by Della Galton
“Well, yes it does ….” SJ bristled. “What’s wrong with black leggings?”
“Nothing’s actually wrong with them, but you never wear anything else, so they’re hardly special, are they?”
“So what do you suggest? I can’t be bothered to take everything back.”
“You must – I’ll come with you. We can get you kitted out in something glam. I’ll meet you outside Next in half an hour.”
SJ wasn’t sure she fancied the idea of something glam. It was okay for Tanya, who always looked stunning, but she had far too many lumpy bits that needed covering up. She pointed this out to Tanya as soon as she arrived, waving her Next bag defiantly.
“You’re talking rubbish,” Tanya said, without even a glance at the skirt and blouse she’d spent hours choosing. “Now let’s get rid of these and find something more suitable.”
To SJ’s horror, Tanya’s idea of ‘something more suitable’ turned out to be a tiny black shift dress with spaghetti straps.
“I can’t wear that.”
“Why not?”
“It’s too short. Everyone will see my legs.” Everyone would probably be able to see her knickers too, if she leaned forward, she thought glumly. She wouldn’t even have been keen on that ten years previously, when there’d been a lot less of her.
“There’s nothing wrong with your legs. Now humour me. At least try it on.”
SJ did as she was told, then poked her head around the changing room curtain where Tanya was on guard so she couldn’t do a runner.
“I’m not coming out, I feel naked. You’ll have to come in.”
“It looks gorgeous,” Tanya said. “What do you think?”
“I’m not sure.” SJ didn’t want to admit she hadn’t actually looked in the mirror because she knew she would look hideous. It had taken her ages to sort out the spaghetti straps, which had lived up to their name and tangled into knots.
“Well, I think it suits you. You look ever so slim.”
“Do I?” SJ sneaked a glance and saw that while slim was a slight exaggeration, she didn’t have any untoward bulges – the skirt skimmed rather than clung. Her arms looked okay too – they weren’t flabby at all, which was a nice surprise; she hadn’t worn any arm-revealing tops lately. Pity about her legs.
“All you need now is some nice heels, and the right bag, and some suitable bling. Come on, let’s go and pay for the dress.”
The shoes Tanya made her buy were lovely, feminine and delicate so even her size eight clodhoppers looked good. Her legs looked slimmer in heels, too. She felt like Cinderella. The right bag turned out to be a black clutch bag with diamante detail, but Tanya turned her nose up at the display of jewellery.
“Too expensive for what it is. You can borrow something of mine. Come on, let’s head back and you can choose.”
“Are you sure it’s not too late?”
“No, Michael won’t mind – he never goes to bed early. Come on. I want to get you sorted out properly.”
Michael was watching a black and white film when they got back. It was the first time SJ had seen him to talk to since Tanya had told her about his penchant for cross-dressing. Although she’d waved at him across the squash court once or twice, they hadn’t been out as a foursome lately – Tom had been too busy with work.
She’d been afraid she might feel differently about him, but when he leapt up and gave her a hug, she realised with relief that she didn’t. He was still the same old Michael, with his boyish grin and floppy fringe. She pushed the images of Lizzie firmly out of her head as she returned his peck on the cheek.
“How you doing, SJ?” His eyes sparkled. “Been shopping? What have you bought?”
She got the dress out to show him, and he made all the right noises. Man-type grunts of approval, rather than Lizzie-type girly comments – phew!
“Tanya’s going to lend me some bling.”
“Uh huh. I’ll leave you girls to get on with it then.” With another quick grin he went back to his film, and they escaped upstairs.
“Right, all you need to do now is to put your hair up and you’ll knock ’em dead,” Tanya announced when SJ had got the whole outfit on again – complete with a chunky pink and gold necklace. “You look stunning.”
SJ wouldn’t have gone that far, but she had to admit she did look better than she’d done in the skirt and blouse, which had been more sensible A-level tutor than party girl.
“Don’t forget nail varnish.” Tanya scooped up two bottles from her dressing table. “One of these would look good. How are you feeling now?”
“Like I might actually be going, after all,” SJ admitted, swallowing a choked-up feeling of gratitude. “Thanks, Tanya. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
When she got home she hung everything in her wardrobe and told Tom he’d have to wait until tomorrow before he saw what she was wearing. She didn’t want the short dress giving him ideas. They hadn’t made love lately and she didn’t know how she was going to manage it without the help of a few glasses of wine.
It struck her she’d have the same problem after the party – but the following night was aeons away. She couldn’t think of anything beyond facing Alison.
While Tom was getting ready for bed she phoned her mother from the privacy of the lounge, guessing correctly she’d be up late doing party food.
“Sarah-Jane, I hope you’re not ringing me with any last minute excuses about not being able to come, because I’ve got enough on my plate already.”
SJ was about to make some indignant denial, but then she reminded herself Mum had every right to be worried. After all, that was exactly what she’d done on every previous occasion in history. “Of course not,” she soothed. “I was just checking that everything was set for tomorrow – and there was nothing else you wanted us to do.”
She was also harbouring the faint hope that Alison, by some miracle, had decided not to go. But her mother’s next words dashed this to smithereens.
“Yes, we’re all set. Your sister’s done most of the food – she’s a godsend. I couldn’t have managed without her.”
“Great.”
SJ could hear the hollowness in her voice and maybe her mother could too, because she added gently, “She’s ever so pleased you’re coming, pet. It’s going to be lovely having my two girls together again.”
SJ wondered what she meant by together. Her mother probably had some rosy picture of her and Alison telling each other jokes over a G&T. Oh God, don’t think of gin.
“And it’s so long since you’ve seen the children, isn’t it? Sophie’s a proper young lady now – just like her mother. You won’t recognise her. Kevin hasn’t changed much, unfortunately. Alison caught him smoking in his bedroom the other day. I ask you.” Her mother tutted her disapproval. SJ had a feeling she might like Kevin the most. He was obviously the black sheep of the family. They’d have a lot in common.
“Anyway, love, I’m sure you don’t want to hear all this now. But I’m so pleased you and Tom are going to be there.” Her mother’s voice dropped an octave. “I do love you, you know, Sarah-Jane. I’ve hated all this upset. It means the world to me that you’re coming.”
It crossed SJ’s mind that her mother might have had a couple of glasses of something herself. She wasn’t given to unprompted declarations of affection.
“We’re looking forward to it, Mum,” she lied huskily. “Now, you go and put your feet up, and don’t worry about a thing. Tom and I will see you tomorrow.”
She hung up just as Tom came into the room, wearing nothing but his boxers. Considering he had a desk job and ate pasta whenever he felt like it, he was in pretty good shape.
“Everything okay, love?” He crossed the room and sat beside her on the window seat.
“I need a wash,” she protested, as he slipped his arms around her waist and tried to kiss her.
“I’ll help you get your clothes off.”
“No need,” she yelped as she escaped. When he came up to bed
she pretended to be asleep, ignoring his hands as they ran over her body and discovered she was still wearing her pants. That should be a big enough clue, surely? She threw in a little snore for good measure and eventually Tom got the message and rolled over with a sigh.
SJ knew she wasn’t being fair, but she couldn’t have made love with him tonight if her life depended on it. Yet now he’d left her alone she was far too tense to sleep.
When she finally drifted off, her dreams were fragmented and filled with Alison. In one of them SJ and Kevin, who’d morphed into a twenty-five year old Bruce Willis lookalike, were running away from Alison down her mother’s garden, each of them carrying a box of two hundred Marlboro.
“If I ever catch you smoking again, I’ll kill you,” Alison raged, as she closed the gap between them.
“In here,” SJ gasped, yanking open the door of the summer house, shoving Kevin inside and instructing him to hide behind the tomatoes. “She’ll never find us in here.”
She woke up, her heart thudding madly, as if she really had been running. It was three a.m. She got out of bed, fetched a glass of water from the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bath, sipping it and listening to the creaks and night noises of the old house and Tom’s gentle snores from next door.
‘You’re stronger than you think, SJ.’ Strange how it was Kit’s voice, not Tom’s that flickered into her head, offering reassurance and a smidgeon of comfort, like a tiny candle in the black old night.
SJ crept back across the landing to bed, wishing that Tom would wake up and reach out and cuddle her. He wouldn’t even have had to speak; just the feel of his arms would have been enough. Perhaps if she woke him? But that wasn’t very fair – and if she woke him and he was cross, she didn’t think her wired emotions would cope. She curled up on her side and then spooned into the heat of him and shut her eyes.
The rest of the night was fragmented between restless sleep and nightmares. In the last nightmare she was sipping wine from the spout of a watering can.
SJ woke up with a sickening feeling of dread and her head pounding from the hangover. Oh God, she’d caved in and had a drink. Dorothy was going to be furious. Kit would shake his head and give her one of his serious raised-eyebrow looks, which were far worse than if he’d just told her she was a weak-willed silly cow. Tanya would be bitterly disappointed. Shame flooded through her – she’d been so determined, so sure she wasn’t going to drink again. Drinking out of a watering can too. Watering can!
It took her a few moments to realise she hadn’t been doing any such thing. As the echoes of the hangover flicked out of her mind, like little scurrying night demons that giggled as they ran, SJ heard Alco’s taunting voice. She blocked it out – she knew now that the voice wasn’t a separate entity, but her own doubts and low self esteem converging into one in her head. Trying to sabotage the good she was doing.
Fully awake now, she sat up. It was only five a.m. But there would be no getting back to sleep. She dressed quietly and went downstairs, feeling wearier than when she’d gone to bed. In the kitchen she lit a cigarette, breathed in the blissful smoke of it, let Ash into the garden and followed him out into the new day.
The dog stretched his long grey body, blinked and sniffed the air. A couple of sparrows were chirping away in the maple tree beside the summer house and the early morning light lit up the paving slabs outside.
SJ yawned and hoped the dreams had been sparked off by worry about seeing Alison again – and weren’t some kind of premonition.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The day both dragged and raced. While Tom was doing paperwork upstairs, SJ cleaned the house in a rare spurt of domesticity. She didn’t much feel like cleaning, but someone had to do it, and she was too restless to do nothing.
In between cleaning she smoked far too many fags, and shovelled painkillers down her throat. She might not have a hangover, but the headache she’d woken with was real enough. She knew she should probably have something to eat, but she didn’t feel like eating. Still, at least she should look even thinner in her dress. That was a result.
Just after lunchtime, Dorothy phoned. “How are you feeling?”
“Awful,” SJ confessed.
“Well, don’t forget what I said. Make sure you have plenty to eat – before you go, I mean. Not when you’re there and someone’s trying to shove a glass of wine in your hand.”
“Okay.”
“Did you have a good night’s sleep?” Dorothy persisted.
“No, not really. I had nightmares.”
“Take your mobile to the party and if you get the slightest urge for a drink, you phone me. Okay?”
“Sure,” SJ murmured, wondering how she was going to manage that in a houseful of people.
Hi, Dorothy, I’m gasping for a stiff drink. Can you talk me out of it, please?
A couple of people at meetings had advised her not to go to the party. They said it would be too difficult with barely six weeks of sobriety behind her, and SJ would have dearly liked to take their advice. But Dorothy had said that if the party was important, she should go just for a short time, but she should make sure she didn’t feel hungry or lonely or tired. Well, she didn’t feel hungry, but she felt very tired and very alone.
Tom had been more distant than ever lately. He hadn’t even questioned the number of texts she’d been getting, most of them from Dorothy to see if she was okay. She could be having an affair for all he knew. SJ wished it was that simple. An affair would have been a logical reason for her lack of interest in the bedroom, but she had the uneasy feeling that she hadn’t lost interest. The longer she went without alcohol, the clearer her head became. She’d never been that interested in sex with Tom. She had thought, at first, that they just needed practice; she’d been wrong, and she had never had the courage to tell him.
Tanya phoned too. “How are you doing? You all set for tonight? You will phone me if you have a problem, won’t you?”
At this rate, she’d be spending more time on her mobile than talking to party guests.
“Who are you talking to?” Tom appeared in the kitchen doorway and SJ jumped.
“Only Tanya. Bye, Tanya, I’ve got to go.”
She hung up as Tom yawned and stretched his hands above his head. His face was crinkled with tiredness and he blinked a couple of times. “I suppose we ought to think about getting ready. It’s quite an early start, isn’t it? Do you want first go in the bathroom?”
“No, you carry on. I’ll be ages, and I’ve got to do my nails first.”
It took three goes to get her nail varnish on. Her hands were shaking too much. And why was it that whenever you’d just painted your nails you got an urgent itch right inside your ear that couldn’t wait the required time for them to dry – which was always much longer than it promised on the bottle.
When she heard Tom come out of the bathroom, she went up and had her own shower and got changed. She could hear Tom whistling in the bedroom – one of them was obviously looking forward to it then. She put on the dress, sorted out the straps, pinned up her hair and studied her reflection.
Tom wolf-whistled as she came out of the bathroom.
“Blimey, I’ll be the envy of every man there. You look amazing. You should wear dresses more often. You’ve got gorgeous legs.”
“No, I haven’t. They’re too fat. And I’m getting cellulite at the tops.”
“What rubbish. You’re beautiful.” His eyes narrowed in appreciation and SJ shivered. He hadn’t looked at her like that for a very long time.
She put her hands out in front of her – ostensibly to check out the colour of her varnish: hot pink chocolate, whatever that was supposed to be; they were more peach than anything else – but really to see if they were still shaking.
They were.
“Tom, I don’t think I can go through with this,” she said, glancing up at him. “I can’t face Alison, I really can’t.”
“SJ, darling…” He must be intent on going; he never called her
darling. “We don’t have to stay long – but we DO have to go. Your mum and dad will be really upset if we don’t.”
“They probably won’t notice,” SJ said in desperation. “They’ll be surrounded by people.”
“We can’t let them down. We’re taking the wine.”
She wished he hadn’t reminded her about that. “That’s another thing I’m worried about. I’m going to be surrounded by all these people drinking. I don’t think I can cope.”
“Why not? I mean, it’s just will power, isn’t it?”
SJ blinked. Was that really what he thought? That she didn’t have any willpower and that’s why she frequently drank herself into oblivion, no matter how much she hurt herself and anyone else who happened to be in the vicinity? It was obvious from his expression that he did.
“Are you saying I haven’t got any will power?”
“I don’t think you’ve got any when it comes to alcohol – no. You can’t have – or you wouldn’t get so drunk.”
“It’s not about willpower, Tom. It’s an illness. It’s recognised as an illness – alcoholism – ring any bells? You must have heard of it.”
He was smiling. He was actually SMILING. As if this was just some simple little matter that they’d sorted out and resolved, just by her going to a few AA meetings.
“Well, you’re certainly ill when you drink too much. I agree with you there.” Gently, he took her hands in his. “You’ll be fine. I know you will. In a couple of hours’ time you’ll be wondering what you were worried about.”
SJ doubted that very much, but she knew when she was defeated. Short of faking an urgent illness on the way over, she couldn’t see a way out. She supposed she could pray the car broke down en route, or that a gang would rob the off licence just as they were picking up the wine and hold the two of them hostage at gunpoint. That would be good as long as they didn’t actually shoot them – she could probably sell a story like that to the Nationals and make some money.
Not that God usually answered her prayers – the miserable old bugger.
