The Middle Child (5 page)

     Catherine headed for the kitchen and opened a bottle of wine.  She took a cigarette and stood just outside the kitchen door.  Oh, how she wished she’d been able to hold onto the euphoria she’d felt as she’d left the wine bar but it had been kicked, trampled and left for dead. 

     She drew deeply on the cigarette and hoped that when Tim had finished putting the girls to bed he would congratulate her on the promotion and help her celebrate.  Maybe they could order in a nice meal, drink a few glasses of wine while planning what they’d do with the extra money. 

     Perhaps, once he saw how hard she’d worked and that tonight had been unavoidable, their celebrations could continue in the bedroom.

     She extinguished the cigarette as Tim entered the kitchen.  He had removed his tie and opened the top button of his shirt.  Despite his tired, pinched expression, Catherine thought he had never looked sexier.

     She sidled up to him and placed her arms around his neck. 
"Sweetheart, I’m sorry about earlier but now it’s just the two of us…"

    
"Stop it, Catherine," he said, removing her arms from around his neck.  He stepped away from her and poured himself a glass of wine.

    
"Sit down," He instructed.  "We need to talk and I don’t think you’re going to like what I have to say.

     Catherine sat and refilled her wine glass.  The rejection of her advances stung a bit but she realised that Tim had to have his say before the rest of the night could go the way she wanted.

     "I can even tell what you’re thinking," Tim said, looking at her evenly.  "You’re already thinking that this is one of my rants and then everything will return to normal."

     Catherine blushed but shook her head in protest.

     "It doesn’t matter what you think but I am going to say what’s on my mind."  He took a deep breath.  "A fog cleared tonight and I've got to be honest, I don’t like what I see."

    
"But it…"

    
"Please don’t interrupt me.  I need to say some things.  I spent quite a while talking to that girl you saw when you first came in.  She’s a single parent struggling to bring up her little boy alone.  Many of the things she said to me while describing some of the hurdles she has to overcome seemed a little too familiar, uncomfortably so."  He shook his head and looked at her directly.  "This is a single parent family, Catherine, and you’re the one that’s missing."

     Catherine looked back at him, horrified.  How could he say something so cruel?

     "I get up at six every morning to make sure…"

    
"Don’t embarrass yourself by listing the things that you do.  You’ll make yourself sound like the hired help."

     Catherine was incensed. 
"Now hang on one…"

    
"No, you hang on.  Did you even recognise your own children in the things that their teacher said about them or did it feel like she was discussing the personalities of two strangers?"

    
"She was inferring that there was something wrong with our children," Catherine cried.  She lit a cigarette with trembling hands.

     Tim thumped the table, his eyes blazing. 
"Are you so blind that you can’t see what she was saying?  She was telling us that our children are not getting enough attention.  Lucy has disappeared within herself and Jess is starving for recognition of her individuality."

    
"That teacher thinks she knows our daughters better than we do."

    
"For fucks’ sake, Catherine, wake up.  She knows the girls better than you do.  You were a complete embarrassment tonight.  I seriously wish you’d never made it at all."

     
"I was defending the girls." Catherine screamed at the injustice.  Where had his arguments been?  He had been too happy to just listen to her accusations.

    
"That argument doesn’t work because you ridiculed her when she tried to tell you how talented Lucy was.  Where was your pride in your daughter’s achievements?  Where was your total agreement that she is special, unique and talented?"

    
"I will not fill her head with…"

    
"It’s not about the damn picture.  You should have those feelings for her regardless.  She’s your bloody daughter."

     Tim was standing, leaning on the table bellowing at her.  She stared back at him.  The anger seemed to drain out of him and he fell wearily back onto the chair. 
"We both looked at that picture tonight and saw totally different things.  I saw a talented painting by my oldest daughter which filled me with pride.  You saw some balls daubed on a piece of paper.  You spoke of Lucy as though she was a stranger and what’s worse is that she heard you."

     Catherine waved away his concerns. 
"She’s a child."

    
"She’s your child but it certainly didn’t feel like that tonight."

    
"I’ll speak to her tomorrow," Catherine offered, hoping to repair the damage between them.  Despite the thought that he was over-reacting she didn’t like the weary, hopeless look on his face.

    
"Just leave it.  I don’t want you making it worse."

     Catherine nodded but his eyes were cast downwards.  She hoped that the argument was over but she sensed that it wasn’t.  Something was different this time.  Tim was different and there was more that he wanted to say.

     "Tim?" She whispered, reaching for his hand.  He pulled it away.  Catherine felt the panic churn her stomach.  Once Tim had made his point they kissed and hugged and everything returned to normal.

     When he finally looked up his eyes were tired and haunted.  When he spoke his voice was low and controlled.

     "I can see that you haven’t really listened to anything I’ve said which saddens me.  Your coldness towards the girls is tearing me apart because I don’t understand it and I know they can feel it.  I’ve hidden from the fact that it’s hurting them for too long."  He paused and Catherine’s heart missed a beat.  He smiled sadly.  "Surprisingly, I still love you more than life but you’re damaging our children.  I know that your own childhood was less than ideal but you’re never even shared it with me."

    
"It’s the past, Tim.  It has nothing to do with now."

     His smile disappeared leaving only despair in its place. 
"Catherine, you need help.  You need to talk to someone about what happened to you all those years ago.  You say it’s the past and it’s over but it’s not.  It’s affecting the present and it’s hurting the girls."

    
"Don’t be so ridiculous," Catherine cried.  "I don’t need to see a bloody shrink.  My past has nothing to do with us now.  Get a grip, Tim.  We have a nice house, good jobs and two lovely girls.  What the hell is wrong with you?"

    
"That’s the illusion, Catherine.  It’s what you like to think we have but name one conversation you’ve had with either of our children since the day you buried your mother."

    
"Don’t be so damned pedantic.  I can’t just pull one out of my head and you know it.  You’re just trying to trap me…"

    
"Catherine, stop it.  I’m not arguing about this anymore."  He finished his wine and headed for the door.  "Either get help or I’ll take the girls away for good."

Chapter 6 – Alex

  
     Alex turned her head to look at the clock and instantly regretted it.  Whoever was swinging an iron bar around her head was invisible but no less effective because of it.

     The red LED display told her that it was 7.45 but her clock wasn’t 24 hour so she had no idea if it was morning or evening and she certainly had no idea what day it was. 

     She lay her head back down on the pillow that felt like a concrete slab and listened for clues in the sounds outside.  There was a faint tapping against the window that she recognised as rain.  The sound of traffic was constant and gave her no help.  It was light outside so that was useless also.  She considered getting out of bed and switching on the TV but realised that she didn’t care enough to bother. 

     She turned over and pulled the covers over her head to block the light that was trespassing through her closed eyelids.   The density of the blackness comforted her and reduced the wrecking ball in her head to a pneumatic drill.  She prepared to return to oblivion but her bladder had other ideas.

     "Fuck," she whispered as she realised what the journey to the bathroom was going to do to her.  She eased herself up to a sitting position and cringed as her skull shrunk around her brain.  She shuffled her feet around until she found a bare piece of carpet and forced her eyes open to navigate safe passage to the bathroom. 

     She negotiated through the empty whisky bottles and beer cans until she reached the safety of the bathroom.  She collapsed onto the toilet and fell against the wall.

     She stood and washed her hands, catching a brief glimpse of her reflection.  Red puffy eyes glared back at her.  Blotchy skin sat beneath short, black unruly spikes.

     She lunged for the toothpaste and cleaned her teeth in an effort to evict the dead farmyard from her mouth and threw cold water at her face.  There, that was her grooming regime for another day.

     She headed back to the bed.  "Hair of the dog," she murmured tipping up the bottles on route.  They were all empty.  She headed for the kitchen and opened all the doors, throwing the contents onto the counter top.  Maybe during her drunken state she had seen fit to hide a bottle of something, anything from herself for a rainy day.  "Well, it’s fucking raining now," she cried, as the washing machine yielded no alcohol.

     She struggled to the sofa and aimed the remote control at the TV.  The opening credits of Eastenders blared at her.  Thank God, it was evening and she could go out and re-stock. 

     She guessed it was probably Tuesday, partly because she vaguely remembered Monday, and Eastenders aired on a Tuesday.  And most other days of the bloody week.  She switched channels and caught the end of the local news.  She stared, stunned at the television screen.  Fucking Thursday, they said.  How could it be Thursday?  What had happened to Wednesday. 

     Shit, she vaguely remembered the phone ringing incessantly and then Jay appearing in front of her but she’d thought that was a dream.  Surely Jay hadn’t held her under the shower and then put her to bed?  The memory returned to her in fragmented pieces.  She had pretended to be asleep until he went and then she had dressed and nipped to the off-licence. 

     "Oh Jesus," she sighed and buried her head in her hands.  He had returned the following day but her mind couldn’t piece together exactly what day that had been.  She vaguely recalled calling him some horrible names and telling him to fuck off.

    
"Oh, Lord," she whined again.  She hauled herself into the kitchen and searched for the effervescent tablets that she’d thrown somewhere.  She located them underneath an upturned box of rice.  She added water and swallowed the bitter tasting liquid.

     A shower and a change of clothes later Alex was feeling alive if not human.  She locked the flat and headed for the bar where Jay worked five nights out of seven.

     As she passed a greasy chip shop the tantalising smell of fish and chips lured her in.  She wasn’t sure when she'd last eaten.  She made a hole in the layers of paper and delved in, retrieving a clump of greasy batter and grey fish.  The first mouthful made her feel nauseous and she threw them away.

     The bar on
Broad Street was rich with bodies and laughter and Alex had to fight her way to the bar.  Most of the activity swarmed towards the DJ leaving a couple of bar stools free.  She perched herself on one and waited for Jay to notice her.  As he saw her his face tightened and he looked away.

    
"Jay, please," she called across the bar, struggling to make herself heard.  At first he refused to turn around but Marcus, a friend to them both, nudged Jay and pointed in her direction.  He moved towards her end of the bar, his face hard.  She stood and shouted in his ear.  "I’m sorry, Jay.  I’ve only just remembered but I’m really sorry."

    
"For calling me an old worn-out queer or a fucking failure?"

    
"Both," she cried, battling to make herself heard above the noise.  She could see from the hurt on his face that her insults had affected him deeply.  She felt sick to her stomach and it had nothing to do with her hangover.

    
"You know that I’m a total bitch when I get like that and I didn’t mean a word I said," she offered, sincerely.

    
"I didn’t know you had so many friends that you could afford to discard one quite so easily."

    
"I don’t," she said, honestly.  Jay was the only person she cared about in the world and the thought of losing him brought tears to her eyes.

     Jay surveyed her for a second, chewing his lip.  He reached across the bar. 
"Come here you silly old dyke."

     Alex accepted the embrace, relieved that she hadn’t damaged their friendship irreparably.

     He released her and pointed a wagging finger in her direction.  "And no more fucking benders that make Gazza look like a choirboy."

     Despite the humour in his words she could see the seriousness in his eyes.

     She nodded.  "No more benders."

     He turned and poured her a coke. 
"Here, this one’s on the house."

    
"Fuck off, I’m not turning into Mary Poppins."

     He laughed and added a measure of Brandy.

     "The wagon will still be there tomorrow," she said, slugging the drink down in one go.

    
"Promise?" Jay asked, real concern shaping his eyes.

     She nodded and meant it.

     "Mike was in here yesterday."

    
"Oh shit," she said, lighting a cigarette.

    
"I told him you’d contracted that summer flu and you’d probably be back at the weekend."

     Alex felt a rush of love and gratitude.  Despite her treatment of him he had still saved her bacon.  Thanks to him she still had a job.

     Jay headed for the other end of the bar which was becoming congested.

     Alex sipped her second drink more leisurely that the first, savouring the warm sensation as it travelled the journey from her throat into her stomach.  Already the comfort blanket was cloaking itself around her.  The memories unearthed by the funeral were travelling further away into a long, black tunnel. 

     She didn’t want to remember how Beth had gained that scar.  She didn’t want to relive other painful events from all those years ago.  She didn’t want to consider the repercussions of Beth’s repressed memories but most of all she didn’t want to remember how close the three of them had once been.

     She was surprised at the speed of the effect the alcohol was having on her system.  Only two drinks and her head was feeling pleasantly woozy.  She supposed it was like a top-up effect as the previous binge of alcohol was still in her system.  Fantastic, she decided, pleased that less effort and money was required to restore her to her very own plateau of contentment.

     The third drink slid down easily and within seconds she was jigging on the stool in time to the music.  Her arms waved madly in the air.  The deep thudding sound of the trance mix worked it’s way up the stool and into her brain until all she could feel and hear was the incessant pounding of the beat. 

     She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to find Jay appraising her with concern.  She smiled widely at all three of him and mouthed
"tomorrow" at the top of her voice to show him that she had not forgotten her promise.  The word sounded amusing on her lips.

    
"Tomorrow, tomorrow, the sun’ll come out tomorrow," she sang to Jay, but he wasn’t listening.  He had the phone to his ear.  She spluttered with laughter.  Who the hell would try and make a phone call with all this noise?

    
"If that’s the Samaritans for me, tell ‘em I’ll call at my normal time," she shouted across the bar before dissolving into fits of laughter.  She signalled to Marcus to fix her another drink.  He looked doubtful but shrugged and put another one before her.    

    
"Thank you very much, thank you very much, that’s the nicest thing that anyone’s ever done for me," she sang to his retreating back.

     She responded to the voice in her head that urged her to down it in one go.  The alcohol travelled straight to her eyesight and the whole dance floor tipped on it’s own axis.  She turned her head sideways so that it was straight again.  The motion prompted the tell-tale rush of bile into her mouth.

     Oh shit, she thought cheerfully, as she weaved in and out of the crowd on her way to the toilets.  She pushed past the waiting queue and collapsed beside the toilet.  She kicked the door shut behind her and threw up.  She watched as the diluted black liquid of the coke filled the toilet bowl.  Angry knocks sounded on the cubicle door and between heaves she politely told the party poopers to go fuck themselves.

     The acid in her throat had brought salty tears to her eyes and her whole body began to tremble with cold and weakness.  She reached for the toilet paper to stem the mucus dribbling from her nose but found the holder empty.

     She felt another rush of nausea and threw up again, barely aware of the cubicle door caving in behind her.

     Alex felt a presence beside her. 

     "Come on, I think it’s about time I got you home," said a soft voice that she recognised.  A gentle hand rubbed her back.  She turned and looked into the sweet face of an angel.

    
"Hello Nikki, what the fuck are you doing here?"

***

     Alex was barely aware of the journey.  Her head fell against the window and rattled against it every time the car hit a pothole or stopped at lights.  The mist in her mind was clearing and it annoyed her.  It meant she had to think, explain, justify when all she really wanted to do was exchange one form of anaesthetic for another by moving straight from being pissed to falling asleep.

     She stared out of the window, seeing in the reflection of the glass the concerned glances cast occasionally from Nikki.

     The car stopped in front of the flat they had shared until six months ago and which had been Nikki’s before that and was Nikki’s again now.  Alex was surprised at the stab of nostalgia she felt on seeing the converted Victorian house.

     "Come on, sweet, let’s get you inside," Nikki said, helping her out of the passenger side door.  Alex’s natural instinct was to push aside the assistance and get out of the car by herself.  Nikki stood to the side as Alex swayed and almost collapsed in the gutter. 

     Nikki took her arm forcefully. 
"No arguments," she said.

     Alex allowed herself to be assisted up the stairs to the front door of the first floor flat.  Nikki managed to support her and open the front door at the same time.  It occurred to Alex that the flat had barely changed since she’d left.  And, she realised, from when she’d moved in as well.  She saw just how little impact she’d had on the place either by moving into it or moving out. 

     It seemed to have grown since she’d seen it last or maybe it was just in her head.  She had quickly acclimatized to a studio flat where everything except going to the toilet was done in one room.  She remembered now what it was like to move from room to room to perform different functions.

    
"How are you feeling?" Nikki asked, as she eased Alex onto the sofa.

    
"Like my stomach just got ripped through my throat."

    
"I’ll make some black coffee."

    
"Why?"

    
"To sober you up."

    
"Don’t bother," Alex instructed, allowing her head to loll back against the fabric of the sofa.  "It’s a myth.  Black coffee does nothing.  I’ll have some water."

     Nikki nodded and headed for the kitchen.

     "And throw a double measure of Whisky in with it," she called but Nikki ignored her.  If she knew Nikki, any alcohol in the place would have been tipped away before leaving to come and get her.  Damn Jay, she thought angrily.  Why did he have to be so damned interfering.  If she’d been left alone she would have thrown up some more and then started drinking again.  It was a vicious cycle and she loved it.