‘I love you, I always have and you are completely extraordinary.’
She flexed her toes against his skin.
‘Do you still feel like that, Rom, that I might dump you?’ he asked softly.
‘A bit,’ she whispered. ‘Yes. Sometimes.’
David shook his head. It was a wee while until he spoke. ‘I try every day to make you feel valued. I always have.’
‘I know, I know, and you do.’ She briefly laid her hand on his arm. ‘I just can’t help it.’
‘It makes me feel like shit that I can’t show you how I feel, that you don’t have faith in us.’
‘I do. I do have faith in us… It’s just…’
‘Just what?’
‘It’s not you, it’s me—’
‘Did you really just say that?’ David felt the beginnings of a smile on his lips. He reached over and pulled her towards him. ‘Oh, my beautiful Rom. My Bug Girl.’
She laid her head on his shoulder.
‘You are a complex puzzle to me, Rom, you always have been and it’s one of the reasons I love you so much. I love that I have always had to try and figure you out.’
She wasn’t sure she wanted to be a complex puzzle but nuzzled against him anyway.
‘But I’m a bit worried about you, a bit worried about us,’ he continued as her heart skipped a beat. ‘You’ve always come alive, become more confident after a glass of plonk and we’ve had some crazy, crazy nights, haven’t we?’ He laughed and kissed her scalp.
Romilly thought back to the evening at Zazu’s Kitchen on the Gloucester Road that had felt like a party. Dinner and drinks had ended with tables being pushed against the wall and the whole room chatting and singing like they were all friends, spurred on by the liberal measures of wine and her uninhibited desire for everyone to raise their glasses in communal toasts. And then there’d been that time at the Harbour Festival when she’d become separated from the group and they’d found her trying to skateboard in front of the Lloyds Amphitheatre with a bemused gang of teenagers, who clearly hadn’t known what to make of the drunk woman in the floral frock with skinned knees.
‘But it seems to have become more than just a way to loosen up on a night out, hasn’t it? Is that a fair comment?’
She nodded.
‘And the thing is, Rom, I know it’s a problem or at least becoming a problem, because I don’t mention it, I feel I can’t mention it. I’m scared to. You know, like when someone’s fat and you can’t use the word fat in front of them, which means you know they’ve become fat.’
‘Like Jay…’ She smiled.
They laughed, thinking of their friend who had swapped his evening run for pizza eating and PlayStationing and had ballooned.
‘Yep, like Jay. I can no longer make fatty jokes at his expense because it’s too near the mark, too real.’
She looked at her husband, all too conscious that he didn’t really want to talk about Jay or his weight. ‘So what word can’t you say in front of me?’ She bit her lip.
He shrugged, which told her all she needed to know.
She pulled free from his hold and sat on the sofa with her legs crossed on the cushion, watching him. ‘I drink more than I tell you.’
He nodded, his eyes downcast, as if this wasn’t news.
‘I… I drink when I find a situation stressful, or if I feel nervous or anxious.’
‘Do you often feel nervous or anxious?’
‘Yes.’ She nodded.
‘Do you feel like a drink now?’ he asked, holding her gaze.
‘Yes.’
He massaged her left foot with his thumb. ‘Has it got stronger over time, your desire to have one?’
‘Yes.’ She nodded again.
‘I mean, at uni you always came out of your shell when you drank, and it was a laugh. You seemed to bloom when you were a bit pissed. And I suppose if I’m being completely honest—’
‘I need you to be,’ she interrupted.
‘If I’m being completely honest,’ he continued, ‘I’ve enjoyed seeing you like that. Fun and more confident, adventurous in every sense.’ He smiled at her and squeezed her toes. ‘But since we’ve had Celeste… I don’t know, something’s changed and I find myself wishing you wouldn’t drink. It’s not funny any more.’
His words were like tiny swords that further hacked at her self-esteem. She felt small and useless. I don’t want you to think less of me. I want to be a good mum to Celeste.
‘Do you…’ he swallowed, ‘do you drink every day?’ he whispered.
‘Yes.’ Her response was barely audible.
‘How much have you drunk today?’ He hardly dared ask. She heard the waver in his voice.
There was a pause. She considered how much to tell him, wanting to exorcise the secrets that hovered in her mouth but feeling a deep shame at her weakness, her greed.
‘I’ve had a bottle of wine and three bottles of beer,’ she managed through a fresh bout of tears. She could tell by the way he shrank back against the cushions that he was shocked.
‘You’ve drunk that today? While you were here on your own?’
She guessed he wanted Sara to be implicated so he could blame her, offload some of the responsibility onto her.
She nodded.
‘I see.’ It was all he could think of. ‘Do you want to stop drinking every day?’
‘I do, I do, but I love it. I really like drinking and it makes everything feel better.’
‘But that’s the trick, isn’t it. It only feels like it’s making things better, whereas actually it’s making things worse, creating a whole other set of problems. I know you know this, Rom. You’re smart.’
‘That’s me, smart.’ She gave a wry smile.
‘Let’s do what I suggested, let’s try for a month and see how we go. Do you think we should get some help? Go to the doctor or find a therapist? I don’t really know how this works or what’s best.’ He looked at her with a lost expression that she could hardly bear to see.
‘No. No.’ She was emphatic. ‘I don’t want to get anyone else involved. I really don’t. I can do this. I know I can. I just need to be strong and stay in and not be in charge of the shopping and little things like that.’
‘Okay, if you think that’s best. Why don’t we get Holly to come and stay? She’s back from Ibiza for six weeks and I bet she’d love to spend time with you and Celeste.’
‘You mean so she can babysit me, keep the gin under lock and key and report on progress?’ Romilly gave a weak smile.
‘Yes. That’s exactly it. I’m worried that if you’re here alone or I’m not back from work or if anyone should come over who’s a bad influence on you…’ They exchanged a look. ‘You wouldn’t be able to resist.’
‘Okay.’ She nodded.
‘We can do this if we’re completely honest with each other. It’s all about communication. You need to tell me how you’re feeling, and if there’s anything I can do at any point to take the edge off or help you, then I will. We’re a team, me and you, okay? A team. A team without secrets.’
David sat forward and cradled her to him as she cried.
‘A team without secrets,’ she repeated, closing her eyes and feeling swamped with guilt at what she wasn’t telling him. Firstly, that she had actually drunk two bottles of wine and three bottles of beer that day. And secondly, that from simply talking about it, she was now desperate, desperate for a drink and could think about little else other than the bottle of wine that was nestled inside a wellington boot in the cupboard under the stairs. It was as if it was calling to her.
Celeste
Around the same time as the vomiting incident, when I was about six, she came off the booze for a few weeks. I can’t remember how long for exactly, but I do remember that for a while she was like the perfect mum. Really attentive and great. Aunty Holly was staying with us and she was brilliant. She was so funny – still is. I love her. It was a happy time.
One day she picked me up from school an
d she was excited. She got like that sometimes, a bit childlike, I suppose, like she had a secret or a surprise, and on this occasion she did! I jumped in the car where Holly was waiting and instead of going home for our tea, we went up to the zoo in Clifton. She’d packed a picnic and the first thing we did when we arrived was set out our blanket and eat our sandwiches and crisps and we were all so happy that we laughed at everything. Everything! A fat lady who walked past, the way my orange squash splurged out of the bottle when I squeezed it, every animal shriek and noise. We just sat on that blanket doubled over, laughing, giggling and rolling around. We were having the best time ever and that was before we’d even seen an animal.
I remember seeing a girl about my age, she was walking along the path and her mum was marching ahead of her, and I could tell she was angry and the girl looked really sad and I remember thinking what a waste it was to be sad and angry at the zoo. It’s funny, I can’t remember too much about the creatures we saw or what happened, but I can vividly recall that picnic on the grass and the deep, deep love I felt for my mum. It was late afternoon and still sunny. Her hair was loose, sitting about her shoulders, and when the light caught it, it looked like fire. It was really quite beautiful.
Then a week or so later she took me into town and I was allowed to get my ears pierced. I couldn’t believe it! I’d been nagging her for a while as a few of the girls in my class had earrings. I never thought she’d agree, not in a million years, but just like that, with Aunty Holly in tow, I found myself sitting on this high stall while a woman who smelled of cigarettes held the little gun thing at my lobe. I was petrified and at that point would gladly have backed out had I been given the choice!
I remember sitting in the middle of this jewellery shop and she was holding up huge garish chandelier type earrings saying, ‘ooh these are nice Celeste!’ and I sat there giggling, with a mixture of joy at the situation and absolute fear that she might actually make me wear them!
We went to Claire’s Accessories after and Holly bought me this huge diamante tiara and mum got me a pair of little silver studs that I still have. I wore my tiara to McDonald’s and all the way home. When I walked through the door, Dad was on the phone. He did a double-take and frowned like he was really cross, but then he looked at Mum who was smiling and looked so calm and pretty, and I saw his face relax into a kind of half smile that was happy, but bemused, like he wasn’t quite in on the joke. I looked in the mirror in the hall, twisting my head so the light caught the diamonds on my tiara and made it sparkle. I twiddled my newly placed earrings and couldn’t wait to get on with the business of growing up. I guess that’s because I didn’t know what the next few years would bring.
It was a lovely time, though. The house felt different. Dad was much more relaxed, laughing and making jokes like he used to. I guess it was because he didn’t have to worry about what was waiting for him when he came home from work. What sort of mood Mum would be in. It was the same for me, coming home from school. For those few weeks while Aunty Holly was there, we were like a proper family. Mum would read me a story every night and I didn’t have to get my dirty socks out of the washing machine for school or pretend I didn’t mind not having any snacks for my lunchbox like my friends did. And I didn’t have a tense tummy any more and I didn’t once crawl under my bed. Until this time, I’d thought it was normal to always have a bunching feeling inside; it was only when the tension disappeared that I even realised it wasn’t normal.
Mum understood all that, I think. One night, when we’d driven home from school, we stopped on the driveway and instead of jumping out of the car like we usually did, she sat staring at the windscreen. I sat still, not sure what was happening, and then I realised she was crying. She told she me was sorry and I asked her what for, like I didn’t know what she was apologising for, but I did. It was for all the crappy days when she couldn’t be bothered or was out with Sara or she had drunk at home and I’d seen her pissed. I think that was what she cried for, as if when she was off the booze, she could see things clearly – the bad as well as the good. I wanted to comfort her, but I didn’t really know how, so I started to sing ‘You Are My Sunshine’, as that was what she sang to me sometimes and I knew it always made me feel a lot better.
Seven
‘What am I going to talk to her about?’ Holly whispered across the bathroom as she sat on the loo, holding a small mirror up to her face while she applied her make-up, gurning in different angles, trying to reach her lashes and all of her eyelid.
Romilly continued cleaning her teeth. Growing up in a small house with one bathroom, this had always been normal to them.
She spat the minty foam into the sink and patted her mouth with a towel. ‘What do you mean? Same things you talk to anyone about! She’s American, her English is perfect. And besides, you’ve met her lots of times.’
‘I know I have, that’s the problem. I find her a bit… I don’t know… preachy, a bit annoying and a bit like I want to hit her around the head with a wet kipper.’ Holly grinned at her sister.
‘Shhhh!’ Romilly held her finger up over her mouth and her face flushed scarlet. She tried to contain her giggles but at the same time was embarrassed at the thought that Holly’s voice might have carried. ‘Please don’t hit her around the head with a wet kipper and don’t let David hear you say that, she is his mum after all.’
‘Come on, Rom, you can’t tell me you actually like her!’ Holly said loudly.
‘I don’t not like her.’ Romilly made a neutral face, tactful as ever. ‘And she has always been very generous to us, helped us with the deposit for the house, bought things for Celeste, you know… She tries in her own way, and I want her to feel welcome, always. It can’t have been easy for her bringing up David on her own. I can’t imagine what it must have been like, but her husband sounds like a right sort. Left her for his secretary, just dumped her and David when something shinier came along.’
‘Maybe that’s why he’s so solid, dependable?’
‘Mmm, could be. He never really talks about his dad.’ Romilly checked her teeth in the mirror.
‘What was his name?’
‘Why?’ Romilly was wary of giving Holly too much information.
‘Just curious.’
‘Cole. Not that she ever mentions him.’ She fixed her sister with a stare.
‘I can’t imagine Sylvia married, and I certainly can’t imagine her having sex.’
‘Good God, Holly! Why would you want to?’
‘I don’t!’ She giggled. ‘She’s just not that type is she? I bet she thinks you and David don’t do it either. She just seems unaware, detached.’
Romilly laughed. ‘Oh, don’t worry, Holly, she knows we do it! Firstly, we have a child—’
‘Good point.’ Holly winked at her sister and fired an imaginary pistol at her, made from her thumb and forefinger.
‘And secondly, she once discovered us almost mid act.’ She placed her hand over her eyes. ‘Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m telling you! It was the most horrific moment of my life! She saw me naked on the hall floor and David only half dressed!’
Holly laughed loudly. ‘Why were you on the hall floor?’
‘It’s a very long story, but basically we had been having sex in the cupboard under the stairs.’ Romilly blushed.
‘Oh my God, you bloody weirdos! That is classic!’
‘I knew I shouldn’t have told you. You are not to mention it, ever. Ever! Not even to Carrie! Swear!’
‘Scout’s honour.’ Holly giggled.
‘And I mean it, Holl. Be nice to Sylvia.’
‘Message received.’ Holly stuck out her tongue and rolled her eyes as she applied a fourth coat of mascara.
‘I’m being serious. You have to be nice to her, do what I do and just let anything she says that’s a bit off centre roll off you like water off a duck’s back.’
‘I wi-ill!’ Holly laboured the point, sounding like a petulant child. ‘Does she know you’re under house arrest?’
Romilly laughed. ‘I am not under house arrest and no, she doesn’t. We’ll just lie and say that you’re here because I like you and not because you’re my jailer.’
Holly put her mascara wand back in her make-up bag and pressed powder under her lower lashes. When she’d finished, she looked up at her big sister. ‘Are you an alcoholic?’
Romilly turned from the mirror and stared at her beautiful sibling, who had used the word that everyone had been very careful to avoid saying in front of her. The word David couldn’t summon, the word she dodged in her own head. She felt slightly sick at the accusation. Of course she wasn’t an alcoholic. Was she? How would she know if she was? In her mind, alcoholics were people who drank before breakfast, who swigged from brown paper bags in the park, toothless people with matted hair who shared cans on the pavement and shouted at random strangers from their bits of cardboard in the car park. Not people like her who simply liked a drink or two to boost their confidence and help them relax. But the wine bottle had been calling to her more and more often lately. What did that mean?
‘I don’t think so.’ She held her sister’s gaze.
‘Well, that doesn’t really answer the question. I mean, I don’t think I need to lose weight, but the waistband on my jeans tells me differently. And Mum doesn’t think she needs a hearing aid, she just believes that everyone in the world, including everyone on TV and the radio, is now whispering just to annoy her. She actually thinks it’s a worldwide conspiracy designed to irritate Pat Shepherd, and chief conspirator is Anne Robinson, as she can no longer hear the questions she asks on The Weakest Link.’ She mouthed the punchline: ‘Did you not get the memo?’
Romilly gave a short laugh. ‘I hear you. Loud and clear. And I know what you’re saying.’ She sighed. ‘I guess the answer is that I think I have the potential to be an alcoholic and that’s why it’s important that I just kick it. And that I do it now before I slip any further.’ It felt simultaneously scary and empowering to say the words out loud.
Another Love Page 9