Chapter 77 Sophie
S OPHIE
Sophie unlocks the door to Penelope’s suite. She takes the tray of food from Rocco’s hands. ‘I’ll be okay from here,’ she whispers.
‘Good luck.’ He kisses her cheek.
She enters the darkened room. The smell of whiskey hangs thick in the air. The shutters are drawn, but she can make out her mother’s shape in the bed. ‘Mum?’
There’s no reply.
She puts the tray down on the dressing table. ‘Mum?’
Penelope sighs.
Sophie switches on the bedside lamp. Penelope turns her head away from the light, squinting.
‘Are you okay?’ Sophie perches herself on the edge of the bed, next to her mother.
‘I shouldn’t have come.’ Penelope’s voice is scratchy.
‘I brought you some lunch. White bean soup.’
Penelope makes a face.
There’s so much that Sophie wants to say, she doesn’t know where to begin. They sit in silence.
‘Are you sleeping with that Italian man I met last night?’ Penelope says eventually.
‘So no small talk, then? Just diving straight into my sex life?’
‘Be careful, Fee. Italian men have a certain reputation . I don’t want you getting hurt.’
‘Nobody’s ever hurt me more than you have.’
Penelope scoffs. ‘How on earth have I hurt you?’
‘How haven’t you is the question. For a start, you’ve been shaming me about my size since I was a teenager.’
‘I only mention it because I want what’s best for you. I wish you’d consider the gastric sleeve. It might solve all your problems.’
‘For fuck’s sake, Mum! This is exactly what I’m talking about.’
Penelope turns her head and looks Sophie in the eye for the first time. ‘Fee, I adore you. You must know that. I’m only trying to help.’
Sophie’s avoided prolonged eye contact with her mother for as long as she can remember. Now she takes a good long look at her, and what she sees shocks her. She doesn’t see the unstable alcoholic who immediately comes to mind when she thinks of Penelope, she doesn’t see a cold-blooded murderer, or even a critical mother. All she sees is a deeply sad shell of a woman.
‘All I want is your happiness, Fee,’ Penelope says, and Sophie believes her.
‘If you want me to be happy, please don’t mention my size again.’
‘I’ll try, darling.’ Penelope sits up. ‘My head hurts.’ She has a sip from the glass of water on the bedside table. ‘Your Italian fellow, what’s his name again?’
‘Rocco.’
‘That’s right. I made a fool of myself in front of him.’
‘Rocco understands. He’s had addiction issues too,’ Sophie says quietly.
Penelope’s jaw clenches. She looks away.
‘He’s been sober for eight years,’ Sophie continues. ‘He was telling me about a rehab clinic he stayed at in Geneva. It’s excellent, apparently. Lovely views of the lake, big private rooms. The staff all speak English there.’
Penelope remains stony-faced.
Sophie takes a deep breath and summons the courage to say what she’s been too nervous to say for over a decade. ‘Mum, you need help to stop drinking.’
Penelope’s knuckles turn white around the glass of water. ‘I don’t have the money to check myself into a posh clinic in Switzerland.’
‘It doesn’t have to be Switzerland. And I’ll pay for it, wherever you want to go,’ Sophie says quickly. ‘I have savings.’
‘I can’t let you do that. Your savings are for you.’
‘Of course you can. There’s nothing I want more than to help you get well.’
‘Not even the sexy Italian?’ Penelope gives a small smile, showing a glimpse of her old self.
Sophie smiles back. ‘Well, maybe, except for the sexy Italian. Will you go to rehab? Please, Mum?’
‘Let me think about it.’
Whenever Sophie’s imagined how her mother would react if she confronted her about her alcohol abuse, she never pictured a response this calm and reasonable. It makes her wish she’d had the guts to do it years ago. ‘Thank you for thinking about it.’ She takes Penelope’s hand in hers. ‘I’m glad you came. It’s good to see you.’
Penelope squeezes her hand. ‘I’m sorry I embarrassed you in front of Rocco.’
‘S’okay.’
‘I do love you, Fee. You have to know that.’
‘I do.’
She isn’t saying it back. Not yet.