by Fox Brison
“Do you think-” There was hope in my voice, and for once my mother didn’t rush to grind it into dust.
“One day at a time, Jo, one day at a time. I can’t think any further ahead than what I’m gawna have for ma lunch.” Her hand trembled when she reached for her water.
So,” I said hurriedly glancing at the picture on her bedside locker, “should we start calling you Margaret McDonald?”
“I’m not sure about that, but I do enjoy painting. Dell, the teacher, is lovely.”
I must meet this art guru, she seems to have the whole hospital eating out of the palm of her hand! “It’s good to have a hobby, Mam, and I think your pictures are great.”
“I’ll do one especially for you the next time,” she said proudly, again not a tone I associated with my mother.
“I’d like that, Mam.” I squeezed her hand. “Really.”
***
I was given the grand tour and introduced to some of the other residents. “Davey, this is my daughter I was telling ye aboot.” My mother introduced me to a grizzled old Rab C Nesbitt lookalike. “He cheats at Scrabble.”
“Dinnae listen tay yer Mam, hen, she’s a sore loser,” he defended himself with a chuckle and a wink.
“Yer winnae be cheatin’ fer much longer,” she scolded. “Jo’s bringing me a dictionary next week.” I was thankful to see she’d made friends, because the only thing she’d socialised with for the past couple of years was a can of Special Brew and the tv, and I was worried she’d feel isolated in the centre.
The facility was surprisingly pleasant; I don’t know what I was expecting, maybe One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest crossed with Girl, Interrupted so I was relieved, especially after being introduced to her case worker, Anne, who happened to be on duty that morning. By the time mam finished showing me around lunch was ready; it smelt delicious and I began to hear the familiar thunder of hunger from my abdomen.
Two slices of toast on a nervous stomach just didn’t cut it.
She grabbed me in a tight hug as I said goodbye, tears in both of our eyes. When I stepped back she reached out, and holding my hand whispered, “Love you.” And then she was gone.
“Ms Cassidy, can I have a quick word?” It was my mother’s social worker, Gemma McGill, who caught me as I was leaving.
“Sure, but please call me Joanne.” I couldn’t hold back my exuberance and hope; I must have looked a bit of an idiot. “Ms McGill, thank you so much. My mother already seems a million times better. I know it’s a long journey, but at least she’s taken the first step.”
“We’re really pleased with her progress. She’s impressed in therapy and appears very determined. She’s been candid – for the most part.”
For the most part? What does she mean by that? “I guess talking to professionals makes a big difference.”
“It helps. Look can we speak privately in my office for a minute?” I followed her down a long corridor to a room at the very end and as soon as I sat down, Ms McGill cut to the chase. “As a matter of form, we do a drugs test when people first come into the centre. Your mother-”
“She’s never done drugs. Never,” I interjected forcefully. “Did something show up in the test?”
“No,” she said, hesitantly, and I breathed a sigh of relief - which was unfortunately short lived. “However, when Mary commenced her sessions and described the circumstances around her last usage, it raised a few red flags, especially as she told us she’d been sober for twenty eight days previously.”
“That is true, Ms McGill.”
“Gemma, please.” She paused, as if seeking the right words to let me down gently. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but the treatment for alcohol dependency, AUD, and AUD plus drug addiction is quite different, so we really have to be certain to ensure the treatment plan we devise is as effective as it can possibly be.”
“Okay, but you just said my mum didn’t have narcotics in her system?” This conversation was confusing. Gemma was saying one thing, but hinting at something else.
“She didn’t, yet we had a strong suspicion that she may have taken something on the night of the car accident. Consequently we couldn’t take the risk she was using, so I authorised a thorough search of her belongings and we found a packet of tablets in the lining of her jacket. It was tested and I can confirm it was GBH.”
“GBH? Isn’t that the rape drug?” Dear god, no! I held my head in my hands and tried to catch my breath. Was she attacked that night? Is that why she took the car? No, that’s ridiculous, surely I would have known. Wouldn’t I?
She nodded. “It’s one of them.”
I was finding it hard to take in what was being said, but came to the conclusion I had to stand up for what I believed. “Gemma, my mother is many things, most of them considered amoral by society, but I can assure you she has never taken drugs of any kind, apart from alcohol.”
“Joanne, most children-”
“No!” I said emphatically. “I am not blinkered when it comes to my mother, I can assure you.”
“Very well, Joanne. We will proceed with your mother’s current course of treatment and hope that the belief you have in her is not unfounded.”
I recognised the scepticism, even though she did her best to mask it. “I know her, Gemma.”
I reconsidered the evidence. Drugs in her coat? Drink driving? I thought I knew my mother, I honestly did, yet… Does anyone ever really know another person? My mother thought she knew my father and he left her high and dry.
And like history repeating itself, had her lies merely caught her out this time?
Chapter 29
Adele
In between my first and second art therapy classes, my mind drifted back in time to Joanne sitting at my table eating Chinese food.
She was so open and trusting.
There was no denying what was happening but I was struggling to come to terms with it. The attraction between us was burgeoning from the odd stolen glance and a warm feeling when I held her hand, to something far more substantial and real. And therein lay the problem. Once things got real, I got scared; scratch that, I got terrified. I would start to second guess every look, every word, every touch.
Because I knew it was only a matter of time before the gun was aimed squarely at my heart, and Joanne would pull the trigger and walk away.
***
It turned into another beautiful afternoon, so I decided to take the third group into the garden for their therapy session. Therapy was a loose term, because all I did was help the patients draw some pretty pictures, but they seemed to enjoy it. This was only my second shift at the centre, but oddly enough I was getting as much out of it as the patients were. “Adele?” Joanne’s voice cut through the warm summer breeze.
“Joanne, this is a pleasant surprise.” Shit! Should I tell her I’ve been teaching her mother? If I do she’s going to think I’m a liar on top of everything else. I was damned if I did, and pretty much damned if I didn’t.
“It sounds more like the surprise you get when you go to the dentist and she says you need three fillings!”
“I’m sorry.” The sketch pads and pencils I was carrying ended up strewn over the grass.
“Here let me help.” Joanne bent to help me pick them up. “How long have you been working here?”
“Not long,” I hedged.
“So you assist the art teacher, Dell? I must speak to her and thank her. My mother’s really enjoying the class.”
I avoided all eye contact and continued placing sketch pads on easels.
“Adele… Ad… dell… wait… doesn’t Adam call you Dell? Oh my god, it’s you!” she exclaimed, the penny finally dropping.
“My sister and Adam are the only people who call me Dell. I’m not particularly fond of it,” I rambled before explaining, “I’m sorry, Joanne, but your mum didn’t remember me and I didn’t want to upset her. Perhaps I should have said something, I just didn’t want there to be a conflict of interests.”
“Another conflict of int
erest you mean,” she said dryly.
“It wasn’t that I wanted to deceive you,” I insisted.
“It’s fine. I guess I should just be grateful you wangled a bed for her here in the first place, it really is amazing. How did you manage that by the way?” she probed.
“Oh you know. I know someone who knows someone,” I skirted the truth, unconvincingly. Again. I didn’t do well under cross examination and began to sweat. I’d never make it as a master criminal, I’d be the one at the end of Miss Marple admitting that, despite the lack of physical evidence and on the say so of an eighty year old gossip, yeah it’s a fair cop, guvnor, I did it alright.
“There’s more to that story,” she nudged a little further.
“Perhaps.” I began fidgeting with my easel, and that definitely was not a euphemism. “But if I told you, I’d have to kill you.” I smiled and she held up her hands.
“Classified information?”
“For my eyes only,” I grinned.
“Fine. I’ve come this far I wouldn’t want to miss the end of our saga.” She may have joked, but my lack of trust wounded her. “It’s like Sense8. Two years invested in that show and then poof they go and cancel it.” She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of it?”
“I have actually, and I was mightily pissed off as well!”
“Oh thank god, I was starting to think you were culturally challenged,” Joanne teased.
“Hey, I’ll have you know I’ve even watched Game of Thrones!” I objected.
Her eyes narrowed. “All of it?”
“Well…” I grinned. “Some of it.” By some I meant one episode. “So your mother enjoyed the class?” I went for a change of topic and thankfully this time Joanne took the hint, because if she asked me about what other television shows I watched it would be a very short list starting and ending with Orange is the New Black; can anyone honestly say Laura Prepon and Taylor Schilling without a little glint in their eye?
I’m only human.
“She did, surprisingly. Mam’s never shown an interest before but she’s pretty good.”
“She is, she has a good perspective,” I countered. “I’m glad she’s happy here.”
“Me too and if it wasn’t for that bloody social worker and her ridiculous accusations, it would be perfect,” she huffed angrily.
“Social worker?” Great. Seems both Jackson sisters are in Joanne Cassidy’s firing line.
“She reckons my mum is not only addicted to alcohol, but is a drug dealer to boot!”
“Gemma accused her of selling drugs?” I was appalled. How the hell could she have said something so shitty?
“Gemma? You know her?”
“Well, yes, we do work together,” I said evasively. Okay, so I outright lied. What was one more in the grand scheme of things? Besides, if all this went tits up, I didn’t want to ruin Gemma’s career too.
“Oh right, of course.”
“So she accused your mother,” I prompted.
“Not in so many words. I told Ms McGill it was impossible but it got me thinking, what if?” She scowled again. “Granted my mum has a drink problem, I can cope with that, have coped with that all of my life and have come to terms with it, but drugs are a whole new ball game. Drink driving was bad enough, but being told she might have killed you because she was high? I don’t know why but it makes it a million times worse.” Joanne looked wrecked.
I could kill Gemma, what is she playing at? “Look back, Joanne. Don’t think about that one night, think about your whole life. Has there been any indication your mum was a habitual drug user?” I questioned.
“No.”
“How about occasional?” I challenged gently.
“No,” she replied positively.
“Then there must be some other explanation,” I soothed. “People can make mistakes, patients and nosey social workers. You know your mother better than anyone. If there was something there, you’d know.”
She appeared a smidgen placated. “I’m sorry, Adele, you didn’t sign up for this.”
“And you didn’t sign up for some of the crap you’ve had to deal with,” I argued.
“Wait. This is how you got my mum in so quick, isn’t it? You agreed to work here.”
“Volunteer.”
“Same difference,” she pointed out swiftly.
“Ah. Well you see…” I began hesitantly. “The art therapist is on maternity leave, and I already had my police check.”
“You did this for me and my mum,” she whispered and I shrugged. “Adele...” She gulped and took my hand. “You have no idea, no idea, how much this means to me. You saved her life.” I raised my eyebrows until there was no sign of them underneath my fringe. “You think I’m being overdramatic? You’re wrong. I don’t think she would have coped with what she had done if you hadn’t got her in here. It gave her hope.” She smiled at me like I’d hung the moon. “It gave us both hope.”
I instantly felt shitty; I didn’t deserve her gratitude. “Let’s be honest my actions weren’t completely altruistic. I’m getting something out of it too!”
“You didn’t have to add this sweetener, and no matter how many dinners we go to, or how many operas we see, it will never be enough.” She coughed, clearing the emotion from her throat, and kissed my cheek before waving goodbye.
I stood, motionless, except to lift my hand to where her soft lips had pressed against my skin.
She wasn’t the only one struggling to control her emotions.
Chapter 30
Adele
I was the embodiment of a woman possessed as I spent the week working furiously on the Jordan design. The reason? Apart from the obvious, I was attempting to distract myself from what was happening between Joanne and I things would have been so much simpler if I could just walk away. But I couldn’t, not this time, not if I wanted the promotion.
Joanne Cassidy hadn’t just crept into my life, she’d sledgehammered her way in. My carefully constructed world was being dismantled one brick at a time, and I didn’t know what I found more frightening – my apparent compliance in the demolition order or it shutting down before she reached the foundations.
***
The Mile Theatre was filled with the illuminati of the city and Joanne squeezed my hand tightly. “Are you okay?” I whispered in her ear.
“That’s Nicola Sturgeon,” she whispered back.
“It is. Want an introduction? You can berate her about the cost of the Scottish Parliament building.” I grinned.
“You know her?” she asked, her eyes wide.
“I’ve met her a couple of times. She was presenting at an awards dinner I attended. Come on, let’s find our seats and we can celeb spot in comfort. The Jordans have reserved a couple of boxes and we’re paired with Adam, Mel and Angus Shaw and his wife, Margaret. I’ve only met her a couple times; she’s a bit dour.”
“Okay but promise me one thing,” Joanne smiled. “If I fall asleep give me a nudge before I start snoring!”
“I promise.”
La Traviata was a roaring success for two reasons. One, it was a marvellous production and two, Joanne held my hand throughout the entire performance, entranced. Her exuberance was infectious. Even Margaret Shaw, normally a bit of a cold fish, became caught up in Joanne’s enthusiasm.
Aileen was like a lioness with a thorn in her paw the entire night.
She made the odd catty comment, nothing too obvious, but enough to make me clench my jaw tight and I ensured I maintained contact with Joanne all evening. I even accompanied her to the bathroom, much to Mel’s amusement and Joanne’s consternation, but I would have joined her in the cubicle if it meant shielding her from Aileen and the two other members of her coven.
My protective stance was providing me with the excuse to be extra tactile. For example, my hand on the small of her back as I walked her to our seats, our hands clasped loosely as we drank sparkling water during the interval, our thighs pressed together tightly at the
bar after the performance.
Adam and Mel were getting the drinks in, and Joanne was in the mood to process what she’d just witnessed. I noticed she did that a lot and was never afraid to admit when she didn’t understand something; it was refreshing in this era of bullshit. “So let me get this straight, that opera was about prostitution?” she said with a twinkle.
“Loosely, yes. Violetta was a courtesan.”
“A prostitute,” she stated again with another damned cute grin.
“Well, yes. But it’s more about love overcoming unbeatable odds. Violetta was consumed with the need for freedom, and that’s what she believed she had in her life as a courtesan. She could love who she wanted and when she wanted. Sempre Libre, the aria that moved you so much, was about Violette deciding she valued liberty more than love. Alfredo wanted to prove she could have both. Well that’s my interpretation anyway.”
“But she must have changed her mind,” she said wistfully, her eyes glittering.
“Hey.” I ran my thumb over her cheekbone wiping away a lone tear. “Are you okay?”
She turned toward my touch. “Sorry, I’m being silly. I wasn’t expecting it to be quite so emotionally charged.”
“That’s quality for you. But it’s also empathy and understanding for the characters, two qualities you own in spades.”
She gazed at me and it held more emotion than a thousand arias sang by the most notable prima donnas throughout history. Just when I thought I was going to explode, she looked away. “Plus the ending was heart-breaking,” Joanne said softly.
“You think?”
“Violetta died,” she stated matter of factly.
“You’re a romantic fool, Joanne Cassidy,” I whispered breathily. Shit, where did that come from?
Thankfully Mel and Adam joined us, saving me from myself. “Tell me, Joanne, where did you get this delightful dress.” Mel felt the material. “Silk?”
“A hybrid,” Joanne explained. “It was a present from Adele. She took me to ‘Chic to Chic.’ Do you know it?”
“Does she know it? It’s number one on her speed dial and she’s on first name terms with all the staff. I got a thank you card last year; Mel’s commission paid for the manager’s son to go to St Andrews University!” Adam scoffed.
