‘Vic? Is that you, love? Let Chandler out, can you?’ As the familiar voice drifted through from the lounge, a cute Border terrier appeared in the hallway, cocked his head to one side and whimpered.
Victoria lifted the pooch into her arms and kissed his scratchy forehead. ‘It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it, lovely? Come on.’
After mopping the hallway, and with Chandler running free in the back garden, Victoria peered through the crack in the living room door. The same ache of disappointment that she had experienced through much of her adult life shrouded her like a heavy cloak. For there was her mother, slouched on the faded couch in complete darkness apart from the eerie glow of the television. Ten empty miniature bottles of vodka lay like fallen soldiers on the dusty coffee table in front of her.
Kath Sharpe glanced up at her daughter, her gaze unfocused. Her salt-and-pepper shoulder-length hair was all over the place. ‘Sweetheart,’ she slurred, attempting a half-smile that failed to reach her bloodshot eyes. ‘You should have told me you were coming.’
As she flicked on the light and turned off the television, a fizzing anger caused Victoria’s voice to tremble. ‘I did, Mum, and you rang only yesterday to tell me you were making us lasagne for dinner.’ She walked over to the front bay window, pulled shut the faded patterned curtains, turned on a couple of lamps and started to clear the empty bottles into an old carrier bag that was lying at her mother’s feet.
‘Don’t throw that big orange one away, will you? I’ll reuse it.’
‘For goodness’ sake, it’s only seven o’clock, and look at you.’ Victoria sighed. ‘And you might as well buy a litre bottle. It must be costing you a fortune this way.’
‘Oh, shut up, Miss Prissy Pants. I’ve been trying.Thisway means I’m trying.’
Victoria decided not to try and argue with that particular bit of addict’s logic. ‘I thought you were usually at the Overton-Hattons’ on a Friday anyway?’
‘It’s half-term next week, so Connie asked if I could do a double clean once the kids have ransacked the place.’
‘So I guess you’ve sat here all day, drinking.’
‘We’re all entitled to a day off, Vic. Just because you work all hours, doesn’t mean everyone has to.’
Vic’s ‘I love my job’ went completely ignored. She righted her mother’s upturned slippers and placed them neatly by the sofa. ‘And as for Chandler, the poor little mutt, maybe I should just take him home with me when I’m back from the hen weekend, before somebody reports you for not looking after him properly.’
Kath tutted. ‘Don’t be so over-dramatic. I love that dog. And he’s not going to London. You don’t even have a garden, do you?’
‘If you ever bothered to visit me, Mum, you would know,’ Vic huffed.
‘It’s just been a bit cold to leave the back door open, that’s all,’ Kath snapped. ‘And over my dead body you’ll take my boy anywhere!’
‘If you keep on drinking like you are, Mother, then that could well be the case.’
Kath Sharpe screwed up her face and mimicked, ‘If you keep on drinking like that… Anway, what hen weekend? Who’s getting married now?’
‘Oh, Mum. How many times! Mandy’s getting married. We’re going to Brighton next weekend.’
‘Oh yes. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.’
Not wanting to fuel her mother’s drunken vitriol, Victoria ground her teeth and grabbed the dog’s lead from the side.
Kath shifted her large bottom on the sofa. ‘It’s not a big deal, is it, love? The lasagne, I mean. There’s a pizza in the freezer, or the new neighbour dropped in a bag of fresh samosas earlier. She’s moved down from Edinburgh, she tells me. Jody, I think she said her name was.’
Victoria raised her voice. ‘I don’t want frozen pizza or bloody samosas. Come on, Chandler, walkies!’
‘Have you heard from your brother lately?’ Kath added as Chandler came flying in, jumped onto her lap and started licking her face all over.
Vic grimaced. ‘Ew! Mum, don’t let him do that – it’s disgusting.’
‘Aww, my little treasure, my little darling.’ Kath ruffled the dog’s ears. ‘So, did you hear from Albie or not?’
‘No, I left him a message on his birthday, but nothing. You?’
‘Who’d have thought my precious little boy was thirty already? Looks even more like his father when he was that age, now, too.’
‘Lucky him,’ Vic said dismissively.
‘That’s not fair. Your father was many things, but his heart was always in the right place.’
