JULIEKELLEWAY
According to the bedside clock it was nearly three a.m. now. Julie had watched the hands going around for a while, finding it impossible to sleep, despite being so very tired. Her body was tense, thoughts wired, her brain on high alert. Her bedroom door was wide open, as was Domino’s – on whom she had checked every ten minutes or so until she was convinced she wasn’t going to choke on vomit in her sleep or leg it down the drainpipe to continue partying.
Cassian must have stayed at Winnie and Bernie’s, as he sometimes did. Not that she minded. Her in-laws might drive her to distraction, but she was grateful for the way they loved her kids, knowing that when it came to parenting, you could never have too much support. She had made Ruby a bed on Domino’s floor and was glad her friend was there to help keep an eye on her. She didn’t blame Ruby for the whole fiasco – she wasn’t one of those parents who instantly put misdemeanours and misadventures down to the company her children kept. Domino had a strong desire for fun and an even stronger will. That much she knew.
On her last venture along the hallway earlier, poking her head into the room, it had saddened and comforted her in equal measure to see the two girls sleeping under the duvets in shades of pink, hands curled under their chins, surrounded by unicorn rugs, sparkly handbags and furry slippers. They looked so young, childlike almost, and unrecognisable as the two who, reeking of cigarettes and booze, had barred the bathroom door while one of them threw up vodka into the toilet bowl. Just the memory of it was enough to make her shudder.
Having spent a quiet couple of hours searching local jobs on the internet, it had been a shock earlier to hear the beating on the front door as she readied for bed. With her heart pounding, wishing she wasn’t alone in the house, she’d put on the chain and was about to take a peek when she heard her daughter shout loudly, ‘For fuck’s sake! Open the door!’
What in the world?
‘Good evening, Mother!’ Domino had tried to take a bow, but as she leaned forward she’d collapsed through the door, landing in a heap on the hallway floor.
She had looked at Ruby, who sucked in her cheeks, barely able to contain her laughter.
‘My friend and I were wondering if you might have a room available in your fine establishment for two weary travellers?’ Domino asked from the floor, using a voice that was part Bridgerton, part Downton. ‘We have stabled our horses and would appreciate any snack that has bacon in it!’
This before she had crawled on all fours to the downstairs bathroom, leaving the stink of booze in her wake, closely followed by Ruby. And this was where Lawrence had come in.
It weighed heavily on her that she used to be close to her daughter: knew her friends, her likes, habits, sharing in-jokes as they spent time together socially. It had been easy in Melbournewhen Domino was that little bit younger and Julie had had more time, money, and the mental capacity to invest in her kids. The school run twice a day had been far from a chore because it had meant they could catch up, talk.
Since they’d been back in the UK it felt as if their lives had slid to the side and this lopsided existence made everything feel like it was off-kilter, about to topple ... With Lawrence largely absent, out and about working from his car/office, having various meetings, chats, and visits, it was left to her to hold the ropes, pulling furiously with every ounce of strength to keep them all upright. It was an impossible task for her alone. She was losing her grip, weakening, and they were, in that moment, tipping, tilting.
As a family, they had passed the point of no return and there was nothing more she could do to hold things in place. It wasn’t that she had given up, but rather that her exhausted body and tired arms could no longer hold on. She existed, in that split second of realisation, between tripping and landing, and all she could do was hold her breath and wait. A small part of her wanted to feel the ground beneath her bones as she hit the deck, wanted to see the fragments of their lives shattered by the fall, as that would mean it was nearly over, because for her it was the waiting, bracing herself, that she found to be the most agonising.
It was the same pattern as before and one she knew well. It started with a feeling of safety and optimism – the good times when Lawrence started a project, secured funding, was high on all the possibilities of what this big win might mean for them. It was nearly impossible not to get swept up in it, to feel the joy that came off him in waves as he bounced around the kitchen. Difficult not to delight in his smiley face as he spoke with excitement, bought gifts, took them all out to dinner and showered her with affection behind closed doors, whispering promises of a rosy future. It wouldbe hardnotto love those times, even if she knew deep down they were not to last.
What came next was a partial withdrawing of that affection from him. He spoke with less volume, less energy when discussing his scheme, complained of minor grumbles over his plan, his grand idea now diminished in some way by events that were always, always beyond his control. And then came the final stage – where they were now. These were the dark times, when funds had dwindled and the pressure was so great her husband almost stooped under the weight of it. His moods threw a dark shadow over their house so that even to joke or sing felt like a contravention of the rules, putting them all on edge. And in this murky half-light, with voices low and everyone under the roof wired and waiting, they would retreat alone into spaces trying to find solace, a little peace.
For the kids it was their bedrooms, for her the bathroom where she could lock the door and close her eyes or howl at the moon through the wide Velux window. It was a debilitating way to live and this before she considered the big smiles they painted on for any family gathering, accidental performers in the drama Lawrence had been starring in since he was a boy, with her and the kids consigned to the wings, bit players called upon to prop up and endorse the impression of the perfect world he had created.
As ever, her head thumped with a stress-induced headache. It was always this way when her tangle of thoughts kept her awake.
‘Micky Tate,’ Julie whispered the name into the darkness. What on earth was Domino thinking getting involved with a man like that? He had a frightful reputation. She’d seen numerous articles in the magazines she grazed while in the supermarket queue, all detailing his penchant for fast cars, lavish spending, with alleged rumours of drugs. He was always, always pictured within reach of a beautiful woman. And this before they addressed the fact that he was at least ten years older than her daughter. Not so much of anissue if Domino were thirty, forty, fifty, but at sixteen she was barely fully formed, without the experience or knowledge to back up the demands her hormonal teenage body might be making.
The girl couldn’t work the washing machine or make a decent cup of tea; she wasn’t even allowed to vote! What did a man of that age see in a young girl like Domino? What on earth did he think they might have in common? The answer offered her very little comfort and again she shuddered at the unsavoury possibilities that filled her already busy head.
Julie planned on talking to her daughter during the day, when tempers, emotions and alcohol levels had all calmed. She made the decision not to get angry. She would not rage but would talk to her softly about her fears and all that she hoped and planned for her daughter’s future, explaining that while their home life might be in a state of flux, staying true to her future self had never been more important – she needed to have enough self-respect not to make decisions she might regret. She prayed that would be enough to make her little girl rethink her actions, her choices.
The fact that Lawrence had left in such a state and wasn’t answering his phone did nothing to help her insomnia. She hoped he wasn’t going to do something stupid. Closing her eyes, she imagined how much worse their situation would be if he was facing a charge for GBH on top of everything else. Not that she thought it likely; he was not and never had been a violent man, but she had never seen the rage in his eyes before, reminding her of a man who had very little to lose, and it scared her.
It was as she was wondering whether to try his phone again that she heard the sound of the front door closing, and without hesitation threw back the coverlet, grabbing her dressing gown from the back of the door as she went, unsure if it was Cassian or Lawrence, but knowing her son was unlikely to venture home at this ungodlyhour and was more than likely tucked up safe and sound at his nan’s house.
She felt a little sick as she stood on the bottom stair, taking in her husband who still looked distressed, dishevelled but certainly more contained than when he’d left. Her sickness was no surprise – she was full of anxiety, sleep deprived and still with vast amounts of the Brie she’d felt obliged to eat riddling through her system.
‘Where have you been?’ she asked softly, not wanting to wake the sleeping girls.
He put his car keys on the narrow console table where a matching pair of lamps sat at either end. The table where they placed keys, parcels, letters, all part of the comings and goings of family life, the little shared rituals of the house and the people who lived in it.
‘I just drove around.’ His voice carried the huskiness of fatigue.
‘I see.’ It was an inadequate answer, but right now it was relief enough that he was home; she could probe further later. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘Yes, please.’
His politeness, his reticence, fired a familiar bolt of empathy for the man who, though he was flawed, troubled and his own worst enemy, was still her husband, the father of her children. And they had come this far ... These were the ties that bound her to both the man and her marriage. That and the background hum of hope that things would get better, because that was what he promised: a better life, a calmer life, happiness.
He followed her into the kitchen and took a seat at the breakfast bar, staring out across the garden while she filled the kettle. She followed his gaze, still mulling over how to intervene, how to have the conversation that things needed to change – that moment in the shop when her cards were refused now lurking behind the horror of Domino’s return, but still there, nonetheless.
