He nodded. Her speech was getting worse; she sounded drunk.
‘I’m sure you shouldn’t be mixing them with gin,’ he said.
She chuckled. ‘You’re an old woman,’ she said. ‘Now shut up and tell me the gossip. What story were you covering, and how much did you have to do? Is the Bath studio still in the bottom of the council cellar? Is the mad caretaker still there who won’t let you in unless you show your driving licence?’
David nodded. ‘Yes, she’s still there. I’ve been there three times in the last fortnight and she pretends not to recognize me. I say, “Hello, Mrs Armitage,” and she says, “Name?” just like that, and I have to sign in. It was a vote about selling a school playing field to a supermarket. I did a nice package for Westerly and I’ve sold it.’
She smiled. She felt as if he were far away, a charming, once-beloved friend. ‘And what were you doing before – on the other three times in the studio?’
‘Planning inquiry – a new bypass. And a Farmers Union meeting. Ruth-’
Her eyelids were drooping. ‘Yes?’
‘You look half asleep.’
‘It’s the baby,’ she said drowsily. ‘Every time I fall asleep he wakes up. I think he knows it. When he’s up at the farm he sleeps all the time. But when he’s with me he does it in half-hour shifts.’
‘It’s not the baby,’ he said. ‘You’re completely out of it.’
She giggled sleepily. ‘I wish I was,’ she said. ‘Completely out of it. Completely. Out. It.’
Her head was dropping towards the table.
‘Ruth …’ he said urgently.
‘Your round,’ she said. She folded her arms on the table, and to his horror she slumped lower and lower until her head was resting on her forearms. ‘Nighty night,’ she said. Her smile, half hidden by the sleeve of her smock, was her old mischievous smile. ‘Sorry, David, I’m a complete goner.’
He went to shake her but she was already asleep. For a moment he looked at her with tenderness, and then he realized that she was stranded in the pub with him, with no way of getting home.
‘Ruth!’ he said urgently, and shook her shoulder.
She slumped to one side. She was clearly not going to wake. He glanced uncomfortably to the bar; the barman was watching him.
It suddenly occurred to David that she might be seriously ill. He did not know how many Amitriptyline she had taken, nor if she had taken more than the two gins he had seen her drink. ‘Christ!’ he said.
He shook her again, more urgently. She was completely limp. He let her fall gently towards the table and went up to the bar. There was nothing to do but face the music.
‘Watch her,’ he said flatly to the barman. ‘I’m getting my car up to the door and I’ll drive her home.’
‘Pissed?’ the barman asked.
‘She’s ill,’ David said loftily. ‘She’s on antibiotics and she shouldn’t have mixed them with drinks. I’ll take her home.’
The barman raised an eyebrow. ‘She won’t remember a thing then,’ he said suggestively.
‘Christ,’ David said again miserably, and went out to fetch his car.
The barman had to help him lift Ruth into the front seat. Her legs had completely gone. David thought that in all their times of comradely drinking he had never seen her completely out of control. He missed, with a brief passionate pang of nostalgia, Ruth’s giggly drunkenness, he remembered her howling with laughter and clinging to his arm.
‘Christ,’ he said again and started the car.
He knew he had to take her home, and he dreaded meeting Patrick. He drove to the cottage in a mood of stoical dread, but when he drew up outside the little house and saw the drive empty of cars and the door shut he realized that it would be worse than that – he would have to take her to her mother-in-law’s house.
‘This is a fucking nightmare,’ he said precisely to the windscreen. He shook her gently. ‘Ruth, Ruth!’
Her head dropped back, her jaw dropped open. Again he was afraid. He thought that for all he knew she might be sliding into a coma caused by a drug overdose. He thought of Elizabeth’s air of calm competence and he felt a great longing to hand over the whole problem to her. Besides, she was baby-sitting Thomas, and she would have to know that Ruth could not collect him. He gritted his teeth and turned down the drive towards Manor Farm.
It was worse than he could have predicted, for when Elizabeth opened the dark front door he saw Patrick in the hall behind her.
‘I’m dreadfully sorry,’ he said. ‘Ruth is with me, and I think she’s ill.’
Patrick exclaimed and came quickly past his mother out to the car.
‘We were at the Green Man,’ David said to Elizabeth. Her steady gaze never wavered. ‘She had two gins, and I know she took at least one Amitriptyline. I think she’d had some before she came out. I’m afraid she’s ill. Perhaps you should call a doctor.’ He spoke precisely; he felt quite sick with embarrassment.
Patrick came up the shallow steps with Ruth in his arms. David shrank back.
‘Put her in the yellow bedroom. I’ll come up in a moment.’
Patrick nodded grimly and climbed the stairs. He ignored David completely.
Elizabeth’s face was full of sympathy. ‘Thank you for bringing her home,’ she said. ‘We’ve been worried. We didn’t know where she’d gone or what she was doing.’
‘She was quite safe,’ David said awkwardly.
Elizabeth came out with him to his car. ‘Does she often drink to excess?’ she asked gently.
‘Never!’ David exclaimed.
‘You’ve never seen her drunk before?’
‘Well … we’ve been friends a long time,’ he said. ‘We were at college together. We all used to drink then … and in the old days, when we were working, we might have a drink after work, we used to drink a bit then … but everyone did … after work you know … after a tough day …’ he sounded as if he were making excuses.
She nodded gravely. ‘So this is nothing new.’
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ David said. ‘But it’s not how it looks.’
Her silence was worse than an interrogation.
‘We’re just friends,’ David said. ‘Very good friends. I’m very fond of her. But that’s all. She’s always been in love, madly in love, with Patrick.’
Elizabeth nodded. ‘Is she still?’
David was about to swear that nothing had changed, but then he remembered Ruth in the pub saying that men were like women on Amitriptyline – cut off from life, insensate.
‘I don’t know,’ he said honestly. ‘She’s not like herself at all.’
Elizabeth lowered her voice; David leaned closer to hear.
‘We are thinking that she needs a complete rest,’ she said. ‘A complete break.’
David felt an intense sense of relief that someone else would deal with the problem.
‘Do you think that would be a good idea?’ Elizabeth asked him. Her anxious scrutiny of his face assured him that his opinion was of material importance. ‘Do you think that would be the best thing for her?’
‘Yes,’ David said. ‘Yes, I think so. She can’t go on like this.’
Elizabeth nodded. ‘I’ll see if I can find somewhere that she can go, and get her booked in at once then,’ she said. ‘But if she calls you – or writes –’ she paused.
David waited.
‘You wouldn’t take her away, or visit without telling us, would you? Even if she asked you. If she has a drink problem or a drug problem she must stick it out. You will help her stay there, won’t you? Even if she calls you and wants to leave?’
‘Jesus,’ David said miserably.
Elizabeth touched his hand. ‘I am sorry to have to ask for your help,’ she said. ‘But you are her only friend. If she were to turn to you we have to know that you would do the best for her – which isn’t always the easiest thing to do.’
David nodded. ‘If she calls me, or writes, I’ll let you know,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t w
ant to interrupt her treatment. She has to get well again.’
Elizabeth nodded. ‘That’s what we all want.’
He swung into the car seat and then hesitated. ‘But if she gets better, and wants to go back to work, or – I don’t know – change everything – I’d always be on her side.’
Elizabeth’s smile was understanding. ‘You’re her friend,’ she said. ‘I understand that. And she comes first for you. That’s as it should be.’
David nodded and she stood back and let him slam the door. She waved as he drove away, and he glanced in his rear-view mirror at the elegant figure receding into the distance. He thought she was a beautiful and intelligent woman, he thought she would care for Ruth and manage the whole family with skill and sensitivity. He had another contradictory feeling – which he ignored – that he had betrayed Ruth, and betrayed their long friendship, and that he should have done anything with her but drive her home to that woman.
Frederick was consulting Sylvesters, his lawyers.
‘Small problem,’ he said in his usual shorthand. ‘Just a brief inquiry.’
‘Yes, Colonel Cleary,’ Simon Sylvester said.
‘Domestic sort of thing.’ Frederick cleared his throat. ‘Daughter-in-law. Not up to caring for the new baby. Rather a poor show.’
Simon Sylvester drew a notepad towards him and scribbled the Cleary name on top.
‘Drinking,’ Frederick said shortly. ‘And drugs. We’re concerned for her, of course, but mainly for the well-being of the child. Any idea where we stand?’
Simon Sylvester thought quickly. ‘The child’s well-being comes under the Children Act, so any action would have to ensure that his interests are paramount.’
Frederick nodded. ‘Goes without saying,’ he said. ‘Where do we stand with the mother?’
‘In what way?’ Simon Sylvester asked cautiously.
‘Getting her sorted out,’ Frederick said with frank brutality. ‘Locked up, dried out, that sort of thing.’
‘If she’s a danger to herself and to others, you can get her committed under the Mental Health Act,’ Sylvester said. ‘But it’s rather drastic.’
‘How d’you do it?’
‘You have to have a warrant from her doctor and next of kin to say that she must be hospitalized. You can keep her inside for a period of assessment, and that can be renewed or challenged.’
‘One relation and a doctor?’ Frederick confirmed. ‘And how long does she get locked up for?’
‘Twenty-eight days,’ Sylvester said. ‘Renewable. That’s for assessment. It’s a rather drastic piece of legislation, actually. There’s no appeal. No way out. If you can get her GP to say she needs treatment, she can be inside for six months.’
‘And the child? Would they want to take him into care?’
‘I think he would stay with the father. Father can cope, can he?’
‘We can cope,’ Frederick said.
‘Then you want a residence order. Father goes before a magistrate and explains the situation. Magistrate rules where the child is to live.’
‘There’d be no problem with that,’ Frederick said.
His lawyer smiled. Frederick Cleary was a magistrate himself and on first-name terms with every member of the bench in the county.
‘Thanks for your advice,’ he said. ‘Very useful. I may call again.’
‘It’s a measure of the last resort,’ his lawyer cautioned him. ‘I imagine that she would resent it very bitterly. It would be hard to restore a proper family atmosphere after such an action.’
Frederick nodded. ‘Point taken,’ he said briskly. ‘But I like to know what I’ve got up my sleeve.’
Dr MacFadden came as soon as Elizabeth called him and examined Ruth as she lay asleep in the yellow guest bedroom. When he came downstairs, Elizabeth, Frederick, and Patrick were all waiting to see him in the hall.
‘She can sleep it off,’ he said. ‘She’ll probably sleep the rest of today and wake up tomorrow with a headache. No harm done.’
‘Not this time,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Fortunately she was with a friend who brought her home to us. If she had been at home with the baby, or tried to drive somewhere, it could have been very serious.’
Dr MacFadden nodded. He was fighting with a sense of guilt. He thought he should have spotted that Ruth was unstable enough to overdose. He had a strong sense that Ruth had let him down by misusing the medicine he had given her.
‘The thing is,’ Frederick said firmly, ‘that the time has come for a more permanent solution. We can’t go on like this.’
Dr MacFadden responded at once to the voice of authority. ‘Yes,’ he said.
‘We’re thinking of sending her on a little holiday,’ Frederick said. ‘Give her a complete break, away from it all. How does that sound to you?’
‘Good idea,’ the doctor said. ‘A very good idea.’
‘That’s agreed then,’ said Frederick. ‘We want no repetition of this.’
‘Where will you go?’ Dr MacFadden asked Patrick.
‘She’ll go alone,’ Elizabeth said smoothly. ‘My son cannot leave his work at present. I shall care for Thomas while she’s away.’
‘Oh. Fine.’
Dr MacFadden headed for the door. Frederick went with him to his car. ‘The thing is,’ Frederick said confidentially, ‘that I’m not sure she’s entirely well. We might have to consider some sort of mental treatment. She’s a bit unstable, there’s a family history – very artistic people – and she’s completely failed to care for the baby, and now drinking and taking drugs …’
Dr MacFadden’s sense that Ruth had been irresponsible with her prescription gave him a sense of grievance, and he liked and respected Frederick and Elizabeth. ‘Whatever you want …’
‘Hope we won’t have to call on you,’ Frederick said.
Uncertainly Dr MacFadden nodded. He did not know quite what Frederick meant, nor what he was promising. ‘Anything I can do …’
‘Hope it won’t be necessary,’ Frederick said. He stood back from the car as the doctor drove away.
Elizabeth made them a lunch of salad and omelettes, denoting a sense of urgency. Patrick pushed the food around his plate and ate little. His mother watched him even while she rocked Thomas with her foot resting against his little bouncing chair.
‘I think we had better make up our minds that something needs to be done,’ Frederick said, when they had finished eating. ‘We can’t have a repetition of this.’
Elizabeth nodded, watching Patrick.
‘What can we do?’ he asked his father. ‘What can we do?’
‘I think she needs to go away, a complete break, and get dried out,’ his father said frankly. ‘She’s no good to anyone if she’s drinking and taking drugs like this.’
‘She’s not an alcoholic …’ Patrick demurred.
‘Of course not,’ Elizabeth agreed with him. ‘But she needs help.’
‘Where could she go?’
‘Celia Fine’s daughter went to a marvellous man in Sussex,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I’ll call her and get the number.’
‘Celia’s daughter was on heroin!’ Patrick exclaimed.
Elizabeth shrugged. ‘Well, she’s a starting point.’
‘The thing is that I think we might be overreacting,’ Patrick said. ‘Ruth’s been through a rough time and I haven’t been really aware … if I can get home more, and we keep an eye on her …’
Both his parents were silent.
‘I don’t think we can take the risk,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Not with a new baby.’
‘Let’s bite the bullet and get it sorted out,’ Frederick said. ‘Once and for all.’
Patrick was nearly convinced. He looked at his mother. ‘I just wish I knew I was doing the right thing.’
She put out her hand and touched his fingers. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘Leave it to me.’
As the doctor had predicted, Ruth slept all afternoon and all night. When she woke in the morning her mouth was dry and tasted foul
, her head thudded. She did not at first recognize the room, and then she could not remember how she had got to the farm. She could remember nothing of the previous day at all. She felt anxious about Thomas; she could not remember when she had last seen him.
The door opened and Elizabeth came in with a beautifully laid breakfast tray.
‘Oh, you’re awake!’ she said with evident pleasure. ‘I am glad. And how are you feeling?’
‘I’m OK,’ Ruth said. ‘Well – headachy and foul. But fine. But I can’t remember coming here. And where’s Thomas?’
Elizabeth put the tray on Ruth’s knees, anchoring her to the bed. ‘We have Thomas,’ she said. ‘I collected him the day before yesterday – d’you remember? And he stayed overnight last night, and the night before.’
‘Is he all right?’
‘Of course.’
Ruth shook her head. At once the pain in her head and neck thudded. She closed her eyes for a moment. ‘I don’t remember,’ she said.
‘You’re not very well,’ Elizabeth said gently. ‘You’re not very well at all, Ruth. Better take two of your pills.’
Ruth looked at her. The light seemed very bright. Elizabeth’s shirt in cream and her grey tailored skirt seemed to shimmer with excess light. The bottle of pills was on the breakfast tray. Ruth took two.
‘What’s happened?’ Ruth asked.
‘We think you have a problem caring for Thomas.’
‘I’m fine,’ Ruth said. Her voice was thin and faraway.
‘You know you’re not,’ Elizabeth said calmly. ‘There’s a doctor coming in half an hour to see you, and if he thinks he can help you then we want you to go with him, to his centre, where he can treat you.’
‘What for?’
‘Depression,’ Elizabeth said.
‘I’m not depressed,’ Ruth said. ‘I’m just tired. I never sleep. There’s nothing wrong but that.’
Elizabeth smiled. ‘So go with this doctor and have a good long rest. You’ve been through so much, Ruth. You need a rest.’
‘But what about Thomas?’
The Little House Page 13
