That the grown ups are stepping up and stepping in.
That things will get better now.
There’s a terrible twist of guilt as he says that, because I should have done just that yesterday.
I should have stepped up and stepped in when I saw Lucy ranting at the graveside.
I didn’t want to deal with it.
I’m lazy like that.
I sit there and I admit it.
I am lazy like that.
‘What if something happens to her?’ Charlotte asks
I go to rush in, to tell her it won’t but Luke silences me again.
‘I don’t think anything is going to happen to your mum but, I promise you this Charlotte, you have got so many people that love you…’
‘If something does happen could I come and live with you and Jess?’
He looks her right in the eye but I frown at his hesitation. ‘I will always be there for you and so too will Jess,’ Luke says.
Charlotte says that she’s worried about her mum being at the house on her own, that maybe she should go back there. Luke tells her that he’s just seen her when he picked up her clothes and she seems fine. She was having a cup of tea with a neighbour when he got there and that Charlotte’s nanny is there now and she’s staying the night.
I can’t imagine Lucy’s too thrilled about that!
Still, it seems to appease Charlotte and because, after all, she is eleven, a few minutes later she wants to go and see Daisy.
Daisy has this little gym in Eleanor’s bedroom, she lies there on her back, bashing mirrors and foil and kicking her little fat legs. Charlotte could literally watch her for hours, so I set it up for them and then I make a drink and some sandwiches for my latest visitor and then I head back in to face Luke.
I’ll know he’ll be as direct with me as he was with Charlotte.
‘What are you doing, Sir Bob?’
I like Luke’s rare, dry humour and he can always make me smile.
‘I happen to admire Bob Geldof.’ I can feel Luke’s eyes on me. I know he’s looking out for me but I don’t need him to in this. ‘You don't get it,’ I tell him. ‘She's my children’s sister.’ Then I have to concede a bit, because it is mad - I'm looking after my late, ex-husband’s daughter and I’ve already got more than enough on my plate. ‘I don’t know Luke – I can’t just turn my back.’
‘Lucy’s trouble,’ Luke says. ‘Gloria, you don’t know the half of it… Jesus!’ He stands up and he’s pacing and I can see that he’s conflicted, that there’s more that he wants to say. ‘After the funeral…’ he shakes his head. He doesn’t want to hurt me, he can’t trust my reaction, I mean, he can’t really tell me, can he? But, I admire him for trying and, more to the point, I already know.
‘Lucy and Noel?’ I say and Luke double-takes, and then he just stills.
‘You know?’
‘I know a lot of things, Luke…’ and he stands there. ‘I know he was your friend but I know too what he was like. I know what went on in our marriage.’ It’s getting too personal and I don’t know why I’m defending her. ‘I think it was the same for Lucy…’ I’m not going to explain it; I’m not going to tell him just how shit you feel when your husband will screw anything with a pulse except you.
‘Anyway, I don’t really know that. It’s not as if we’ve spoken about it. I’ve never spoken to Lucy till last night.’ He sits down on the sofa. ‘Oh, and one other time.’ I correct. ‘Though, it was hardly a conversation. Remember the boat?’
He gives a pale smile because, even if we’ve never spoken about it again, we all remember that night.
‘It didn’t help that you were seasick,’ Luke says.
‘I wasn’t seasick,’ I laugh. ‘I was pissed. I’d had five Bacardi and cokes before I even got there. I knew that he was leaving me, I knew that Lucy had upped her demands and wanted more than a shag now and then.’ I close my eyes and I can picture that night, more than that, I can feel it, I can hear it - I’ve got my head over the edge of the boat and I’m throwing up into the water. The boat’s turning around and when we get back I know he’s going to go with her. I want the boat to keep sailing. I want the Thames to never end, because my marriage is and I did everything I could to save it.
Everything.
I am there again and I can feel the fear and the shame and the dread for all that’s ahead. I can hear the music the DJ was playing; I can actually hear Don Henley’s, Boys of Summer, pounding in my ears as I lean over the boat to be sick. Then later, when we dock, I lose my temper with her for the first time, actually the last time. I’ve told him where he can go, but not quite so politely and then he and Luke got into a fight and it’s then I see her. That’s when I say it. ‘I got the best years of him.’
But there was a bit before that and I look over to Luke and I know he’s remembering it too. On the boat, as I rushed past Luke to be sick, he was leaning over the edge too, that song pulsing, a beer in his hand and he was staring into the water. He’d just found out about them too.
‘You liked her, didn’t you?’ I say to Luke and he looks back at me.
‘Not really,’ Luke’s says. ‘I didn’t particularly like her but I was hoping to shag her that night,’ he gives a wry laugh. ‘I’d heard she was very good from several sources.’
‘Luke!’ I scold him, because I don’t like him talking like that.
‘I hate her for what she did to you two.’
‘Luke,’ I try, but he interrupts me.
‘I’m only stepping in now because of Charlotte and because of how much I loved him. I’m not doing this because I care about her,’ Luke says. ‘The thing is Gloria, whatever way you look at things, Lucy’s a slut.’
CHAPTER FORTY TWO
Lucy
‘I’ll run you a bath.’
I’m on about my tenth cup of tea since mum arrived.
I thought mum would sweep in with a thousand questions, or tell me off and just lecture me, but she hasn’t really said anything.
Neither have I.
She just keeps making me tea and I keep on drinking it.
I’m so dehydrated and I’m all shaky. I feel like I should have felt when he died.
‘Come on.’
‘I had a shower this morning.’
‘Lucy.’
I go upstairs and I don’t look in the mirror. I bought a packet of razors the other week but never used them.
I use them now.
Unkempt.
I never thought it would be a word that might apply to me.
I come back down and I lie on the couch and mum comes over, she takes my feet in her lap and she gets to work with the clippers.
I hear unkempt with each clip and I see the last bits of fading red fall away.
The last time things were perfect.
Except, they weren’t perfect then.
Far from it.
I can see that now.
‘You need to get your hair done,’ Mum looks up from my feet. ‘It’s important that Charlotte sees you taking care of yourself.’
I nod. I can’t really afford the hundred and twenty quid I used to fork out all the time and, with the mess it’s in, Ricky will charge me way more than that.
‘Oh,’ she goes and gets rid of my toenails and then she goes in her purse. ‘I forgot, I owe you sixty quid.’
‘What?’
‘For the dress I got for Charlotte to wear at the funeral. I never gave you the change.’
‘You did.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘You did.’
My mum is not paying for me to go to the hairdressers.
But, I am going to go.
Just not yet.
Muttering and stuffing the money back in her purse the phone rings and mum answers it.
‘No, this is her mother,’ she says and rolls her eyes as she gives her name – Valerie Jones. ‘Yes, she’s here with me now. Charlotte’s staying at her…’ she pauses for a minute. ‘With Gloria Jameson
and she’ll be back here tomorrow.’ She holds up her hand and makes a yap yap motion and she takes me by surprise.
I sort of expected her to revere to the social worker, to lower her voice, to be as I would.
But she’s not me.
And I’m not her, I realise.
‘She doesn’t drink,’ Mum says. ‘Well now and then she does but she’s certainly not an alcoholic. I’d know…’ and she is wiping down the kitchen bench as the social worker says something. ‘Because I am one!’ Mum doesn’t give a fag who knows. ‘I’ve been sober for eighteen years,’ she says proudly. ‘I go to my meetings every day and I’d certainly know if my daughter had a drinking problem. If she’d just gone and got a bloody carton of cream this could all have been avoided.’
I never thought I would again but hearing my mum, I almost, almost, smile.
But Luke’s right, it isn’t just about the missing cream and when she speaks on I start to cry.
‘I don’t think it will happen again,’ Mum’s voice is serious now, ‘but we all know, Frances, that well it might. I have had a very long chat with her and we both agree that if it does, and,’ she reiterates, ‘I doubt it will but, if it does, she’s to ring me and I’ll watch Charlotte. She was supposed to be on a sleepover when it happened,’ my Mum points out. ‘Lucy only set up her binge when she thought Charlotte was well out of the way. Tomorrow, I’m taking Lucy to see her GP,’ she comes over and puts her arm around me. ‘Yes, Frances,’ she says to the social worker. ‘I guess we do have a plan.’
‘I mean that,’ Mum says when she hangs up the phone. ‘You are to call me if you’re going to go on a bender.’
‘It won’t happen again.’
‘But if it does.’
‘It won’t.’
‘I won’t try and stop you,’ Mum says. ‘I won’t say a word, but you’re to promise me that you’ll call me and I’ll take Charlotte.’
I nod.
But that’s not enough for Mum.
‘I promise.’
‘Good,’ Mum says. ‘I think they’re going to close.’
‘Close?’
‘Close the case.’ Mum’s more than used to it. ‘They just need to know that Charlotte’s safe,’ she squeezes my shoulder. ‘Bloody hell, Lucy, why didn’t you just go and get some cream?’
‘I didn’t want to leave her,’ I say. ‘I was scared she might wake up and not know where I was…’
Like I used to.
I don’t say that, I’m not trying to hurt her now.
‘Do you think she’ll forgive me?’
Mum looks at me and I realise then that I just did.
Hurt her.
I realise what a cruel question I’ve asked her, because, after all these years, I’ve never once forgiven her.
I don’t even know if I do now.
‘That’s up to Charlotte,’ Mum says.
‘Do you think we’ll ever get back what we had?’
‘Probably not,’ Mum’s always honest. ‘You might just get even better.’
CHAPTER FORTY THREE
Doctor Patel has one of those heads that is constantly nodding.
I don't mean to be rude but I have to concentrate on not nodding back as I tell her what's happened.
But sometimes I forget and I do.
‘It wasn't the alcohol, it was the cream…’ I explain.
Nod, nod, nod.
‘And Charlotte found me.’ Nod, nod, nod.
‘But it's not just what happened on Friday night that I'm worried about.’ I spill it all out, a condensed version, of course. I tell her about my lack of personal hygiene, how impossible it is to get in the bath, to take my clothes off sometimes but her eyes don't widen–she just nods.
And she listens.
I tell her that sometimes things get better, sometimes I feel great but it never lasts and I always mess things up.
I start to cry and I tell her that I keep on messing up, not just a little bit, but big time.
She asks questions.
I'm taking up too much of her time, I tell her.
No, I’m not.
Nod, nod, nod.
She asks me questions and she tells me things, she goes through leaflets with me, but properly. I burn when she talks about promiscuity and heightened sexuality. Maybe that explains what happened with Noel and my increasing thoughts about Luke but I don’t want to be bi-polar, I don’t want that to be Charlotte’s mum.
‘I’m not saying that you are, I’m just explaining things,’ Dr Patel says when I start to cry. ‘Depression is very complicated and it’s not something you can manage on your own.’
She really is lovely to me; she really does seem to get me. She just holds my heaving shoulders and she tells me we are going to take things one-step at a time. That, just as depression has many facets, so too does grieving.
‘I’m not grieving.’
She nods but with Doctor Patel, that doesn’t necessarily mean that she agrees.
‘Right now, we need to deal with your grief and then we’ll see how things lie.’
She just keeps right on talking and nodding and when she tells me that maybe I’ve always been a little bit that way, that there are many facets to bi-polar too and that his death has perhaps exacerbated it. ‘A lot of clever people are,’ she says and no-one’s ever called me clever before but I didn’t really want to hear it that way but she smiles when she says it. ‘A lot of notorious people are too.’
And, yes, I guess I can be a bit notorious at times! That’s a very nice word for it.
I’ll keep that one please.
Doctor Patel sort of talks me off the ledge of madness I’ve wedged myself on and tells me that things will calm down.
I’m not going to lose my daughter, she tells me. The social services rang this morning and were pleased to hear that I’d already made an appointment. They’ve already spoken to the school and it would seem that the case is closed.
It was a one off.
I’m not going to lose my daughter, she says again.
I'm to go on tablets she tells me. Just a very low dose but she’s going to be keeping a very close eye and, any hint of suicidal thoughts and I am to ring her. She just says all the words that no one else does. She wants me to see the grief counsellor. It's not a grief counsellor I need, it's a psychiatrist, I think. Maybe I could ring Alice and ask if I can borrow Hugh for a few weeks (and no, I wasn't even thinking of that).
I don't think Doctor Patel fully gets it. I don't think she understands just how bad I am.
‘I don't think I'm grieving.’
She nods and I've given in trying, I'm nodding back - I'm telling her the truth.
‘I don't think I loved him.’ She doesn't react. ‘I don't know if I ever loved him,’ I reiterate. ‘I don't know if I was just married to him for what he could give me, for the sake of Charlotte…’
‘Well, you can't have a grief counsellor then,’ Doctor Patel says. ‘Not on the NHS…’ I'm the one nodding, because it isn’t grief. ‘They're very specific with their criteria - only perfect wives, grieving perfect husbands are allowed to speak with one.’ Then I realise she's joking and also that she’s terribly kind. ‘Lucy, you are grieving.’ She takes my hands. ‘Of course, you are grieving.’
She doesn’t kick me out of the door with my prescription, she carries on talking and she looks at my swollen hands.
‘Your ring!’
It’s so tight, even more than it has been lately, they pumped some fluids into me at the hospital and I’ve had about fifty cups of tea with mum and my finger is actually hurting.
‘Cut it off,’ I say.
‘No, no…’ she gets soap, she gets lubricant and she wiggles and she works it but it is simply not going to come off.
‘Cut it off,’ I say again. ‘It didn’t mean anything.’
‘Lucy…’ Doctor Patel gets out the ring cutter and seems more upset than me. She gets a sheet of paper and rests my hand on it and then she gets this huge silve
r thing and slips it beneath my ring and starts turning a little wheel. ‘Hopefully, I won’t go through the hallmark or engraving…’
The metal gives and she gets two forceps and peels the metal away and slides off the ring and then she folds it up in the paper with all the little bits of gold dust and puts it all into a small bag plastic zip lock bag and she hands it to me. ‘They can fix it and you won’t even know.’ She massages my swollen finger and the indent where my ring has been. I mention my weight and that I really want to lose it, but slowly this time, sensibly, instead of all the mad diets I go on and I swear her eyes light up.
‘You should join the slimming club,’ she says, bundling me over to her scales. ‘You'll need a note from me because you've got an eating disorder.’ I want to interrupt and explain that one binge in ten years does not an eating disorder make, but she won’t let me get a word in. ‘I'll have to see you regularly too–they're very strict about it.’
I'm going to love it apparently, she assures me - Dr Patel lost seven stone. I have to be sure that I go to Beryl’s meetings, she does them all around the area. There’ll be one near me.
Bloody hell!
She seems delighted!
I’m her new project.
Mum’s waiting for me in the waiting room and I make an appointment for the grief counsellor and I get my pills dispensed. I think it’s going to take a bit more than that to sort me out.
A whole lot more than that, I am quite sure.
But, I do feel a little bit better.
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR
Gloria
Well, this is awkward.
I pick her up from Lucy’s and I shake my head when she invites me in.
She’s such a lovely little thing.
Charlotte, I mean!
She’s a bit reserved and a bit shy but we both get on.
I sign her in and I take a seat in the waiting room.
When I got my teeth done, it was normally a nurse who called me through, but this time it’s Noel. He startles when he sees me and then there’s actually a grimace on his face when he sees Daisy but he quickly hides it – he’s polite like that and he smiles to Charlotte.
What Goes Around... Page 19
