Chapter Thirty-One
JESS
‘Thanks for letting me drop in.’ I slide into a stool at the breakfast bar on the kitchen island and warm my hands round the cup of tea that Lola has just made me.
She bustles around, opening cupboards, and returns with a tin lined with kitchen paper and filled with puff-puffs. I honestly can’t resist the doughnutty little balls of fried batter, so I stuff one into my mouth and swallow it with a glug of hot tea.
‘This is your home, too, Jessica. You know you are welcome at any time.’
I nod, even though, for most of my life, this has been a logical knowledge rather than a feeling that has lived inside of me.
What I’m realizing now is that this has nothing to do with the hospitality of my stepmother and everything to do with my own reticence.
Looking back in my journal, I can see I’ve been visiting my father and his family – no, my family – more often in the last twelve months, and I’m glad about that.
Other Jess, the Jess who lives here in the in-between periods, might have left me in a mess because she got grouchy last night, but she’s been doing some things right.
Lola rests against the stool next to me. ‘You look as if you have something on your mind.’
‘Well, you know I’ve been planning this party for Luke … ’
‘Yes?’
‘I’ve been holding out sending the invitations because I just can’t make a decision about something.’
‘Is it the venue? Have you already paid a deposit? Because you can have it here if you want.’
I sigh heavily. ‘It’s less to do with the venue and more to do with the guest list. I was hoping to pick your brain about a tricky matter.’
Lola gives me a look that says, Okay … Continue.
‘You see, the last time we had a big event, you know, hiring a venue and caterers, music and dancing, was our wedding. And you know how that went.’
I wait for a moment. The movement of Lola’s eyes tells me she’s sorting through a catalogue of memories from that day and then her eyes widen, and she nods. ‘You are talking about your mother.’
‘Yes. We’ve been trying to support her, you know.
And I love her to bits, but I’m also worried she might do something to spoil the night.
I know she doesn’t mean to. I know she doesn’t plan it, but honestly, I think she’s in a worse place now than she was four years ago, and the potential for a repeat performance is high. ’
There. I’ve said it.
Lola presses her lips together and nods, considering her reply. She pushes the tin of puff-puffs towards me and even grabs one herself. ‘I’m very honoured that you wish to seek my advice, but I don’t know if I am the best person to counsel you on this.’
I sigh again. I know this. But who else can I ask? I should be using my own mother as a sounding board, but unfortunately she’s often the problem rather than the solution. ‘I do know that, and I’m sorry if this puts you in a difficult position. I suppose I was just hoping for some family wisdom.’
Lola reaches out and touches my arm. ‘I cannot give you specific advice about your mum – I think it would be wrong of me to do so – but wisdom is always free.’ She thinks for a moment, then adds, ‘The one thing you have to realize is that this is not about you.’
Oh. The smile falls from my face. She thinks I’m making it all about me? Am I being selfish? Narcissistic?
She catches my expression and quickly explains. ‘I mean that your mum’s drinking has nothing to do with you. You cannot stop her.’
Ain’t that the truth! I’ve tried everything.
‘But you also cannot make her drink. What I’m saying is that what you do or don’t do will make no difference to how much she drinks or if she stops. Believe me, I know – my first husband’s brother had these issues.’
I remember her saying something about that now, I realize, but it isn’t a fact I would have recalled if not for this moment.
‘I think I’d like to believe what you’re saying, but I don’t know if I do. She doesn’t drink in a vacuum. What goes on in the world around her, including her relationships, has to have an impact, right?’
‘To an extent. But the buck stops with her. She drinks because she chooses to, and she won’t stop until she chooses to, and that won’t happen until drinking becomes more painful than the things she uses it to escape from.’
‘I don’t think she sees it that way. She always said … ’ I pause, unable to continue because my throat has swollen.
Lola gets up and puts her arms around me. ‘Tell me?’
I rest my face against her shoulder and feel her solid warmth. ‘She said she wouldn’t have needed to drink if she hadn’t been a single mum. When I was a teenager, she’d tell me I drove her to it because I was so difficult.’
My stepmother makes a dismissive noise. ‘What nonsense! You forget I knew you during those years. When you came to visit us at the weekend, you were quiet as a mouse, always looking scared at me with those big eyes, always jumping up to try and help. Did you get moody sometimes? Of course! You were a teenager. But you were in no way a problem child, Jessica. Do not believe that of yourself.’
She pats me on the back, and I give her a little squeeze.
When I pull back and blink my watery eyes, she smiles at me.
‘I have been waiting for many years to have a chat like this with you, my daughter,’ she tells me.
‘I am glad you confided in me. As I say, I cannot give you counsel on what to do about Luke’s party, but I will tell you this: listen to your own heart on this matter. ’
‘But—’
That’s easier said than done with Luke’s insistence that ‘family is family’.
Lola holds a finger up. ‘Ah! Do not argue with me. Be true to yourself, and do not cave in and do what you think everyone else wants you to do.’