‘You told me I shouldn’t give you any more,’ she reminded me.
‘Yeah, I got it wrong. I didn’t understand how bad … how deep the damage is. I can’t stop asking myself what kind of mother sleeps through her baby dying?’
Her pupils flared with pity. Doubtfully she studied me. ‘Can I trust you to be sensible?’
‘You totally can. The last thing I want to do is relapse, things are bad enough.’
She exhaled. ‘Okay. I’ll give you a month’s script, renewable by three, to be taken if and only if you need them, mmmkay?’
‘Of course, of course.’ I was breathless with relief.
‘And you must start seeing a psychiatrist. You need more help than I can give you.’
I’d have agreed to anything, so long as I could get some sleep. ‘Who should I … Is there anyone you recommend?’
‘It’s better if you do the research. It works best if it’s a doctor you feel comfortable with. Perhaps someone experienced in addiction?’
I promised I’d sort it out, then left, gratefully clutching the prescription.
But this time I couldn’t tell Luke. He’d go crazy.
It was easy for him, he could drink whiskey, he had the option to self-medicate any way he liked. I needed to sleep, I’d go round the bend if I couldn’t and I was desperately grateful for the tablets. I knew I had no choice and I knew this was just temporary, until I’d done some healing. Luckily, I knew enough about addiction to know how to handle this.
54
I was woken by a dream about Yara and Luke. Quin’s bedroom was pitch-dark and already the details of the dream were dispersing, leaving just a watery sorrow. It was only 3.20 a.m., but there would be no going back to sleep, not for ages.
Quietly, I slid from the bed.
‘Y’okay?’ Quin mumbled.
I paused. Quin tried so hard to be kind about Yara but nothing he could say would make me feel okay. It was better to just leave him to sleep. ‘All fine, sweetie.’
But downstairs, because his TV was embedded in some sophisticated audio-visual set-up, I couldn’t switch it on. Honest to Christ, what good was it that I could – in theory – get nine hundred channels in surround sound if I couldn’t access one simple episode of Brooklyn 99 to distract my grieving heart?
I decided to go home. At least there, technology didn’t laugh at me.
Meanwhile, a text had arrived from Claire during the night: FYI, the birthday girl’s got the bit between her teeth about inviting Luke to her party.
Ah, no! My fragile acceptance was a long way from happily watching Luke Costello eating mushroom vol-au-vents in the thick of the Walshes, being quizzed by Auntie Imelda on my many failings.
As soon as I got home, I tripped over Devin’s boots in the hall – which tumbled me into thinking about Luke again. For a moment I wanted to ring him because he was the only other person on earth who knew exactly how I felt.
Instead, I gathered Crunchie to me. We snuggled under a blanket, listening to Nigel Slater read his Kitchen Diaries. I was hoping his calm voice would soothe me enough to doze off again, but not today. Then I remembered there was an NA meeting at seven thirty on Sunday mornings in Bray, I might as well have a shower and go.
The turnout in Bray’s parish centre was very small – only eight of us.
‘Because the clocks went forward,’ someone said. ‘The usual crowd will turn up in an hour.’
Oh, right. Summer time had officially arrived. How had I missed it? Because my head was full of the past, obviously.
When it was my turn to share, I did a quick recap on what had happened yesterday. ‘I wish I could time travel,’ I said. ‘To when I was pregnant. And just magically avert whatever made my baby’s heart stop beating. I want to go back and rescue the three of us.’ Suddenly I was crying so hard, I could barely speak. Tissues came my way from all quarters of the room.
When I could talk again, I said, ‘I’ve been lucky, I’ve – mostly – accepted it. But seeing Luke again, it’s churned up a lot of painful feelings and I’d like to sleep for a month. Or disappear into something like Big Little Lies, except I’ve already seen it twice.’
As soon as the meeting ended, I got a lot of advice – some of it very specific. ‘Have you seen Ozark? Oh, right, how about Mad Men? The Fall? Breaking Bad? Obvious one, this, but The Sopranos?’
I’d already watched everything the man suggested and my eyes were becoming glassy.
‘Tin Star?’ he said.