As she put her key in the front door and wondered how much to share with her nan, a sharp, acrid tang filled her nostrils.
‘Sweet lord! What’s that smell?’ She placed her hand over her nose and mouth and made her way into the sitting room.
‘What smell?’ Her nan turned to face her, sitting up straight on the sofa.
‘It’s disinfectant or bleach or some kind of cleaning fluid?’ It was strong, noxious, and overwhelming.
‘Oh yes, well.’ Her nan fiddled with the edge of her dressing gown and Tawrie could tell she was stalling. Tawrie’s heart sank; the very last thing she wanted to do was embarrass her beloved nan.
‘What happened, are you okay?’ She kept her voice soft, not wanting awkwardness to have any part between them. If her nan had had a little accident, Tawrie wanted her to be comfortable in the knowledge that not only was it okay, but that she’d always be on hand to clear up, sort it out, make things better ... Because she was tethered to this house, this town, this family of Gunn women. What had Ed said,a sacrificial lamb.The thought came with a new ping of loss, as if aware of all she would not experience if she didn’t spread her wings ...
‘I’m okay yes, love. All okay.’ Freda sounded a little indignant.
‘What aren’t you telling me?’ she asked softly.
‘Nothing!’
The way her nan averted her eyes told her differently.
‘I’m worried about you.’ She leaned forward and kissed the crêpey cheek of the woman she loved.
‘No need to worry, love. It was your mother, she ... she ... well ...’
‘What happened?’ All the joy of the night just spent was now replaced with something edging close to fury. ‘What happened, Nan?’ she repeated, sitting next to her on the sofa.
‘I think she had one or two in the pub.’
‘Really, you surprise me. And I think we both know it’s never one or two.’ Her teeth ground together, picturing her mother propping up the bar, nipping outside to top up her nicotine levels, before sauntering back into the pub to top up the booze. ‘So whyhave you doused the place in bleach just because she was in the pub?’ This would not be the first, nor the last time that Annalee had expelled bodily fluids that flowed from her in a tide of booze. Sick, shit, piss; the old wooden floor had seen it all, as had much of the stair carpet. To put Freda through such a ghastly experience in her absence made her blood boil. It was the first time in years that Tawrie had not been on hand to make things better, to clean up, and she knew her anger was wrapped tightly in guilt.
‘She ... she wasn’t very well when she got back. I did what needed to be done, used an old towel and put it in the bin.’
Her nan looked at the floor and Tawrie knew she was only getting the tail end of what had occurred. Jumping up, she took the stairs two at a time and knocked forcefully on her mother’s bedroom door, each knock in time with her hammering heart.
‘Mum? Mum?’ She rattled the door handle before walking in, giving her, or anyone who happened to be lolling next to her, the opportunity to cover up. The room was in semi-darkness as the heavy curtains were still drawn. The air was sour, the stench overwhelming. The disgusting tang of wine, vomit and cigarette breath was so potent she could almost taste it. Her stomach rolled with nausea as she made her way across the carpet, littered with dirty clothes, discarded heels, used tissues and crumb-laden plates, trying not to breathe in. She yanked the curtains open and threw the sash window up to let the fresh air whip around the room.
‘Wassgoinon?’ Her mother lifted her head from the pillow and propped herself up on her elbow, squinting to avoid the daylight. Her eyes were no more than tiny shrunken holes in her emaciated face, her make-up grotesquely smeared over her cheeks, the remnants of carmine lipstick streaking her lip and chin, short hair sticking up in spikes.
‘What happened last night?’
‘What?’ Annalee sat up and rubbed her face, her lilac bra strap falling off her narrow shoulder.
‘Something happened and Nan had to clear up your mess! I went out for the first time in God only knows how long, and you couldn’t keep it together, not for one night?’ She folded her arms across her chest and gripped the material of her sweatshirt with her shaking hands. How, how could she swan off for a life with Ed or to train as a midwife if this was the chaos that ensued when she was gone?
‘Stop shouting at me!’ Her mother placed her face in her hands and took deep breaths.
‘I brought you a glass of water.’ Her sweet, sweet nan walked in and hovered by the bedside cabinet, holding the drink out and struggling to find a place to put it down among the detritus littering the surface. Eventually, she nudged an overflowing ashtray to one side and popped the glass next to it. Tawrie knew the glass of water was a prop and that she more than likely had appeared to dilute the tension, head off a row.
‘Thanks.’ Annalee, Tawrie noted, avoided Freda’s eyeline.
‘Can you tell me what happened last night, Nan?’ She wanted not only to hear the detail, but also for her mother to hear it too, as clearly, with a skinful and a fuzzy head, her memory might not be the most reliable.
‘I was asleep and I heard your mum come in. Not too late.’ Freda glanced repeatedly at her daughter-in-law, as if aware of humiliating her or breaking a confidence. Despite the dire situation, Tawrie could only admire her misplaced loyalty. ‘I think she fell over. There was a bang. It woke me up and then she started being ill.’
‘Vomiting?’
Her nan nodded.
‘Well, that’s nice!’ She smiled sarcastically at her mother who continued to hold her head.
