Another Love (14 page)

‘Romilly, I can smell it on you and you look—’

‘I look what?’ She held the doorframe for support.

‘You look a bit sozzled.’

Romilly snorted her laughter. ‘Sozzled? Now that’s not a word you hear every day! Sozzled!’ she repeated as she giggled.

‘I thought you were supposed to be taking care of Sara?’

‘I am! I am!’ She pointed at the sitting room. ‘She’s sleeping.’ She placed her finger over her pursed lips.

‘I think you should come home now.’

‘I think you should mind your own business.’

‘I mean it, Rom. You should come back, try and get to bed before David sees you.’

‘Oh, really? Well, I’m not afraid of David! He’s not my boss! He’s not like the boss of Romilly! Even if he thinks so, he’snot!’

‘Are you coming or not?’

‘Not.’ She swayed.

‘For fuck’s sake!’ Holly swore some more, then strode off down the path.

Romilly shut the front door and walked back to the kitchen. She was surprised to find Sara sitting on the other side of the breakfast bar, sipping brandy from a tumbler.

‘Was that your sister?’

‘Yes, my bossy sister. I told her to go away, cos I’m busy drinking your wine and your brandy.’

‘You can have what you want. I love you Romilly. You’re my only friend,’ Sara whined.

‘I’m not. You have lotsofriends.’

‘I don’t.’ Sara started crying again, wiping her tears and snot up into her hair. ‘I love him so much! I don’t want to live here by myself. I want to go home and I want us to have a baby.’ She sobbed. Romilly patted her back and poured herself a tumbler of brandy.

Neither knew how much time had passed when the doorbell rang again. ‘Avon calling!’ Sara shouted, sending them both into a spiral of chuckling and wheezing. Sara slipped from the high stool and returned a minute later, sucking in her cheeks and with a furious-looking David in tow.

‘I’ve come to bring you home, Rom. Holly is packing her bags and I thought you might want to say goodbye to her.’

‘She’s my friend…’ Sara purred.

David flicked his head in her direction. His eyes flashed, his pupils like pinpricks. ‘Don’t talk to me.’ He held up a palm.

‘No, no! David, you don’t understand…’ Sara walked forward.

‘I said don’t talk to me, and I meant it,’ he hissed through gritted teeth. He looked close to tears.

Striding forward, he took his wife by the arm and pulled her from the stool she was perched on. For some reason Romilly found this funny and she giggled as she reached back to grab her glasses from the countertop. Her laughter only made him even more angry. On the way out, he held her up when she tripped over the front step, then marched her stumbling along the pavement. ‘Hello, Mr Rashid!’ Romilly waved at their kindly neighbour, who had been outside to check that his garage door was locked, as he did every night before retiring. He returned her wave and ambled inside. David sighed in relief that he hadn’t seemed to notice that anything was amiss.

‘What on earth is going on here?’ Sylvia asked from the kitchen.

‘Nothing is going on.’ Romilly made a fair attempt at Sylvia’s American twang. ‘I am being forced home by your son, who is behaving likeaprick. Do you remember when you caught us fucking in the cupboard?’ She bent double, laughing hysterically.

‘Romilly!’ Holly yelled from the sitting room.

‘Oh yes, thas right, Holly, you can have a go at me too! Miss Perfect is in the house!’ she shouted, raising a fist in the air.

Woken by the shouting, Celeste pattered out of her bedroom and crouched, wide-eyed and frightened, behind the bannisters at the top of the stairs.

‘Hey, Holly, thasright, isn’t it? Miss Fucking Perfect, coming here like you’re betterthanme, telling me what I can and can’t do. You only got GCCC’s, or whatever they’re called, you didn’t get a degree. You’re thick as mince, and that otherone, both too stupid…’ She swayed on the spot, keen to make her point.

‘Mummy?’ No one had seen Celeste creep down the stairs and into the hallway, where she now stood with her little chest heaving and tears streaming down her face.

Sylvia rushed forward. ‘It’s okay, darling. Mummy isn’t feeling too well…’

Romilly snorted her laughter and gave her daughter a double thumbs-up as she wobbled.

‘Why don’t you and I go back upstairs and have a story, darling? To help you get back to sleep. I’d love that.’ Sylvia took her granddaughter by the hand. ‘You can choose.’

David pulled his wife into the kitchen. ‘You sit there and don’t move,’ he snapped, ‘while I make you a coffee.’ His hands shook as he reached for the coffee jar and spoon.

Holly poked her head round the door and dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. ‘I’m off, David,’ she managed through her tears.

David kept one eye on Romilly as he went over to his sister-in-law. ‘Don’t cry, Holl.’ He shook his head, mortified and at a loss as to how to make things better.

‘I’m okay.’ She jutted her chin and threw back her shoulders. ‘Say goodbye to Celeste for me. I don’t want her to see me blubbing like this.’ Her words only seemed to make her cry harder.

Romilly lifted her head from the cradle her arms had made on the countertop. ‘Don’t go! Don’t go anywhere, Hollywood. That’s what we used to call you, isnnit, Hollywood and Carriewood!’ She laughed loudly. ‘Stay here, come on, we can chat, jusstayhere…’ Her head flopped forward again.

David followed Holly to the front door.

‘I’m so sorry, David.’

‘Why are you sorry? It’s her that’s behaving badly. I’m… I’m…’ He struggled to find the words. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘I thought I could keep her on the straight and narrow, but apparently I can’t.’ Holly gave a small smile and wiped her eyes. ‘It’s hard to talk about, but I think she might need professional help, David.’ She kissed him on the cheek and made her way to her car at the bottom of the drive.

‘I think you might be right,’ he muttered as he closed the door behind her.

It was the first time I felt unsafe. I don’t mean in imminent danger or that anyone was going to harm me physically, but I did feel a shift in my world, as if all the things I thought I could take for granted, I couldn’t. It was as if everyone was pretending and I’d seen through it. Mum was swearing and shouting. Aunty Holly was crying, and Dad looked so angry, I thought he was going to hit Mum. I’d never seen him so angry. It was even worse than the sick night.

Granny Sylvia was not her usual self, either. She took me upstairs to read me a story, but her eyes kept darting towards the landing every time someone shouted or a door slammed, so she kept losing her place and having to start at the top of the page again. I couldn’t concentrate either. Both of us were waiting for the next yell or slam. She kept patting me and saying, ‘It’ll all be all right,’ but it didn’t feel all right, far from it. It was one of the only times I’d seen my Gran tearful. I asked her if it was all my fault. ‘Why would you think that?’ she closed the book and I told her. ‘Because I went on and on about having my ears pierced and I knew that Mummy didn’t really want me to get them done, but then she did and I think I made her and then Holly got my tiara and I know Dad didn’t really like it, and I wish I could go back and say that I was joking and not get my stupid ears pierced in the first place!’ She held me close and rocked me back and forth and she said, ‘whatever is going on with Mummy and Daddy is nothing to do with you. You are the very best thing that they have!’ but I didn’t believe her, like when she used to tell me I was like a super model, I knew I wasn’t. I wasn’t even the third prettiest in my class.

Looking back, I can see that her words were as much about reassuring herself as me. I remember in the months following, lots of people asking me, ‘Are you okay?’ which only added to the feeling that things were not okay. I didn’t want to have to tell my friends about what life was like in our house and so I stopped talking to them, afraid I might let something slip. I became quite withdrawn and quiet. And once I’d started to be quiet, it was really hard not to be, as though that was how I was now and I couldn’t remember what it was like to be perky and noisy.

It was ages before I could go back to sleep.

The place was luxurious: a large Georgian house that sat in its own manicured grounds in rural Somerset. Its guts had been scooped out and replaced with a modern, open-plan interior and minimalist decor. It reminded Romilly of the time she was presented with a pineapple in a restaurant, when she was about twelve; when she’d lifted the lid, it was full of lemon sorbet and glacé cherries and not the lush, sweet fruit she’d been expecting. It had been a bitter disappointment and a salutary lesson that things weren’t always what they seemed.
I shall call this place The Pineapple
, she decided and couldn’t help wondering what had happened to all the original fireplaces, flooring, old bricks, light switches and doors. She felt a nostalgic ache for the building, wondering what tales it could tell.

The grey-haired woman behind the glossy white desk leant forward, her elbows resting on the dust-free surface and her elegant hands twisting together beneath her elfin chin. ‘We have a different approach here. We are not a hospital, although many of us are medics. We like to think of ourselves as a health-and-wellbeing-restoration retreat. And our programme will be adapted to suit you, Romilly. Typically, clients are given diazepam or similar to help combat the cravings and side-effects of withdrawal, but you’ve decided against that route, I understand?’

David coughed. ‘We’ve discussed it at length and we’re concerned that Rom might be swapping one dependency for another, so we feel that the organic approach might suit her best.’

The doctor nodded. ‘Here at Orsus, we look at the individual and find ways to reprogram the need, the desire, but there is also a physical aspect to detoxification, which of course you will be well aware of, Romilly.’

‘What… what will I actually do here?’ Romilly asked, her nerves evident.

‘We offer one-to-one counselling and we also encourage residents to participate in group counselling and other joint sessions, such as yoga and art.’

Romilly looked at David. Group participation was one of her least favourite things.
‘There’s no “I” in team!’
She gave a faint smile.

‘You’ll be prescribed specially tailored vitamin infusions twice daily, as well as a complex range of supplements to help your liver get back in shape. Each afternoon you’ll be given our signature hay-bed detoxification treatment, which most clients find very restorative.’

David nodded at the woman. Her firm but kindly tone inspired confidence and gave him hope that this might be just what Romilly needed. He turned to his wife, who looked hunched, as if trying to fold into herself and disappear. ‘It all sounds great, Rom,’ he said coaxingly.

Romilly stared at him. It was easy for him to say, but it wasn’t him who was being made to participate in group therapy and bloody hay beds.

‘We serve nutritional, organic juices four times a day and a light, healthy meal in the evening, designed to reawaken your appetite. Although sometimes your body is so busy adjusting to the alcohol withdrawal that it just doesn’t really want to eat, so we leave that up to you to judge. As I say, you are in control and you are always given choices.’

Romilly was only half listening now. She was distracted by the large oak tree whose branches were tapping against the Georgian window frame to their right. She’d spent a lot of time looking at oaks in the past, researching acute oak decline and the oak jewelled beetle that was a possible culprit. It was a beautiful thing with metallic blue wings, she remembered.

‘We are very aware that this isn’t a one-size-fits-all treatment, so we will constantly monitor how you’re feeling and what’s working. How does that sound, Romilly?’

Romilly stared back at the woman. ‘Oh, err, sorry…’ She pushed her spectacles up along her nose and squirmed in the leather chair. ‘I was just thinking about, err, my work actually.’

The doctor sat forward. ‘Is your work important to you, Romilly?’

‘Yes, yes it is. Was… But…’ Romilly swallowed the lump in her throat as the tears started to prickle. She turned to David. ‘Don’t leave me here, David. Let me come home with you. Back to you and Celeste. I feel like I should give it another go. I’ll go back to work and everything will be how it used to be—’

David bit back his own tears, reached over and took her hand inside his. ‘It’s okay, love. I’ll be phoning Dr Harrison—’

‘Lorna, please,’ the woman interjected.

He smiled briefly. ‘I’ll be phoning Lorna every day and when she gives me the nod, I’ll jump in the car and come and sit with you and it won’t be long before you’ll be coming home.’

The doctor nodded, as if he’d given the right answer. Romilly hated the condescension that was coming off the two of them. She began to feel resentful towards the co-conspirators, like she was being forced into being there. She bit her lip to stop herself reminding them that she wasn’t stupid.
How smart do you have to be, to end up here, then, Rom?

‘This isn’t a prison,’ Lorna said. ‘You’re free to leave whenever you want, but we would strongly encourage you to stay and really immerse yourself in the programme. The first seven days are critical. We give you the choice to stay or go, because we’ve found that the more flexibility, the more personal choice there is, the more we are empowering you to choose recovery from your dependency. Does that make sense?’

Romilly gave an awkward nod. ‘It does, yes. But I would question that first assumption that I actually do have a dependency. I mean, I absolutely know that I drink too much and that I can get a little… out of hand…’ An image flashed into her head of her being sick in the hallway and Celeste watching from the stairs. She closed her eyes briefly. ‘But the word “dependency” makes me think of full-blown alcoholics and I don’t think that’s me. I really don’t.’ She looked at her hands, trying to still them in her lap. ‘In fact, what I want to say is, I
know
that’s not me.’