Well, that’s sorted, then.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
JESS
Twenty minutes later, I pull my car up outside my father’s house. Thank goodness Cassie dumped Edie’s booster seat in our hallway before doing a flit. I’ve tried texting Cassie again, as it’s now half-past twelve and I didn’t want her to arrive back at ours and wonder where the heck we are, but it’s going straight to voicemail.
If I stop to admit it to myself, I’m livid. For myself, but also on Luke’s behalf. His family ask too much of him sometimes. At least I think so; he never seems to complain. I can understand him wanting to be there for his mum and dad, who are now well into their sixties, but his siblings have got so much into the habit of relying on him for practical help, advice, and even money, that it doesn’t occur to any of them that they could ask someone else or flipping well figure some things out themselves.
And then there’s me. Living these days again has sharpened my perspective. I’m part of that equation too. Luke was always propping me up, making sure I was okay, and I was so wrapped up in myself that I didn’t see that I didn’t match his effort. I feel as if I must have been sleepwalking through my marriage first time around.
Lola greets us warmly when she answers the door. ‘Praise Jesus you are here,’ she says, glancing back inside the house. ‘Your father still has not worked out what to do with himself now he has retired, and he is getting in my way when I have much to do. You are the perfect distraction.’
I bite back a smile. I remember this from last time. They eventually found their rhythm after Dad retired, but I heard my stepmother mutter ‘Make haste to dismiss yourself from my presence!’ more than a few times before they worked it all out.
Lola is working in her beloved garden and Edie is instantly captivated, asking if she can help grow flowers, so Lola gives her the smallest trowel she can find and says the first step is banishing the weeds, so the flowers have room. I slide into a chair at the garden table where my father is sitting with a coffee and the newspaper and smile as I watch them. Edie is full of wide-eyed adoration as Lola points out a weed and explains how to deal with it.
‘She’s so good with little kids,’ I say to my dad. ‘I remember her having such patience with the twins, even when they would cause a bit of a whirlwind.’
Dad nods. ‘There is definitely something very steadying about her. I think that’s what drew me to her, you know, after … ’ He trails off, but I can finish the sentence pretty easily.
…after your mum.
It seems I was right, because after a couple of seconds, he asks, ‘Have you heard anything from her lately?’
I shake my head. My regular check-in with my bullet journal this morning told me we’ve had no contact in the last twelve months. It also told me that I’ve been seeing a therapist. It’s not hard to guess what some of the issues we talk about are,especially not when I also discovered a page full of links for articles about ‘Adult Children of Alcoholics’ in my notes app, and there’s something else too.
‘Actually, I’ve been going to a group at the old library in Bromley,’ I tell him. ‘Al Anon. It’s for people who have family members who have issues with drink. I’ve been going for about six months.’
Dad is quiet for a bit. I know this is a subject he’d rather skirt around. ‘Do you think it’s helping?’ he finally asks.
‘I think so,’ I reply. I don’t know how this whole ‘time travelling through my life’ thing works, but I read a couple of the articles I’d saved links to and a lot of it resonated. I don’t know if what happens in between the snapshots of my life I’m reliving has an impact on me, but I’m not as angry with her as I once was. Something is different, even if I’m not able to pinpoint it.
‘Did you ever think of going before now?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’ He puts his newspaper down fully and leans in, waiting for my answer.
‘I don’t know,’ I say, because I really don’t know why I haven’t thought of it. Possibly because it was hard to say the word ‘alcoholic’ out loud for so long. I still don’t do it that much. Alcoholics are rage-filled men who beat their children, or the woman sleeping rough because she’s lost her income and her home. That’s what I always used to think, anyway. It seemed a bit of an extreme term for a woman who got a bit too sad occasionally, who held down a job and kept a roof over her head for decades.
But I realize now that might be because Mum minimized everything all the time. If ever I tried to bring her drinking up, she would tout out those facts as if they were proof of some kind. She would make it seem as if her alcohol consumption was only just a bit higher than normal, that it was no big deal.
‘Maybe it’s because I grew up with it,’ I tell Dad. ‘You learn not to ask questions, not to rock the boat. And I always felt I had to keep her secret. What would people say if they knew I went to Al Anon? She’d be upset and humiliated. So I didn’t consider it. It was completely off my radar.’
Dad absorbs this information as he watches Lola quash Edie’s efforts to pull a tulip up by its stem. She’s firm but kind, and Edie seems eager to please her, practically glowing when Lola tells her how well she’s doing. I sigh. What would it have been like if I’d had a mother like her rather than one who let so much stuff slide unnoticed and then blew up like a volcano at the tiniest thing if she wasn’t in the right mood?
He keeps his focus on the work going on in the garden but says, ‘When did it start?’ When I raise an eyebrow, he adds, ‘Her drinking.’
I don’t think he’s ever asked this question before. In fact, I don’t think he’s ever asked me much about what life with Mum was like after he left. ‘I’m not exactly sure … I didn’t know what the signs to look out for were at that age but, looking back, I’d say it started after you separated. It took a year or so before it escalated, though.’
Dad finally meets my eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know. But I should have. I should have checked on you more, made sure things were all right.’
I shrug. ‘It’s okay. I probably would have lied, anyway.’
‘But that made it even more important for me to have been paying attention,’ he says. ‘I’m so sorry.’ His voice grows hoarseas he finishes his sentence and the sheen in his eyes makes my own moisten.
‘It’s okay,’ I say again.
