‘Well ...’ Valerie paused and her eyes slid to the door to the room as if visualising herself slipping her body out of plaster and traction and sneaking out into her lovely fun world again. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you pop out to the coffee shop and I’ll have a little talk with him?’
Tamzin nodded, not quite managing a smile.
When she’d shut the door, James propped his chin on his fist and waited. He knew Valerie wasn’t going to talk about Tamzin.
‘James.’ Her voice was a murmur, her smile just for him.
He remained unmoved.
‘Darling.’ The smile widened. ‘Darling, now I’m getting better, would you mind bringing me in something to liven up this bloody endless squash? Just a half bottle will do, some voddy or something. Or maybe a bottle and I won’t have to ask you again for ages.’
‘You know not to ask me, Val. Waste of breath.’
‘Oh, James ...’ She pushed her fingers through her hair. It was bushy and dull, probably she’d been pushing her fingers through it all day. The roots were quite grey, he noticed with a shock, a line marking her last visit to the colourist. She stepped up from wheedle to exasperation. ‘Darling, don’t be sanctimonious. I’m in pain and I’m terminally bored; a little drink will take the edge off.’ Her eyes were still darkly bruised like a racoon’s, the rest of her face turning sepia with brown accents. She sighed, shifting slightly, wincing.
‘Sorry. No can do. Not unless you can get the doctor to prescribe it along with your painkillers.’ There was no point getting angry with her, he reminded himself. It wasn’t her – it was the drink.
But sometimes he was angry,unbelievably angry, with the woman that the drink had made her. Like over her mortifying performance at the Furness Durwent party last Christmas when she’d put her head down on the table, in front of everybody from Charlie, the CEO, to the lad in the post room, and gone to sleep. How could he forget the humiliation of hearing Charlie’s wife say under her breath, ‘Valerie’s had too much to drink – again.’
He must remember that itwasthe drink. Not her, the drink. He should make more effort to get her straightened out.
He tried to sound understanding. ‘I’m sorry, Valerie, I can’t bring you alcohol. Don’t you think –’ He decided to plunge in. ‘Don’t you think that it’s time you got help to stop drinking? For your health? For Tamzin? Being in here is bloody awful, I know, but it’s the perfect opportunity. You can’t smoke and you can’t drink. By the time you come home, you’ll be off both.’
Valerie snatched up her jug of water, slopping it over a get-well card with a picture of a Spitfire. ‘Oh, James, since when have I been an angel? Why expect me to start?’
Abandoning the idea that she might want to pull herself back from an abyss, he produced four envelopes from his inside pocket. ‘Post for you.’
Valerie riffled through them, halting, as he’d known she would, at the one with the familiar dark blue and white logo. Hand trembling slightly, she ripped open the envelope and unfolded the letter. Then sagged, miserably. ‘The CAA have suspended my licence pending investigation.’
He managed a neutral tone. ‘I was afraid that that would be the outcome. They took a blood sample, didn’t they?’
She nodded, just barely. All except her bruises had whitened, even her lips.
‘You tested positive for alcohol?’
She shrugged, folding the letter over again and holding it tightly so that he couldn’t read it.
‘Was it a particularly bad day?’
She shrugged again, eyes lowered, a frown nipping a pinch of skin between her eyes.
Impatience reared up. ‘God’s sake, Valerie! You risked your life and Gareth’s. What if you’d had one of our daughters with you?Mydaughters? You have to conquer this –’
Valerie snapped her head up, eyes glittering. ‘Don’t preach. I hate you when you preach, James.’
He took a deep breath, fighting hot red fury. It was a good time to leave the room. ‘I’ll collect Tamzin from the coffee shop.’
He stepped out into the carpeted corridor, shoulders rigid. It was not Valerie. It was the drink. He must remember that, when she snapped. It was not her; it was the drink. When she called him darling as if she still meant it – it was not her. It was the drink.
His attention fell on a hurrying figure ahead of him in a green summer dress threaded with white ribbons and his heart leapt. ‘Diane!’
The hurrying figure froze.
‘Diane?’
Slowly, she turned. ‘James.’ Diane flicked a smile on and off and turned towards Gareth’s room.
A fresh wave of anger hit him. Diane wasn’t Valerie and she had no business trying insincere smiles on him. Did she really think he’d be so easily dismissed? Three quick steps and he was able to grab her hand. ‘We need to talk.’
