‘Hello Jo,’ Abena giggled, as she scooped the first gurgling child up in her arms while the other ran off with her handbag. She took Jojo and went to seek her mother out.
‘You look nice, Mum,’ she commented, having found her preparing yet more food in the big kitchen, the hub of the home. She was cooking sweet plantain and a tomato-rich rice dish, no doubt to add to the mountain of goodies already laid out about the house and piling up on the kitchen counter. Her mother, normally kitted out in smart suits for her job as a top lawyer in the City, had put on a colourful hand-dyed and woven dress decorated with intricate embroidery and beading.
‘Thanks, darling.’ She kissed both her daughter and little Jo on the cheek, commenting on how handsome the toddlers were growing. ‘They really are developing Ankrah cheekbones aren’t they? Any nice boys around you, darling? I was just chatting to General Ampofo the other day and his youngest son, you know, the unmarried one, he’s just qualified as a barrister…’
Abena backtracked quickly out of the kitchen, grabbing a marinated roast potato to share with Jojo.
Her mother called after her, ‘Abena can you give the living room a quick tidy before your aunt and uncle arrive with the children. They’re staying for three nights.’
‘No probs.’ She wandered off to help with the last of the preparations. Big family Christmases were fun and it was customary for everybody to chip in and help out.
Christmas Day was as manic as usual. Twenty-five relatives, five of them babies, had flown in from all over and were now seated around two long tables, enjoying the feast that Abena’s mother had been cooking up for days. Comforted as always by the warmth of her extended family and the general feeling of goodwill that was evident everywhere, from the happy gurgles of the youngest babies to the contented toasts of her parents and their siblings, Abena hoped that Tara was enjoying such a heart-warming break and felt sad when she had to admit that this was unlikely.
After the meal and prayers it was time for the playful ‘opening ceremony’, and with so many people there were literally hundreds of presents under the tree. The children and babies were the most spoiled, receiving toys, clothes and books. Inquisitive young Kwame’s favourite new toy, however, was not wrapped up. He had ransacked Abena’s handbag earlier in the day and was now enjoying chatting to a nice man called Bren-ne-dic. ‘Gagaga … Ahh …’ he cooed down the phone.
‘Ab-en-a,’ the funny man was saying to him.
‘Wooooooooo!’ Kwame screamed back, this was more fun than bath-time with his duck family.
‘Please can I speak to your Aunty Abena?’
‘Abena eat Christmas pie …’
‘But can—’
Oh, where had the funny man gone? Kwame had just pressed a shiny red button. ‘Bye bye Bender,’ he shouted down the empty line.
****
In Gloucestershire, the atmosphere was uneasy. Hugo and Tina had decided that for the sake of a happy Christmas they would forget their marital problems and attempt to be jolly. Tina had also begun to suspect that Hugo was not the only one developing a substance-abuse problem, and was keeping a close eye on Tara. For the sake of decency, Tina had not invited Orlando to join them, but his absence made her irritable, as did Hugo’s drunkenness and Tara’s sullenness. Joining the Wittstanleys for Christmas Day were Tara’s Uncle Rupert, his wife Anya, and their three girls, in matching purple dresses and hats. The only other guests were Hugo’s other brother, Edward, and his wife Annabel. It was an uncharacteristically sombre affair, with conversation consisting mainly of the two uncles and their wives making awkward plans to meet up in Klosters for the New Year.
‘Stan, old boy, you in Klosters too?’ Edward raised an inquisitive eyebrow at his brother. Even after more than five decades the Wittstanleys still found it hilarious to refer to each other using their shortened surname. The talk of Klosters, however, put paid to any hilarity as Tina pursed her glossy lips and Hugo’s red face deepened in colour. They, of course, could not afford such a break this winter. Tina didn’t mention that she had already made alternative plans to go to Courchevel with Orlando and that she hoped to bring Tara with her.
‘Shall we open presents?’ trilled Anya, worried the tension would ruin the day for her little ones.
‘Yes, yes, yes!’ chanted the girls, who were delighted with almost all of their dolls and puzzles and even loved the Bob the Builder and Fireman Sam books Tara had picked up from a discount bookshop last minute. They were the first kids’ books she came across and she’d been too exhausted to search for anything more girlie. Tina was less impressed.
‘Fireman Sam! Bob the Builder!’ she spluttered. ‘What is this preoccupation with workmen in children’s literature? No wonder society is going downhill. What’s wrong with Harry the Hedge-Fund Manager? Or Frederick the Financier? Far more appropriate reading material for an impressionable four-year-old.’
Tara, slumped on a sofa half-watching TV, could barely muster the energy to roll her eyes.
Chapter 24
Tara’s relief at having escaped a torturous skiing holiday with her mother and Orlando was short-lived. In order to get Tina to agree to this, Tara had had to promise to see a doctor about her ‘problems’. Tina had never actually mentioned the word drugs, referring instead to her daughter’s weight issue, eating habits and skin condition. Likewise, Tara had studiously avoided creating a scene and delving deeper into the heart of things, and so they had both been complicit in cultivating an absurd atmosphere of denial within the big house. The visit to the doctor, therefore, was a huge jolt to both mother and daughter.
At Dr Nicholas Lawrence’s practice, Tara was informed that she had a serious dependency on the class A narcotic cocaine. She learnt that her addiction was psychological rather than physical, but that this type of dependency was just as dangerous. She was informed that she was putting her heart under serious pressure, that she was severely malnourished, and that due to reduced blood flow from ingesting so much cocaine, she suffered from severe and potentially life-threatening bowel gangrene. Speaking very slowly to ensure that both women understood the seriousness of the situation, the doctor leaned forward and asked the sinfully attractive, busty mother in front of him if it might be easier for him to speak alone with Tara. Tina had by now become almost as pale as her addict daughter. She shook her head slowly. They both needed to hear this.
Dr Lawrence ended his appraisal with the ominous words: ‘Your fragile body is ailing and not half as robust as it should be at your young age. The next hit could kill you.’ At which point Tina fainted.
By the time Tina came round, Tara had been prescribed medication for her bowel gangrene and been recommended a number of NHS institutions to clean herself up. Dr Lawrence also gave Tina a directory of publicly funded rehabilitation programmes, and slipped his number inside, just in case she needed a little support after hours.
Back in London, Tara was now morosely recounting the tale to a transfixed Abena and Natalya. Caught up in the drama of her own story, Tara began to sob. At first the tears were gentle, then the floodgates opened. She parted her red lips as far as she could and let out an almighty wail.
‘Oh,’ she howled, ‘You don’t know what those NHS programmes are like. He said I’m depressed. They’ll section me in a mental hospital with a bunch of weirdos and perverts and kids from children’s homes. I’ll probably get raped and stabbed to death by crack addicts from Br-Br-Brixton … Oh my God, what am I going to do?’
Natalya waited for Tara to pause for air and cleared her throat. ‘Bébé, I told you already, I know a place. A good place, with nice people. And it’s clean, and beautiful, and comfortable, and they will support you, and help you recover at a pace thet is right for you, and without judging you.’
‘Ooooohhhhhh.’ Tara resumed howling. ‘How the hell can I afford something like that? Do you think my parents give me a fucking penny?’
Natalya nodded, her lovely face creased with genuine concern. ‘I know, I know,’ she soot
hed. ‘Let me take care of it.’ Tara stopped crying for a moment and looked up quizzically at her new friend.
‘All my life,’ Natalya continued, ‘I’ve worried about money. But when you worry about it, it takes over your life. Now, for me, for the first time, money is not a problem and I want to help you now because I am able to. I want you to forget about money and just concentrate all your energy upon getting well.’
Abena wiped a tear from her eye and smiled at Natalya.
‘That is the single most kind-hearted thing I have ever heard. You are literally saving my best friend’s life.’
Tara too, was still sobbing, but this time the tears were of gratitude rather than anguish. ‘Oh my g— I can’t. I can’t accept that – how will I ever repay you? Oh I will pay you back I swear, I swear, I’ll go and I’ll get better and I—’
‘Don’t worry about thet now. Just get better and if you feel you must pay me back then you can pay me back when you are recovered.’
She smiled and reached for Tara’s cold, heavily veined hand, caressing it in hers the way her own mother had done to her when she was a child. Abena and Tara felt suddenly ashamed of their aloofness towards Natalya in St Tropez.
Abena glanced down at her vibrating phone and saw that Tina was calling again. Shocked into action and now feeling horribly guilty as well as petrified for her daughter’s life, Tina had temporarily joined her alcoholic husband in London in order to keep a closer eye on Tara.
‘Yes, we’re making really good progress,’ Abena reassured Tina. ‘She has agreed to check into Appletons pretty much immediately.’
‘She seems to want to fight this now, that’s a relief. But, oh Christ, I can only imagine how much it costs to be treated there. I suppose we can sell the piano, or even the house – not that that will do much good the number of times it’s been re-mort—’
Abena could hear the panic in Tina’s voice rising to a crescendo and cut her off before she could babble on any more about her dire financial situation. She wondered whether Tina had taken herself off the waiting list for that Birkin bag yet.
‘It’s been taken care of. A friend has very kindly offered to pay for Tara’s treatment.’
There was a long silence before Tina falteringly enquired who he was. It humiliated her, somehow, to have strange men paying for things that she, the mother, should be buying.
‘It’s not a he, it’s a girl. Natalya, a friend of ours.’
‘Natalya? I don’t think I know her. How kind. Where on earth will she find that kind of money?’
Tina was heartened to hear that the unknown sponsor was not some sleazy man with all sorts of dishonourable intentions towards her little girl.
‘She’s a very successful model.’ Abena decided not to mention Claude Perren.
‘Well, can I speak to her? I must thank her, and come to some sort of arrangement as to when and how we can repay her.’
‘She’s here now. She says Tara is already booked in – she can head up there later today.’
‘Oh yes, yes, wonderful. You’ve been such a brilliant friend to her. I know what a handful she can be – takes after her father. I simply don’t know how I’d have coped without everyone rallying around and helping. Yes, why don’t I come over to the flat now and we’ll all drive down together. That way I can meet Natalya too. Yes that’s a great plan.’
She sounded quite upbeat, and as an afterthought added, ‘Of course that means that I won’t need to spend another night in London and can get straight back to Orl— I mean to Willowborough.’
At that moment Abena felt even sorrier for Tara than when she had caught her retching and clutching her stomach on the bathroom floor. At a time like this, how could a fling be Tina’s primary concern? She clearly loved her daughter, but her self-obsession was rivalled only by Tara’s and even then Abena felt that Tina had the edge.
‘If you’d like some time alone with Tara I can arrange for Natalya and I to leave the flat after you arrive?’
‘Please, no!’ Tina cried. ‘Who’ll calm her down if she makes a scene? I’m simply too fragile at the moment and she’ll … she’ll want her friends around.’
Tina arrived at the flat later that afternoon and rushed towards Tara’s bedroom. As always her make-up was immaculate and she was still tanned from skiing. Her freshly cut dark hair was glossy and had plainly just been blow-dried. When she lowered her shades, though, the enlarged grey bags underneath her reddened eyes spoke of many sleepless nights. Tara was curled up in the foetal position on her bed and didn’t even look up. For a brief moment, Abena found herself annoyed. Tara must take responsibility for her own addiction – it hadn’t been forced upon her. Yet she somehow managed to look so frail and ill and utterly innocent.
‘Come on darling.’ Tina kissed her daughter gingerly and helped her up off the bed. ‘Your father’s outside in the car. We’re all coming to see you off.’
Turning to Abena, she asked, ‘Is she all packed?’
‘Yep, we’ve packed her bag – it’s in the hallway.’
Abena pointed out Tara’s large leather bag, which she had packed with enough clothes, toiletries and books for a couple of months if necessary. Although Natalya and Abena knew that clothing shouldn’t be a priority, they hadn’t been able to resist including Tara’s favourite Matthew Williamson party dress and a classic sexy LBD just in case the in-patients got to go on a few jaunts to London. They’d also packed all of Tara’s make-up and were dying for her to use it. The moment she started bothering with things like that again it would be a sign she was on the road to recovery.
Glimpsing the mahogany coloured Tod’s bag that had gone missing from her own dressing room eight months ago, Tina pursed her lips but kept silent. Outside, Hugo had nodded off in the passenger seat of his wife’s second-hand Audi and was snoring loudly. Natalya emerged from the bathroom, which she’d been giving a good clean, and smiled shyly at Tina. Tina was utterly charmed by such flagrant beauty and all thoughts of the usurped leather bag were forgotten.
‘You must be Natalya!’ she squealed, running to embrace her.
Abena deposited the contentious bag in the boot of the Audi and climbed in the back with Tara. A short while later, Tina and Natalya emerged from the apartment arm in arm and giggling like old friends. Hearing his wife’s cackle, Hugo woke with a start, promptly banging his head against the steering wheel. He opened his eyes narrowly and was delighted to see that his wife had morphed into a slender young blonde, then realized he was looking at Natalya, and that his wife was following closely behind her. He stared at Natalya in a way that unsettled her – it was as if he couldn’t quite decide whether he loved or hated her.
Settling into the driver’s seat, Tina peered round and squawked ‘Everybody in?’
‘Yes’, everyone chorused, and as Tina set off with a girlish giggle they could have been on a school trip to the theatre, not a rehabilitation clinic. Tara, the star of the show, was massively nervous but also overwhelmed with hope and relief. At the clinic she could finally escape the threats from angry dealers, who she’d finally paid off, though far later than she should have. And more wonderful than that was the chance of ending the pain. The pain of giving up would surely not be easy, but the pain of continuing would be excruciating.
Tina was euphoric that here was a potential solution to her daughter’s suffering that was not only comprehensive and reassuringly expensive, but was far enough away from home to create minimum upheaval in the horrific period she was going through herself. She would have some much needed ‘me time’, particularly if she could persuade Hugo to check into that grotty NHS alcoholics’ clinic they had looked at. Orlando was right, she was forever looking after her demanding family and nobody ever thought about her, about her needs and wants.
All Hugo could think about was when he would be able to sneak a few swigs of the vodka in his hip flask. Perhaps they’d stop at a service station en route where he could rush off to the loo. He was aware that Natalya was sitting
behind him and he glanced round at her. She squeezed his shoulder and his hand moved instinctively to hold hers.
Abena and Natalya looked at each other knowingly. Having both worked tirelessly to persuade Tara to seek help, they had developed a mutual respect for one another and now felt a weary satisfaction that something constructive was finally happening.
‘Are you OK, Natalya?’ Abena whispered
‘Yes, I’m fine … It’s just …’
‘What is it? You can tell me.’
‘It’s nothing, I’m fine.’ Natalya smiled but her eyes were downcast. It had been lovely to feel like part of a family. Even one as dysfunctional as Tara’s.
As the sun went down, the car drew up at Appletons Rehabilitation Centre, a beautiful Victorian house set in acres of landscaped grounds surrounded by the rolling farmland of Kent’s North Downs. It seemed the setting might really offer the peace and tranquillity necessary for successful recovery that the brochure had promised. Dr Lynne Tomlinson came briskly out of the clinic and into the driveway to welcome Tara personally. She was dressed casually in blue jeans and an orange sweater and Tara was relieved to see that she wasn’t carrying any odd doctor’s paraphernalia to prod and jab at her with.
The entire party was offered soft drinks in the cosy reception area, which was warmed by a log fire and felt snug under its heavy, low wooden beams. Afterwards they were taken on a tour of the clinic, which had the capacity to house forty-three patients on an in-patient basis, with several halfway houses in the nearby village for day- and out-patient care. Tara was to be an in-patient and they were taken to see her rooms. She had her own private living room for entertaining, which, like her bedroom, was plainly decorated in creams and magnolias with a few simple paintings of pastel-coloured flowers and fruits on the walls. It wasn’t exactly hip but the overall impression conjured was of welcome cleanliness, calm and serenity.
Sin Tropez Page 24