Ice and a Slice

by Della Galton

  But then wasn’t being attracted to your counsellor the oldest cliché in the book? It would be easy to fall for a man you poured out your heart to, week after week – a man who never judged or shunned you. A man who seemed to understand you better than you understood yourself. Kit certainly understood her better than her own husband. She pushed the thoughts away. She wasn’t going down that route.

  “I don’t know what I’d do if I bumped into Kit,” she said, ignoring Tanya’s first question. “Smile, I guess, and give him the thumbs up. At least he’d know I wasn’t lying about going to meetings.

  “It’s obviously working, though. How long is it since you’ve had a drink?”

  “Five days.” SJ looked at her watch and added lightly, “And about seven hours.”

  “Not that you’re counting!”

  SJ drained her smoothie. “These are nice. Have you got enough strawberries for another one?”

  “I should think so.” Tanya undraped herself from her chair. “You coming to help me make it?”

  Helping involved heaping the remainder of the strawberries into a pristine metal sieve and rinsing them while Tanya retrieved the food processor from the cupboard, where it had been washed up and put away earlier, and took a fresh pint of milk from the fridge.

  SJ watched her idly. “Our fridge is always full of dog hairs – they get everywhere. How do you keep everything so clean?”

  “We don’t have a dog?” Tanya said, shooting an amused glance out of the window to where Ash, who hadn’t noticed they’d gone, was still asleep in the sun.

  “No, I know, but I didn’t just mean that.” SJ swept out her arms to encompass the immaculate kitchen, with its polished surfaces and cream walls. You could see your face in the stainless steel oven door. Or you could if you bent down. SJ was tempted to try it – it must be handy if you wanted to check your make up and couldn’t be bothered to go upstairs. There were hardly any mirrors in Tanya’s house; there wasn’t even one in the bathroom. She’d never noticed the mirror shortage before. How odd. Still, it probably explained why Tanya had learned to put on her lipstick without the need to see her reflection.

  “Does your cleaner come in every day?” SJ asked.

  “No – she comes in once a week.” Tanya looked amused. “But Michael helps quite a bit. He likes housework.”

  “Ah.” SJ felt faint heat in her face. Since the Sunday she’d made that stupid drunken phone call they hadn’t discussed Michael. He was out seeing a mate tonight – or she’d never have come round. A part of her had been pathetically grateful when Tanya had phoned and suggested it.

  “I’ll never let you down again,” she said, hearing the slight huskiness in her voice and wishing she didn’t feel so emotional. That had been another thing she’d noticed in the last five days. Her emotions swung between despair and elation several times a day.

  “I know you won’t,” Tanya said with so much sincerity in her voice that it shamed SJ still further. “It was the drink talking. I know you’d never deliberately do anything to hurt me.”

  “No, but it’s very early days. I can’t promise I’ll never drink again. I can only do it one day at a time. To be honest, the thought of never drinking again terrifies me.”

  “Then don’t think about it.” That was the sort of rational sensible thing Kit would say.

  Tanya turned on the food mixer, which wiped out the possibility of further conversation for a few seconds, and then handed her a strawberry smoothie.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve got any straws?” SJ asked, feeling like a child.

  “In the top cupboard – with the glasses.”

  Tanya’s mobile bleeped with a text and she read it while SJ found the straws. “That was Candice,” she explained, going slightly pink. “Do you mind if I just phone her back?”

  “Course not,” SJ said, heading back out to the decking in order to give her some privacy. When Tanya had first told her about Candice she’d felt jealous that her closest friend had confided in a stranger before she’d confided in her, but now she understood. It was far easier to talk to someone who was going through the same life-changing experiences that you were; someone who knew how you were feeling, someone who knew exactly what the pain was like.

  Dorothy had given SJ a potted history of her own twenty-two year drinking career and it had made SJ feel a hundred times better. If Dorothy could beat her alcoholism, build up a massively successful career and look like she’d stepped out of the pages of an upmarket designer catalogue to boot, then surely SJ could do it too. Especially as Dorothy had taken her battle with alcohol right into the gutter.

  “I wouldn’t listen to anyone who tried to tell me I was on the path to self-destruction,” she’d said. “My parents disowned me. So did my elder brother. I was ten years dry before I made it up with my family. Mind you, it wasn’t surprising. I stole from them, I lied to them. I hurt them dreadfully. I’d have disowned me, if I’d been in their place.”

  Looking into Dorothy’s serene blue eyes, SJ had found it hard to believe she’d ever been a hellraiser.

  “My drinking cost me my first marriage,” Dorothy continued softly. “Ted tried his best, but I was out of control. It’s impossible to stop an alcoholic who doesn’t want to be stopped. It’s about as effective as standing in the path of an express train and holding up your hand.”

  “What happened in the end?”

  “My daughter was taken away from me and put into care.”

  “And that was the wake-up call you needed?” SJ had asked, wanting to cry.

  “I wish I could say it was,” Dorothy said, “but sadly that wasn’t the case. By that stage I was too far gone to care. If anything, I drank even more to quell the pain of losing her. She never lived with me again, but I didn’t think it was my fault. I blamed everyone except myself and I got worse and worse.”

  She hesitated, her eyes reflective. “One night I was heading home with my bottle of whiskey when I collapsed. I’d started to haemorrhage, you see – my liver was shot to pieces. I’d have died there in the gutter if it hadn’t been for a Good Samaritan, who happened to be passing. To be honest I probably deserved to die. I certainly would have been happy to die – I’d reached that stage where I couldn’t live without alcohol and I couldn’t live with it, either. I couldn’t see any way out. Not a nice place to be.”

  “No,” SJ had managed, slightly overawed as she’d tried to equate the woman she’d only ever known as dignified and rather elegant with some hopeless drunk in the gutter.

  “What happened next?”

  “I was taken to hospital and patched up. The hospital saved my life. But I would have been straight out there drinking myself to death again if I hadn’t had a visit.”

  “From your family?”

  “No, not from my family. They didn’t know I was there. I doubt they’d have come if they had. From my Good Samaritan. The man who’d found me and called an ambulance. Someone must have been looking after me that day because it turned out he was a recovering alcoholic. He came to see me and he told me about AA. To be fair, I already knew about them, but I didn’t think I had a problem.” She gave SJ a knowing smile. “Anyway, hen, to cut a long story short, he took me to a meeting. Not just the one; he made me go every day – sometimes twice a day. He’d come and pick me up so I didn’t have a choice. At first I hated it – I didn’t see how a bunch of ex-drunks could possibly help me. But I was desperate enough to go along with it. And eventually some of the stuff they said started to sink in. And here I am. Twenty-five years on – sober and loving it.”

  “Did you keep in touch with him – your Good Samaritan?” SJ had asked, hoping for a happy ending.

  “Aye, I did, pet.” Dorothy reached across and touched her hand. “I did more than keep in touch – I married him. His name was Alfie.”

  A cough and the sound of footsteps on the decking alerted SJ to the fact Tanya had reappeared, minus mobile.

  “Are you okay, SJ? You looked miles away then
.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine, thanks. Is Candice alright?”

  “Yes. Thanks for asking. I was just telling her that Michael wants us to go to a party.”

  “Sounds nice. Where is it?”

  “Soho. But SJ, it’s not that sort of party…” Tanya broke off, her eyes troubled.

  “Not what sort of party?” Had she missed something? Had she been so busy thinking about herself that she’d not heard what Tanya had said? Her ‘friend radar’ was suddenly on full alert, although Tanya didn’t seem anxious to elaborate. SJ waited expectantly.

  “It’s…well…it’s a trannie party. It’s where men dress up as women. And apparently some of the wives go and…well…SJ, do you mind me talking about this sort of stuff?”

  “Of course I don’t mind. I’m glad you trust me – I mean after… you know…”

  “I’ve always trusted you. It was the drink I didn’t trust – well, the effect it had on you.” Tanya reached across and patted SJ’s hand, her face earnest. “If I hadn’t trusted you totally, I’d never have told you. It would hurt Michael terribly if it ever came out. He’d feel I’d betrayed him.”

  “I won’t tell a soul. I promise.” SJ felt both humbled and afraid. A few months ago she’d have been horrified if anyone had told her she couldn’t be trusted. But then she hadn’t been aware she’d ever had a blackout until recently. She hadn’t even known what they were.

  “So what did Candice say?”

  Tanya shook her head. “She doesn’t mind her husband going to parties; she goes with him, she says it’s a laugh. But I can’t, SJ. I can’t bear the thought of it. It would seem like – God, I don’t know – going to some elaborate fancy dress party, which is fine if you’re a kid or even a teenager, but to see a lot of grown up men prancing around in stockings and dresses – well, actually it makes me feel a bit sick. Is that wrong?”

  SJ shook her head vehemently and put her arm around Tanya’s narrow shoulders.

  “I’ve never been into fancy dress parties,” Tanya said, a tear rolling down her nose.

  “Me neither,” SJ said with feeling. “Never seen the point of them. Complete waste of time.”

  Tanya smiled and SJ wondered if she was remembering the time SJ had organised a 60s party at college and had persuaded a reluctant Tanya to get her hair done up in a beehive.

  “I don’t mind him doing the dressing up bit in private. I understand that it’s something he needs to do. But I can’t go to this party. And he really wants me to. I don’t know what to do.”

  SJ stared at the hanging baskets around the decking for inspiration. The fuchsias over-spilled in a riot of purple and pink bells and somewhere close by lavender scented the summer air.

  “Do you mind if he goes by himself? I mean, I know it’s not ideal, but if you could bear that, then maybe it would be a good compromise.”

  Tanya frowned. “Yes, it would. That’s if he would go by himself. I suppose I could ask him.”

  “I mean, he can’t expect you to embrace every aspect of his…his cross-dressing,” SJ decided directness was best, “in one go, can he? It’s a complete lifestyle change, and you have to take it one step at a time.” She had a feeling that line had come from an AA meeting, but it seemed to fit.

  “Yes,” Tanya agreed. “You’re right. Maybe if I put it like that. You are quite a wise old soul, aren’t you?”

  “If that were true I wouldn’t have ended up in this mess,” SJ said with a sigh.

  “But alcoholism’s an illness,” Tanya said. “It can happen to anyone, can’t it?”

  “Mmm.” SJ wasn’t sure she was just talking about her life being a drinking- related mess any more. She wanted to mention how things were with Tom, but it didn’t seem fair. They were always talking about her problems. It was Tanya’s turn.

  “So tell me about the dressing up at home – I mean, if you want to. How are you coping with that?”

  Tanya hesitated, but only for a moment this time. “He doesn’t do it all the time. I mean, it’s not an everyday thing. A lot of the time our life is perfectly normal.” Her eyes clouded a little, and SJ wondered at her choice of words – deep down, she suspected that Tanya would have given a very great deal to go back to the normality their life had once been.

  “He tends to do it when he’s stressed. Sometimes if there’s a problem at work – or if he’s worried about something. I think it gives him comfort. We’ve talked about it quite a lot and I’ve wondered if there’s any connection to the relationship he had with his mum. She brought him up single-handed, you see, because his dad had left them. He never even met his dad.”

  “Poor little mite,” SJ sympathised.

  “Yes – but she also had to work for a living, so Michael used to get passed around a bit between relatives. He hated it. He was quite a mummy’s boy, so she used to give him something of hers to cuddle until she got back. Usually a scarf or something. I don’t know ... SJ, your psychology’s better than mine, but it struck me that there could be a connection. What do you think?”

  “Makes sense,” SJ said. They were still sitting very close and she could smell Tanya’s perfume mingling with the sweetness of jasmine beside the deck. “Childhood has a lot to answer for, that’s for sure. So does Michael actually wear your clothes?”

  “Oh no.” Tanya wrinkled her nose. “There are shops you can go to that specialise in cross-dressing, or you can get stuff online…which is what we’ve been doing up until now. Lingerie’s tricky. We knew roughly what size he was – from mine – you know… So we just choose stuff he likes the look of. And the feel of – textures are very important. He likes silk best.”

  “I’m with him on that one,” SJ said, fascinated. “Silk’s my favourite too – and, hey, you won’t have any trouble with Christmas and birthdays any more, will you? Silk knickers beat boring old socks any day of the week, don’t they?”

  Tanya’s face froze and for a moment SJ thought she may have taken her ‘lightening the mood’ comments too far but then, to her relief, Tanya nodded.

  “To be honest, I’m not very keen on the actual dressing up bit. I’d be quite happy if he did that in private. But I quite enjoy helping him choose the clothes. This is going to sound strange, but it’s a bit like helping out a teenage niece who’s just blossoming into womanhood. Or a friend who hasn’t got much fashion sense.”

  “Like me,” SJ supplied helpfully, and Tanya smiled properly now.

  “No, not like you, you walnut. You’re beautiful – naturally beautiful – and it’s all the more appealing because you’re so unaware of it.”

  SJ was so startled she choked on the last of her smoothie. “I’m not beautiful. I’m a mess. I’m overweight and I’ve got witch’s hair.” She twirled a strand of it around her fingers to demonstrate.

  “Good grief, you talk some rubbish sometimes. You’ve got the most amazing hair and beautiful eyes. You’d be stunning if you made a bit more effort. When was the last time you went to a salon?”

  “I’m allergic to beauty salons,” SJ muttered, having visions of fake nails and tanning beds and being uncomfortably reminded of Alison.

  “I’m talking about hairdressing salons. They wouldn’t need to do much. You’ve got naturally lovely hair. You remind me of Cindy Crawford. It’s a gorgeous colour anyway, but it’d look fantastic with the right cut.”

  SJ felt heat in her face. She wasn’t used to compliments.

  “I do need a haircut, I know. I’ll get it sorted. Maybe you could recommend the place you go to?” Not that she had any illusions of ending up looking like Tanya, who was always stunning.

  Tanya took a card out of her bag and slipped it across the table. “I see Oliver – he’s the owner. The salon’s in the precinct. Tell him I sent you.”

  “Right. Thanks, I’ll go.” They seemed to have got off the subject of Michael, but at least Tanya looked happier now. Her face was open and relaxed.

  “I’d tell you some more, SJ. But Michael’s due back in about te
n minutes.”

  “I should be going, anyway. Tom will be home.” She felt suddenly close to tears. Tanya and Michael’s marriage may still be recovering from the meteor blast of his revelations but at least they were picking their way over the rocky ground together. At least they were talking. She wished her problem and the way she was dealing with it had drawn Tom closer to her, but if anything it had pushed them even further apart. Sometimes she wondered whether she’d ever feel close to him again.

  “Thanks for coming round, SJ.”

  “Thanks for asking me.” It seemed that Tanya had forgiven her. She should feel relieved. So why did she feel so sad and churned up as she kissed Tanya goodbye, clipped on Ash’s lead, and took him out to the car?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Perhaps it was because the anniversary party, which had been looming like a thunderstorm on the horizon, was now just three weeks away. Her mother had been on the phone twice this week, ostensibly to confirm they were still bringing the wine, and had they done anything about glass-hire? But really it was to check they were still definitely coming.

  SJ had assured her they wouldn’t miss it for anything. But the thought of seeing Alison again, of having to introduce her stunning and manipulative sister to Tom, made her shake more than giving up the booze had done. Knowing she couldn’t even have a nerve-calming drink to take the edge off the experience made the whole thing worse.

  She glanced at her watch. Despite what she’d told Tanya – because she hadn’t wanted to overstay her welcome – Tom wasn’t going to be home for another couple of hours. Suddenly, the thought of going back to an empty house filled her with dread. They still had wine everywhere – Tom had said there was no way he was chucking it all out – and SJ was scared of its pull.

  Perhaps she should take Ash for a walk while it was a bit cooler. He was one of the reasons she’d driven to Tanya’s. He liked to stroll around a nice park, but he wasn’t so keen on hard pavements these days, so she tended to drive him somewhere. Maybe they could go somewhere different for a change.