He lifts me then, like a child, and carries me into the bedroom, lays me gently on the bed, kisses me all over. Throughout it all I say nothing, my mind shocked into silence for a brief interlude. He falls asleep easily, while I lie motionless beside him, the animals scratching the door outside. I hear an indistinct susurration, a dangerous beckoning. Place a pillow over my head and roll away from him, curl up at the farthest edge of the bed.
‘Are you ok?’ he whispers, and I wish he wouldn’t. He sidles over to my side of the bed, reaches out for me.
‘Hmmm-mmm.’ I turn my back.
He snakes an arm over my ribs. Boa constrictor. I lift it off me.
‘Too heavy.’
‘Sorry. Hey, I’m starving. I’ll go get us something, I guess your cupboards are bare, as usual?’
I nod, desperate to get him out of my space. He gets up, dresses fast, kisses me on my cheek, tidies my hair behind my ear, blows into it.
‘Don’t go anywhere. Stay right where you are. I’ll get us a nice veggie pizza.’ He sounds as if he’s speaking to a child, or an invalid. ‘You ok?’ My head moves up and down, yes sir, yes sir, a submissive. He kisses me gently on my forehead and leaves.
As soon as I’m sure he’s gone I call my two pets into the bedroom. Both of them are shaking with stress. We’re all in need of distraction. ‘Walkies?’ Howls. I dress in layers of comfy, slouchy clothes, and set out to the park, pull my hood over my head. I wonder at myself, what this all means. I walk and I walk and I walk. It’s dark. Tommy? Tommy, where are you, how are you doing, little man? All I can hear is my own breath in my ears.
38
After a night battling my demented dentist armed with a pneumatic drill, my Pierrot dolls issuing gleeful instructions, Open wide, dear one, I find myself in a sleep-addled state, standing in the kitchen in a concentrated pool of sunlight, the crazed laughter still ringing in my ears. Kettle on, tea on its way. David wasn’t there when I got back, which triggered that familiar feeling of abandonment, which is ridiculous, considering I was the one who left him standing on my doorstep for hours. I wonder how long he waited. I watch Herbie and Marmie follow each other around the yard, the cat stopping to pee wherever Herbie cocks his leg. ‘Herbie?’ He ignores me, keeps the focus on the cat. The bite of rejection stings.
My mobile is hot in my hands. I can’t think of a single person I can call. Still too early with my father; I know how he works. And David? Can’t even begin to grapple with the contradictory feelings that swirl about. Sister Anne and Jimmy would both tell me to ask for guidance. What the hell? I drop dramatically to my knees, which hurts, try out various versions of Please help, then fall into a repetitive incantation of the rosary, which opens up a space, offsets the other speedy-greyhound thoughts racing to a dark, dingy kennel and a sure, early death.
When I open my eyes I find Herbie licking my face. Thank you, old boy! Only two more days before Tommy is home. His voice rings out, a canned cranky theme tune, Why Yaya why why why but why Yaya why why why… Seemingly inexhaustible. Need to block it out: I find the hoover and power it up. The cat and dog run and hide and I continue to push the head into dark, dusty corners, fighting the filth.
I go for long walks, trying and failing to be present, everything filtered through a smeared long-distance lens. Attend a meeting, listen but don’t listen, hear but don’t hear. The Serenity Prayer is helping, though. Soothing words on a loop: serenity and acceptance and courage and wisdom, serenity and acceptance and courage and wisdom. God grant me some of that. I manage to get to Tesco, pick up fish fingers, cornflakes, marmalade, bread, dog food, cat food, toilet roll, bananas, potato waffles, beans – on some level I’m coping, and in spite of the sensation of tugging at my hair, of fingers scraping and pulling, I am able to circumnavigate the booze aisle. No way I’m going to have a repeat performance of that night, no way am I going to jeopardise getting my baby back. Strangely, Jimmy’s suggestion of the ‘sacred pause’ is helpful, the space it creates, just enough to interrupt the circuit before the blackout before the booze – which I now know is a thing.
Friday finally arrives. I dress carefully, apply a slick of red lipstick, then wipe it away. I’m feeling the cold today after another night of disturbed sleep; tell myself this is the reason I have the shakes. Settle into the car, breathe. Roll down the window, poke my head out, increase speed, stick my tongue out, catch the wind and tiny droplets of moisture.
I’m left waiting fifteen minutes in the overheated waiting room. Remove my outer layers.