No Wonder I Take a Drink

by Laura Marney

  ‘She calmed down eventually but a wee while later Mum started being sick, really sick, it was horrible. Not just sick, blood. I had to get him to help me. He tried to put me out the house but I refused to leave her. By the time the ambulance arrived she was unconscious. The ambulance men took the old man’s side, they wouldn’t let me in the ambulance. By the time I got to the hospital my mother was gone, she never woke up.

  ‘He blamed me. He told everyone I’d attacked him and the shock had killed her. I had caused her heart attack. He wouldn’t let me come to the funeral, my own mother’s funeral. I went anyway, he wasn’t going to keep me away. The whole village was there but that didn’t stop him shouting. Telling them that I’d killed her. I didn’t stand up to him, I should have, I know that, but things were bad enough.

  ‘I’d taken a drink that day, probably too much. It was raining hard when I walked up from the village behind the cars. I got soaked and my trousers were muddy. I knew how much I’d already let her down, I didn’t want to draw attention to the state of my trousers. So, as they lowered her coffin I stood and let him shout at me.’

  Jackie looked ready for a bit of spillage himself. Anything I thought of to say just seemed facetious. The best policy was just to keep my mouth shut. With anyone else I would have automatically put my arm around them. Jackie turned away and looked back down to the loch.

  There was something not ringing true here.

  Chapter 25

  About six o’clock in the morning it dawned on me. I had been lying awake for about an hour turning over in my mind everything Jackie had said. It didn’t fit; his mother Rosie’s symptoms were too weird. Yeah, the swollen ankles were obviously oedema, but vomiting blood? That was no heart attack. Swollen abdomen and yellow skin? Sounded more hepatic to me. But a little knowledge was a dangerous thing, especially in medical matters. I should ask an expert. Archie Marshall would tell me. It was too early for Archie to be in his surgery but my mind was buzzing so I got up, made a big pot of tea, and waited.

  ‘Dr Marshall? Hi, it’s Trisha McNicholl.’

  ‘Hello Trisha, how are you?’

  ‘Aye I’m grand thanks Archie, and yourself?’

  ‘Och, same old shite. Patient topped himself yesterday, depression, age twenty-four.’

  I’d forgotten how often Archie was distressed, just in the normal course of his job. We spent a few minutes on the pleasantries before I got down to it.

  ‘I’m actually phoning to pick your brains. Is this a good time?’

  ‘Good a time as any.’

  ‘Can I run a scenario past you?’

  ‘Fire away.’

  ‘Imagine if you will a patient, female, drinker, early fifties, with jaundice, swollen abdomen and ankle oedema. Poor mobility, obviously.

  ‘Obviously. Tell her to seek medical help immediately.’

  ‘Too late. She haemorrhages, vomiting a vast quantity of blood, loses consciousness and dies soon after. This was a while ago, no records are available.’

  ‘Uh huh. Is this a quiz?’

  ‘What do you think is the cause of death?’

  ‘Christ’s sake Trisha, how the hell am I supposed to know? Without seeing the patient…’

  ‘Could it be a heart attack?’

  ‘You’re not suing one of my overworked colleagues, are you?’

  ‘No Archie. I’m not trying to get anyone in trouble and this is strictly off the record, between you and me. To tell you the truth, a friend of mine believes this woman, this patient, had a heart attack and that he was responsible. I’m just trying to help.’

  ‘You said she was a drinker, a heavy drinker?’

  ‘I’m not sure, possibly.’

  ‘What do you think was the cause of death Trisha?’

  ‘Oh come on Archie, you’re the doctor, give me a diagnosis, I won’t hold you to it, I promise.’

  ‘Could be a few things. The haemorrhaging could be from oesophageal varices, the ascites and the jaundice make it sound more like liver failure, but without examining…’

  ‘Not an M.I. then?’

  ‘I think your friend is off the hook. Anyway, I’m supposed to be ministering to the sick. I better get on. Will that satisfy you?’

  ‘Yeah thanks Archie, that’s brilliant.’

  *

  I decided to have another go at Jenny before tackling Jackie. I needed verification of the facts before I did anything. I wasn’t confident; she’d been as tight as a drum when I’d asked her the last time. For someone who loved to gossip, Jenny could be very discreet when she wanted to be. I’d have to take a different tack.

  I caught her on her own in the shop the next afternoon. I’d gone down on the pretext of handing in my application forms for the gala day competitions.

  ‘Jackie told me about his mother’s drink problem,’ I casually mentioned.

  Jenny didn’t fall for it. She coolly looked me up and down and went back to reading Hello.

  ‘I’m glad I never knew him, Harry must have been a right bastard.’

  I was trying to be controversial, to spark debate, but she wasn’t taking the bait.

  ‘It wasn’t Jackie’s fault that his mother was an alcoholic. It sounds like living with Harry would drive anyone to drink. Poor Rosie. But I suppose if she didn’t get it here she would have got it somewhere.’

  This notion had only just popped into my head but as soon as I said it I realised I had hit a nerve. Jenny started to bustle, moving things around on the counter without any apparent purpose. I had accused her of supplying Rosie with drink, it had to be true; she wasn’t denying it.

  ‘Bad enough that he let Jackie think he was responsible, but to tell the whole village.’

  ‘What Jackie thinks is his business,’ said Jenny.

  At last, a response.

  ‘Yeah but everyone thinks he caused Rosie to have a heart attack.’

  ‘Trixie, everyone knows that Rosie was a sick woman who died and didn’t suffer anymore, and that’s all anyone needs to know.’

  ‘Jackie says that at the funeral Harry…’

  ‘Jackie would be lucky to remember anything that went on at the funeral so stinking he was with the drink. He nearly fell in the grave alongside her. Harry had to catch him by the seat of his trews. It was a right wet miserable day. Jackie sat down there in the mud and cried like a baby. Harry was no better, shouting like that at the graveside. He should have let the boy come in the car, show his respects like everyone else. It was the worst funeral this town’s ever seen, a disgrace. Rosie didn’t deserve that. Aye, she took a drink, she was no different from yourself, but she was never a bother to anyone.’

  Ouch, Jenny was comparing me to someone who died vomiting blood when her liver packed in. But Rosie was Harry’s wife, she had no genetic link to me, thank God.

  ‘Rosie was good at keeping it quiet. You wouldn’t know she’d had a drink. Even when she fell ill she didn’t stop, she didn’t want to stop. She wouldn’t have Dr Robertson in the house. Harry begged me not to serve her. It was a sore thing to refuse her, she needed it, but I couldn’t give her it. Rosie was always a determined person, she would have went to the ends of the earth for a drink. She went out and hitched a lift off tourists, and got as far as Inverness. She spent all the money she had on drink and then phoned Harry to come and bring her back. Nobody in the village ever knew about that, not even Jackie. After that Harry said I was to give her what she wanted, no more than half a bottle a day. God love her, she would have wept to see the state of Jackie at her funeral. He’s never touched a drop since. That’s why I told you not to take whisky to him, I didn’t want him tempted.’

  ‘He gave me it back Jenny, he didn’t want it. I didn’t know why at the time.’

  ‘He’s a good lad. Och, he’s done a lot of stupid things, but haven’t we all? The car crash, that was when it all started to go wrong for him.’

  ‘In what way?’

  Jenny had forgotten her earlier reticence. She was bursting like an over
ripe grapefruit now.

  ‘He won’t tell you this and I’m trusting you never to mention it, but Jackie was drunk that night. Rosie told me.’

  ‘I’d assumed Marie was driving!’

  ‘No, it was him. His wife was left a cripple. Her family hated him after that, who could blame them? They took her back to England. It was her father who had set them up and it was him that forced Jackie to close the restaurant. He was in no fit state to run it anyway. You’d think that crippling your wife would sober you up, but it had the opposite effect on Jackie. Things went from bad to worse, first he lost his wife, then his business, then his mother. And Harry blamed him for all of it.’

  ‘Poor Jackie.’

  At least I’d be able to set the record straight and let Jackie know he hadn’t killed his mother. It was the least I could do for him.

  *

  I was tempted to go round to his house immediately and tell him, hey Jackie, good news, your mother was an alcoholic! It wasn’t you, it was the drink that killed her! Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea after all, maybe Jenny was right, it was Jackie’s business what he believed. But still and all, he should know the truth. I’d have to judge when the time was right and break it to him gently. Meanwhile, Steven was waiting for his results. I told him to phone me the minute they arrived and bang on time, he did.

  ‘Right. The envelope feels quite heavy.’

  ‘Steven, that isn’t an indicator. It’ll be the same weight whether you’ve passed or failed. Just open it.’

  ‘No. I need to be mentally attuned before I can open it.’

  ‘Okay.’

  We observed about a minute’s silence.

  ‘Ready?’

  ‘Shhh!’

  We observed a further minute’s silence. I didn’t mention that at peak time, long distance, Steven’s mental attuning was costing me an arm and a leg.

  ‘Right I’m ready.’

  ‘Thank God. No, Steven wait!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t open it yet.’

  ‘I’m going to, it’s okay, I’m attuned.’

  ‘Yeah but hang on. I just want to tell you that no matter what is in that envelope we, your dad and I, will think no better or worse of you.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I know.’

  ‘And if it’s not good news I don’t want you to take it hard. You’ve done your best and we’re proud of you.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. I’ve opened it.’

  Another big long silence, which this time felt more like an hour, while Steven read his certificates.

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I’ve passed! Everything, even maths! I’ve got six ones and two twos.’

  ‘Steven that’s brilliant! Fantastic, son! What a guy!’

  I was shouting down the phone but he couldn’t hear me. I could hear him whooping and laughing, running, crashing into things.

  ‘Yes! He shoots, he scores, goal!’

  I pictured him dancing around Nettie’s living room, taking applause from his imaginary stadium crowd.

  ‘Steven,’ I said, when he finally came back to the phone. ‘That’s it, there’ll be a big fat cheque in the post to you this week as promised and when you come up next weekend we’ll celebrate properly. It’s the village fête and gala day, I’m entering some of my roses and I’ve put Bouncer’s name down for the dog show, it should be a laugh. After it we can go to that hotel you fancied at Bengustie. I’ll book a table. Let’s get lobster and wine and everything, the full bhoona. I’ve been dying to try that place ever since you mentioned it.’

  ‘Oh, I can’t do next weekend Mum. Sorry, I meant to tell you, I’ve made arrangements.’

  ‘Well just bring Gerry with you, you know I don’t mind. I’m getting to quite like the wee twerp.’

  ‘Aye, but, it isn’t Gerry.’

  ‘Well who ever it is, it’s okay.’

  ‘It’s actually a crowd of us Mum, girls and that. We’re going out, it’s been planned for a while.’

  ‘Och that’s okay, no bother. Come up when you can, there’s no rush. You have a good time son, well done, I’m proud of you.’

  ‘I’m sorry I’m going to miss the gala day. Inverfaughie’s always so quiet, just my luck to miss the one day in the year something actually happens. I hope you win something.’

  ‘Oh aye, Bouncer and I’ll knock ’em dead.’

  *

  Rebecca was as gutted as I was that Steven wasn’t coming for the gala day.

  ‘But I’m playing my guitar and Jan says I’m going to win the eight to twelve year old category. Steven has to see me pick up the trophy!’

  ‘I’m sorry pet, but he can’t make it. He has to work.’

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her that we were no longer the only women in Steven’s life.

  ‘Never mind, we’ll still have a good time. You can help me with my traybakes. Jan’s asked me to help raise funds for the guitar club’s trip to Glasgow.’

  ‘What trip to Glasgow?’

  ‘Has he not told you? Jan’s hiring a minibus so you can see some amazing Spanish guitarist at the Royal Concert Hall. But it wasn’t me that told you, for God’s sake don’t dub me in, okay?’

  ‘Cool! I’ve never been to Glasgow.’

  ‘You’ll love it, it’s a great place. But we’ll have to shift a lot of cakes to pay for the bus. Jan wants us to run a stall.’

  ‘Jan fancies you.’

  ‘Away you go, he does not! He’s just trying to raise funds.’

  ‘He does so! He told Ailsa that you were a nice lady.’

  ‘I thought you weren’t speaking to Ailsa?’

  ‘Aye, I fell out with her but then we fell back in.’

  ‘Good, that’s nice.’

  ‘You’re nice, that’s what Jan said.’

  ‘Well that was nice, it’s nice to be nice. But it doesn’t mean he fancies me.’

  ‘And he wears aftershave, he never used to, he pongs now.’

  Rebecca giggled and held her fingers to her nose while she started a nasally sing-song.

  ‘Pongy Jan fancies Trixie! Pongy Jan fancies Trixie!’

  ‘Get a grip Rebecca, he’s only after my French Fancies.’

  Of course I behaved grown-up and redirected her attention. but Rebecca’s childish chant sang in my head all day.

  Chapter 26

  Jenny was almost as gutted as I was that Steven wasn’t coming for the gala day. Although she’d never actually met him, she knew as much about him as I did, as much as I could tell her, and she was always hungry for more information. I spent all my time bumming him up. It was strange and somehow sweet that this childless elderly woman took such an interest.

  ‘Och that’s a shame Trixie! And me with a wee present for him for doing so well in his exams!’

  ‘I’m sorry Jenny.’

  ‘Och it’ll keep until the next time. No, it’s you I’m disappointed for. You were looking forward to trying out the Bengustie Hotel. Here, what about this for an idea? Me and you could go anyway! I could close up early on Sunday, make a wee day of it. We could book a nice Sunday lunch at the Bengustie, celebrate on Steven’s behalf.’

  ‘Oh Jenny that sounds great. I’ve been a bit fed up since he said he wasn’t coming. I could do with a wee treat.’

  ‘I think we both could. So, it’s a date then? Get your gladrags on Trixie, we’re going posh.’

  *

  The Bengustie was better than I could have expected. Everything was fresh and prepared on the premises, none of your frozen fish from London or your microwaved individual portions, everything was home-made: bread, fish soup, venison stew, raspberry flan, it was fabulous. Except that we had to share a table.

  Annacryne, a town just north of Bengustie, was in the midst of its Highland games and the hotel was booked full of American caber tossers. Jenny knew the manager and he managed to squeeze us in but we had to share with two women tourists from Yorkshire. Jesus, these women could moan: they didn’t like the weather, they didn�
�t like the hotel, they even moaned about the food. These old bags could have put a right dampener on our day out but Jenny saw the potential for a bit of sport.

  She pretended to sympathise, clucking and tutting at everything they said. She was way over the top but they didn’t catch the sarcasm. Putting different inflections on it, sometimes sounding scandalised, sometimes empathising, Jenny said ‘Oh, I know!’ twelve times in a row. I sat quiet, marvelling at her talent for taking the piss. Encouraged by Jenny’s understanding, the women told us how disappointed they were that there was no Marks and Spencer up here. They had brought their charge card especially, it makes the holiday, having a bit of a shop, and let’s face it, if you’re going to shop, Marks is the place to do it. Oh I know! They couldn’t believe that there wasn’t a Marks and Sparks for a hundred miles, they had never been so far away from one in their lives.

  Jenny leaned across the table conspiratorially and whispered, ‘Oh, but there is.’

  The women gasped. ‘Where?’

  Jenny tapped her nose. She leaned back in her seat, took a sip of coffee and licked her lips. She was stalling, trying to think up a plausible story.

  ‘You know how when you go into Marks and you see a nice cardi but it’s forty five pounds and you think you’ll wait for the sale and see if they reduce it and anyway, you’ve seen one similar in Littlewoods for twenty?’

  The women nodded, they knew exactly.

  ‘But when you look at the Littlewoods one again it’s not really the same and you prefer the Marks one?’

  Vigorous nods from both of them.

  ‘And when you go back to Marks the cardi is gone and they’re not getting them in again?’

  Nods all round, I was even nodding.

  ‘Well, they’re here.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Market forces. That cardi is taking up valuable floor space. If everyone waited for the sale Marks wouldn’t make any money. So they sell them off cheap, but far enough away that it’s not going to affect their trade. Next time you’ll pay top dollar for the cardi because you know it’ll be gone otherwise. Unless you know where to find it.’