilt.

  ‘Nothing for me, thanks.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Charlotte!’ Freya was loud. ‘You have to eat something! You really do!’

  ‘Mum! For God’s sake calm down! I’ve already eaten,’ she explained. ‘I got a pizza.’

  ‘Oh.’ She looked at the contents of the fridge, picturing the small clot of blood on the edge of Lexi’s nose. ‘I’m sorry, darling.’

  ‘It’s okay, Mum. I get it.’ She sounded exasperated. ‘I’m going to straighten my hair.’

  Freya nodded, keeping her face hidden inside the fridge door.

  Lockie walked behind her and ran his hand down her back.

  ‘It’s all right.’

  She shook her head. ‘Is it? I don’t care what they said. I’m going back in tonight to go and sit with her, but I didn’t want to say that to Charlotte, didn’t want to worry her. Can you drop her at the party?’

  ‘Sure. Marshalswick, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yep,’ she confirmed where Tara lived.

  ‘Do you want me to come with you?’ he offered. ‘I could swoop by after drop-off?’

  ‘No, it’s okay. You make sure Charlotte is happy. I just know I won’t sleep if I don’t see Lexi a little bit more settled.’

  ‘I get it.’ His knuckle gently grazed her cheek with something close to regret.

  She twisted her face away.

  ‘Do you want supper, Lockie?’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t eat.’

  ‘Me neither.’ She closed the fridge door.

  Freya kissed Charlotte goodbye. She had obviously taken great care in her appearance and looked beautiful in her sheer floral shirt, with a vest underneath and her hair curled in loose waves by her deft hand on the hair-straighteners.

  ‘You look gorgeous! You really do. Have a lovely time.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’ Charlotte smiled.

  Lockie grabbed the car keys.

  ‘See you in a bit,’ he chirped with a hesitant smile.

  Freya pressed the buzzer to gain entry. A different nurse met her at the front door. She was pale with her hair pulled back into a severe bun.

  ‘Hello, my daughter, Lexi, she—’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Braithwaite, we saw you on the CCTV, my colleague recognised you. Were you not informed about visiting hours yesterday?’

  Freya found it hard not to be put off by the woman’s cool demeanour.

  ‘Yes, but I just wanted to come and sit with her for a little bit; she wasn’t quite with it earlier and I must admit it’s upset me.’

  Don’t cry, Freya! Keep it together.

  ‘We don’t have a drop-in policy in the evening. During the day it’s fine, but at night-time we find that routine is very important. It’s not really appropriate for you to just pop in as and when you feel like it.’

  The woman stood loftily in the gap between the door and the frame, blocking her entry. Freya peered over her shoulder, into the building where her little girl lay.

  ‘I . . . I appreciate that, but all I am asking for is five minutes with my child.’ Her voice quavered. ‘That’s all. Just five minutes to wish her goodnight and that will help us both sleep, I’m sure. Please.’

  The nurse hesitated, looking her up and down, making a judgement call. ‘Five minutes.’

  Freya nodded, beyond grateful as she stepped over the threshold and into the corridor. She keenly felt the absence of Lockie by her side as they approached Lexi’s room. The common room was eerily empty.

  A new nurse sat on the chair in the corner of Lexi’s room, busy with forms, writing under lamplight with a ballpoint in her hand and her head close to the desk.

  Freya walked in. ‘Hello. I’m Lexi’s mum.’

  The nurse waved. She looked kind; this was a massive relief to Freya.

  ‘Hello there, I’m Jenny. We’ve been chatting this afternoon; well, more of a one-sided chat, but we’re getting there.’ Her face crinkled into a smile.

  Freya tiptoed towards the bed. It was becoming an almost automatic response: as soon as she set eyes on her little girl, her tears fell.

  She didn’t look as if she had moved, lying in the same position. The differences were subtle: her eyes were not so still, instead they darted at each new sound, and her muscles looked coiled despite her recumbence. Her body was rigid with fear.

  ‘Hello, darling, hello, my baby girl.’

  Freya found it impossible not to stare at the little blue cap on the feeding tube, or the tape affixing it to her cheek.

  Freya would have found it hard to describe to a stranger the relief she felt at the sight of her child’s tears. Anything, anything, was better than the muted, hazy reaction of earlier; that person was merely the shell of her daughter, and that had been unbearable to watch.

  ‘Don’t cry, Lexi, please don’t cry. It’s all going to be okay. They are going to make you better and then you’ll come home and you will be back to your old self before you know it.’ She nodded, smiling through her own tears as she mopped at her child’s wet cheek with her sleeve.

  Lexi whispered, her words indiscernible, a mumble.

  ‘What’s that, darling? Say it again.’

  Freya tucked her long hair behind her ears and bent low, her face close to Lexi’s. She could feel her breath on her cheek; it had a new, slightly chemical tang to it.

  She heard her swallow, as if speaking was painful or uncomfortable at the least. With her eyes narrowed, she listened to her little girl, whose words she heard loud and clear.

  ‘Don’t . . . don’t leave me here, Mummy. I promise. I will eat. Please, Mummy . . .’ she manag
ed, as her tears fell again.

  ‘Oh, Lexi, Lexi . . .’ She held her small hand and placed it against her mouth, kissing the fragile skin of the arm without a cast. ‘I can’t take you home, darling. I can’t. But you know that I am not far away from you. I am around the corner, minutes really, and if you need me, I’ll come in straight away and I’ll be back tomorrow and the day after that and every day until you come home. I promise.’ Her voice broke away in sobs. ‘I’m sorry. I am so sorry.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s time for you to go now, Mrs Braithwaite.’ The pale nurse had come to collect her.

  Freya felt panic rise in her throat. ‘Just five more minutes, please!’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She shook her head and gestured towards the door.

  ‘Mummy!’ Lexi called, her voice a little stronger now. ‘Mummy!’ She screamed this time. ‘Please, Mummy, I promise! I promise, Mum, please!’

  Jenny rushed forward to try and comfort Lexi as the nurse ushered her outside and closed the door.

  Freya could hear her child calling out for her on the other side of the door. She placed her hand on it, feeling her whole body cave in distress, not knowing how she would walk away.

  ‘I was afraid this might happen.’

  Freya turned to the woman, about to spit venom, but instead the nurse placed her arm around Freya’s shoulder and spoke gently as she pulled her away from the door and down the corridor.

  ‘I cannot imagine how hard this must be for you, seeing Lexi like this, but I give you my word that we know what we are doing and we know what works. As cruel as it seems, as difficult as it is to witness, this programme is all about getting her to take on food. That’s it. We are trying to save her life.’

  ‘I didn’t want to unsettle her, I wanted to say goodnight and tuck her in, that’s all!’

  ‘I understand.’ And it seemed that, despite her cool manner, she really did. ‘But sometimes you have to let us do our job.’

  Freya wondered if letting her in, and the inevitable result, was a way of teaching her a lesson. She leant into her, allowing the woman to take her weight, until they reached the car park.

  ‘Can I call someone for you?’

  ‘No.’ Freya shook her head. ‘I’ll call my husband,’ she managed, the rhythm of her breathing fractured.

  ‘No doubt we’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll go and check on her now, and I guarantee that she is so tired, she will be asleep.’ She gave a brief smile and Freya knew she was lying. It was the same smile she had given Charlotte earlier: She sends you all her love! It wasn’t as easy to pretend when you were on the receiving end.

  Switching on her phone, she called Lockie.

  ‘Come and get me,’ she managed, falling back on to the low wall where she would sit and wait.

  Freya flopped down on the sofa and kicked off her shoes before folding her legs underneath her.

  ‘Do you have any brandy?’ she asked, knowing it was going to be the only way to get through the night, the only way to rid her mind of the images that played every time she closed her lids.

  ‘In my studio. I’ll go and grab it.’ Lockie sounded as low as she felt.

  He came back minutes later, with the brandy bottle and two glasses from the shelf. He poured her a generous slug that she knocked back, letting the alcohol warm the back of her throat. She held the glass out for a refill.

  After half an hour, the booze was doing its job.

  ‘I thought I knew what was best. I figured if I could have five minutes with her, it would calm her, but it was the opposite. I wound her up, disturbed her. I felt the atmosphere change the moment she saw me. She begged me to bring her home, Lockie, and I wanted to, I wanted to so . . . so badly!’ She hiccupped through her tears.

  ‘I know.’ He placed his arm around her shoulders. ‘I feel torn,’ he admitted. ‘I want her home, here where she belongs, but I want her better.’

  ‘I used to think I could make her better all on my own,’ Freya whispered, sipping again at her drink.

  Lockie shook his head. ‘I thought that, but it’s bigger than us. I shan’t ever forget the sight of her in that room. But this thing she brought into our house, it’s upset the balance. It’s the first thing we think about when we wake up and the first thing we see when we walk into a room. It’s not fair, on her or us! It’s hijacked our lives. I never could have imagined anything, anything, causing tension or disagreement between us, you and me, Freya!’ He paused at the devastating truth. ‘And as much as I love her . . .’ His voice broke then; he cleared his throat. ‘And I do. I liked how it used to be, that simpler life when we worried about money and the kids’ exam results. I miss that life. This one is exhausting.’

  He cried then, the loud, gulping tears of a man on the edge. Freya had neither the guile nor the courage to challenge his words.

  ‘I know.’ Reaching across the sofa, she held his hand, trying to repair some of the broken ground that lay between them, but his touch felt different.

  Gone was the relaxed palm-to-palm, from which they both drew comfort in the familiar. This was a grip, tense muscles and stiff fingers, holding on tightly, fearful of what might happen when they let go.

  An hour later, the brandy bottle was much depleted and the two slumped on the cushions, waiting for the welcoming cloak of oblivion.

  Freya suddenly sat up straight.

  ‘I can’t be here without her, Lockie!’ she howled.

  ‘Where do you want to go?’ he asked, as if she might have a plan.

  ‘Right now?’ She laughed. ‘I want to go anywhere – the other side of space!’

  She laughed before falling down into her husband’s arms.

  Lockie reached for his coat, discarded on the floor, and threw it over them both, and there they lay, until the tendrils of dawn snaked over them, shaking them gently awake to face another day.

  Freya sat up and stretched. Her headache was the first thing she noticed; the second was an insatiable thirst.

  ‘Oh God!’ Lockie sat forward and placed his head in his hands. ‘I think we should go to bed, get a few more hours’ sleep.’ He stood, twisting his back with his hands on his hips until it cracked. Lockie trod the stairs while she went to get a drink of water. It was as she stood at the sink that she heard the key in the front door.

  Charlotte jumped at the sight of her mum.

  ‘What are you doing? Surely you’re not waiting up for me?’ she gasped.

  ‘No. Just getting a glass of water. I thought you were already home and in bed.’ She placed her palm on her forehead. ‘I think I’ve got a hangover or I might still be a bit sloshed, I’m not sure. How was your party?’

  ‘Bit rubbish, really.’ Charlotte looked at her feet.

  ‘How did you get home? You are very late.’

  ‘Daniel dropped me off.’

  ‘Oh, Daniel! Any developments on that front?’ She feigned interest for the sake of her girl.

  ‘Nope.’ Charlotte shook her head. ‘None at all.’

  ‘Oh, well, that’s a shame.’

  ‘Not really.’ Charlotte stared at her mum. ‘Can I have a hug?’

  Freya felt her face break into a smile, recalling how she had shrugged her off earlier. ‘You never have to ask. Of those, I have a limitless supply.’

  Freya held her child close and inhaled the scent of her hair. ‘You smell like a party, all boozy and horrible.’ She smiled.

  ‘That’s funny, I was thinking the exact same thing about you.’

  They held each other close, as the sun streamed in through the window.

  ‘I love you, Charlotte Belle.’ Freya closed her eyes.

  ‘I love you too.’

  It was a rare, golden moment.

  Two hours . . .

  ‘Oh!’ Her hand flew to her chest. ‘He’s back?’

  ‘Yes.’ Charlotte nodded. ‘He’s in the kitchen.’

  Freya scrambled from the desk, her foot slipping in haste, and her knee banged the chair as she fled the room, jumping t
he stairs two at a time, racing, running to get to the kitchen where her Lockie stood.

  She almost jumped, crashing into him, flinging her arms around his neck and holding him tightly to her, as they fought for breath.

  ‘Lockie!’ she cried. ‘Lockie!’ she yelled again.

  ‘I’ve got you,’ he cried. ‘I’ve got you.’

  This was how they stood, with precious minutes ticking by as they held each other, each gaining strength from the other, each processing what was happening today.

  He placed his hands either side of her face and kissed her lightly on the mouth.

  ‘Is it done?’

  ‘Yes. We’re all ready. Charlotte and I . . . we’ve been writing notes, letters, stories. You still need to do one.’

  ‘Okay.’ He nodded. ‘What should I write?’

  ‘Anything you’d want Lexi to hear.’ She smiled sadly.

  ‘Will you sit next to me?’ he asked.

  She nodded, taking a seat at the kitchen table; she placed her hand on his leg and waited.

  SIXTEEN

  Freya thought that Lexi being admitted as an in-patient and the struggle they had faced since she first stopped eating were the worst things they, as a family, would have to face. What they hadn’t considered was that things could possibly get any tougher.

  Diana pointed out on a visit that Charlotte seemed a little withdrawn, devoid of her usual spark. She had greeted her gran with a near-silent hug and retreated to her room.

  Lockie noted Freya’s fallen expression and decided to handle this one. ‘She’s preoccupied with studying. It’s a horrible time of year, but I do think it’s tough on her, Mum. We have taken her up to visit her sister a couple of times and it hit her hard. She hasn’t wanted to go again, which I completely understand. And we are both up with Lexi at Larchcombe every day, and to be honest, it’s quite a depressing place. When you get back, being jolly is the last thing you feel like. We try, but I suspect Charlotte isn’t getting the best of us at the moment.’