She's crying though and carrying on so much that I don't even stop and get my Walnut Whip.
I get home and sort out Daisy and then I put the flowers in a vase to brighten up the living room but they don’t make me feel any better. It’s there, it’s still there rising up in my chest - the loathing and anger is still there. I want to pour cool water, I want to be a better person, to be forgiving and calm and to care.
Except, I don’t want to care about Lucy.
I pick up the flowers and I take them outside and I bin them.
Fuck you, Lucy!
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
Lucy
I drop Charlotte off at Simone’s for a sleepover and then Jess rings to see if I’m okay and if she and Luke can come over.
I tell her I just want to be alone.
I do.
I head to the supermarket and then I change my mind and head for home.
I think of the cupboards and freezer all groaning.
It’s all waiting for me there too.
I know that I’m going to do it, so I turn around and go back to the supermarket.
I might as well get what I want.
Tomorrow.
I’ll start properly tomorrow.
I mean it.
Just once, I decide.
I haven’t done it in ages and this really is the last time.
Charlotte’s safely out of the way.
I make up a long convoluted story in the chemist’s.
‘My husband is having an IVP tomorrow and I can’t find the tablet, the laxative, that he was told to take.’
What are you doing Lucy? Your husband is dead. Why are you making up a story?
Why don’t I just bung them in my basket?
Why do I have to make things so complicated?
I just do.
My hand closes in relief around the lovely packet.
Then it’s in to the supermarket. I get a trolley and finally I’m shopping for me.
Not for work.
Not for Charlotte.
Not the healthy meals I used to make for him.
I’m shopping for me.
Vanilla ice cream.
A good one this time, not the crap I used to buy when I was home alone with Mum.
Then off to buy Maltesers and Crunchies and Snickers and Flakes. I’ve got Baileys at home.
I add a mud cake to my trolley.
I’ve got the black forest gateaux all cut up and in the freezer and if I pull it out as soon as I get home it will be ready if I need it.
I know that I won’t cook sauces – I won’t have time for that, so I go to the ice cream sauce aisle.
I haven’t been here for years – I mean – not for me.
He caught me once when Charlotte was about six months old. It was the most shameful moment of my life, well, at that time, it was the most shameful moment of my life, and I stopped then.
We’ve never had ice cream in the house since.
But I’m having it now.
I come to this aisle maybe fifty times a day for work but I just sort of zone out, or I try to.
Except I notice.
There are ice cream sauces that you can warm in the microwave now – butterscotch and chocolate. Jess really didn’t need to go to all that trouble.
My trolley is groaning but, so that the check out lady thinks I’m having a party, and not about to go on a bender, I add candles too.
‘Having a party?’ she says as she slides my purchases through.
Perfect!
I mash the Snickers and Crunchies and stir in the Maltesers and I break up the mud cake. I don’t use gloves as I stir it in but I’ve forgotten the Baileys. I go and get it and see my smeary hand print on the sideboard and I’ll wipe it off later. I put it into the biggest bowl and then I shove it in the freezer and I just have to wait.
But I can’t.
Just wait Lucy.
I swallow a handful of laxatives and then a few more to be sure.
I can see the answer machine flashing as I wipe down the benches and I remember my mobile was ringing as I mixed the ice cream too but I ignore it.
There’s no way I can have a conversation now.
I forgot cream!
Shit! I like cream with my ice cream and I’m just about out to head out when the doorbell rings.
I ignore it.
Then I hear the key in the door and for a second I think it’s him coming home, that he’s going to catch me again.
‘Charlotte?’
‘Sorry to startle you,’ Simone smiles. ‘We tried calling.’
Charlotte’s let herself in with her key. She’s all droopy. ‘She doesn’t feel well,’ Simone explains.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I was just in the laundry. I didn’t hear you.’
I see her glance around.
The house is tidy - at least the hall is.
‘Thanks so much Simone.’
No, she won’t stop for tea, she says when I offer, she’s got a full house.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask Charlotte once Simone has gone but she shrugs me off and heads up to her room.
I follow her in.
‘What’s wrong?’ I put my hand on her forehead and it feels cool.
‘I just don’t feel well.’
‘Charlotte?’
‘Just leave me.’ She shrugs me off again. ‘I just want to go to bed.’
There’s something wrong, there’s something going on.
I just don’t know what it is.
She won’t talk.
Though, if I’m honest, even if she did, I’m not sure that I’d hear it.
I’ve got a freezer full of ice cream cake waiting for me and I simply can’t ignore it.
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
It’s not an attractive thing, so I’m not going to go into detail.
The important point is – I’ve forgotten the cream.
I don’t want Charlotte waking up and me not to be there.
As I’m waiting for the freezer to do its job with my ice cream cake, I remember that I have an awful lot of Baileys left over from the funeral and that Baileys contains cream.
Basically, I eat an awful lot.
I mean, an awful lot.
And I wash it down with cream, or rather Baileys, safe in the knowledge I’m about to purge.
Except I haven’t factored in the alcohol content and as I sit on the loo with a shower cap on, working on my second bottle of cream, or rather, Baileys, with a bucket in front of me, that I’m aiming to puke into, I fall off.
I don’t remember falling off.
But I must have because I’m on the cold floor.
I can hear Charlotte screaming.
But I can’t open my eyes.
I hear noises and I hear footsteps and my eyelids are lifted and there are lights being flashed into my eyes. I am vaguely aware of a second stretcher bumping its way down my staircase and then we’re all clipped into the back. I can hear Charlotte crying and she’s got her phone and is trying to call my mum.
‘No!’ I shout it to her and she’s sobbing. ‘Not Mum.’
She asks if she can ring Jess and no way, I slur at her. ‘No way.’
The laxatives continue working.
She looks at me and my daughter hates me and no wonder.
I’ve officially turned into my mum.
Please God, I beg as the back of the ambulance opens and I’m wheeled into A&E.
Please God, I sob as the lights of the department hit me. Please God, this is rock-bottom.
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
‘Gloria’s coming.’
‘What?’ I sort of lurch to sit up and the trolley moves. ‘I’m going home.’
‘You're going nowhere.’
The nurse is really stern.
I thought they were supposed to be nice, she used to be nice.
I remember her.
I try to focus on her name badge for when I write my letter of complaint, in fact I’ll do it now. I demand my bag and I pull out my journal and I start writing but all she does is smile. ‘You’re going down, Rose,’ I say. ‘Who the hell called Gloria? She's got nothing to do with me.’
I don't want her to see me like this. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.
Except, a gradually sobering voice in my head is starting to tell me, my daughter has.
They’ve cleaned me up as best as they can. I can’t stand what Charlotte must have seen and I cannot, I cannot face Gloria.
‘Charlotte called her sister in Australia and she called her mother.’
Half sister!
I've got to talk to Charlotte about the phone calls.
‘I don’t want Gloria,’ I shout. ‘She’s not going with Gloria.’
‘Shall I ring the duty social worker then?’ Rose asks and I shrink back on the pillow. ‘Shall I see if they can arrange a temporary placement for her?’
‘I want to go home. I want to discharge myself.’
‘Fine, but Charlotte won’t be going home tonight with you.’
They keep banging on about my alcohol intake – they don’t get it wasn’t the Baileys I wanted, it was the cream.
‘I don’t drink much,’ I try to explain but they’re not listening. ‘I just wanted the cream,’ I say but my words are slurring.
A doctor examines me and puts in a drip and I hear the word unkempt and I remember that that will sting later. When I look back on this - that word will kill but right now I’m angry.
How dare he?
How dare he judge me for not cutting my toenails, for having roots, how dare he call me unkempt?
I work.
I live in the village.
I’ve got a carriage driveway.
I don't even get my own cubicle for long. I’m moved to the corridor where the nurses can keep an eye on me, without me taking up too much room. I see Gloria arrive, holding Daisy. No wonder he left, I try to tell myself, except it doesn’t console me, because it doesn’t apply, she looks great and as for me…
I look at Gloria and I remember the last time our eyes met.