Chapter Thirty-Two
JESS
Luke edges behind me in our narrow bathroom.
He leaves a hand on my bare shoulder, reaching past me as I apply concealer and foundation, and grabs his aftershave from the shelf.
He pauses for a moment, meeting my eyes in the mirror.
We stare at each other for a full two seconds and then he kisses the top of my head.
‘I don’t want the whole of our day to be “off”, if you know what I mean? ’
I blink. ‘I don’t either.’
His muscular arms are heavy as he wraps them around my shoulders and brings his cheek next to mine. ‘We’ll work it out. It’s not such a big thing that we should let it spoil us celebrating four years of being married.’
Relief surges through my whole body like a warm wind. Oh, thank goodness. ‘I love you,’ I say into the mirror. He kisses the hollow of my neck. All day I’ve been waiting for this, for this sense of togetherness rather than being opposing forces. But how do I keep it? How do I hang on to it?
Luke suddenly goes still and swears. ‘I think I need to iron a shirt.’ He untangles himself from me, gives himself a spritz of aftershave, and pops the bottle back on the shelf.
I playfully swat his behind as he leaves the bathroom, smiling to myself as his usual retort of, ‘don’t touch what you can’t afford! ’ echoes from the landing.
By the time my make-up is done and I’m ready to get dressed, Luke is in the living room manhandling the ironing board.
A quick check of the clock by my bed tells me we’re due at the restaurant in about half an hour.
I’m still in my underwear when my phone rings.
I grab for it and see ‘Mum’ on the screen. My stomach sinks.
‘Hi,’ I say breezily, hoping I can get this over and done with as quickly as possible.
‘Jessica!’ Mum says. She’s not slurring. Yet. But I can hear the tell-tale softening of consonants that suggests it won’t be long. ‘Did you get a chance to drop that money in my account?’
I think back to the ledger in my bullet journal. I noticed the date on the last amount was yesterday, so I feel I’m fairly safe in confirming I did.
‘Oh, thank you, sweetie! I promise I’ll pay it back as soon as I can.’
I stare at my phone screen and shake my head.
We both know that’s not true. I think about doing what I’d usually do, saying the right thing to placate her, minimizing my own frustration at the never-ending cycle of lies and self-delusion, but then I’m brought back to a moment earlier as my stepmother looked me in the eye and told me the truth.
‘Actually, Mum … there’s something I need to talk to you about.’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m planning a surprise birthday party for Luke next month.’
‘That sounds exciting!’
I pause for a moment, readying myself. I hardly ever talk to Mum about her drinking.
I’ve been conditioned to leave that towering elephant in the room unacknowledged since I was barely out of primary school, but today I have to say something.
‘I would very much like it if, when you come to the party, you promise you won’t drink any alcohol – while you’re there, and even before you come. ’
I feel the silence frosting over down the phone line. ‘I hope you haven’t forgotten, Jess, that I am the mother, and you are the daughter, and it’s not your place to tell me what to do.’
I close my eyes. I know what’s coming. I hoped I could have a reasonable conversation with her, but deep down I knew it was impossible.
She starts to rant, telling me how ungrateful I am, telling me how much she’s done for me over my life, how I have no right to judge her, and when she gets no reaction out of me except a weary silence, she digs deeper into her arsenal.
‘You know what you are, my darling daughter? You’re unfeeling.
Cold. You push away everyone who loves you, who tries to get close to you.
Goodness knows I’m fed up with trying to make you love me back.
And I don’t know what I’ve done. In fact, I don’t think anyone could be good enough for you, could give you enough.
You better hope that beautiful man of yours doesn’t work that out for himself, because if he does, he’ll be out the door faster than a bullet out of a gun. ’
Her oddly prophetic words slice into me, but at the same time, they do nothing.
‘He’s too good for you, but you always knew that, didn’t you? But you won’t be holding the moral high ground when he’s left you for someone better. You’ll just be the sad, discarded practice wife before he meets the real one, and then you’ll understand how I feel.’
I stand there, motionless, as if I’m just listening to the weather report. So maybe she’s right that I’m cold and uncaring. Maybe it is time to stop … to just stop.
‘Actually, Mum, I’ve changed my mind. Drink as much as you like on that day.’
She makes a confused grunt.
‘Because you won’t be coming to the party. You’re not invited. And I will make sure that two of Luke’s bricklayer friends are standing at the door ready to throw you out if you even try to appear. Got that?’
For the first time in my life I wish I still had a wired phone like the one we had when I was a kid. It was so much more satisfying to slam the receiver into the base unit than jam my finger onto a glass screen to end the call.
My breath comes in short pants as I try and grasp what just happened. A muscle in my jaw ticks, warning me my teeth will start to chatter if it gets any worse.
I turn and run down the hall into our kitchen-diner, where Luke is standing over the desk tucked into an alcove that we use as a home office space.
He turns when he hears me coming and I rush into his arms. ‘I j-just … ’ And then I realize I can’t tell him I’ve uninvited her from the party, because he’s not supposed to know about the party, and the words come out as a rough hiccup.
‘I’ve just had it with Mum. I c-can’t do it anymore.
You should have heard the things she said to me, Luke!
Things about our marriage! I … I really do want to go no-contact with her. ’
It’s then I realize that my husband is as stiff as the ironing board he must have just put away in the tall cupboard beside the desk. I pull back to look at him. ‘Luke? What’s the matter?’
‘I honestly don’t understand you,’ he says, and he doesn’t look confused; he looks pissed off.
‘W-what do you mean?’
He reaches behind him and pulls a notebook off the desk.
My bullet journal. ‘On one hand you’re crying about how mean your mum is and how you never want to see her again, but on the other …
’ he waves the book and it flaps open to where I’d carefully put a page marker ‘ … you’re sending her money on a regular basis when I have a clear recollection of a conversation, ooh, maybe a year and a half ago, where we agreed we weren’t going to fund her habit anymore.
We agreed emotional support would have to be enough. Remember that?’
I swallow. ‘I’m not … I don’t give her money for drink. It’s for bills. You know she’s been having a tough time recently.’
Luke dips his head and gives me a steadying look. ‘She says it’s for bills, but you and I know where that money’s probably going.’
I rub my lips one over the other to moisten them.
‘I know what we said but … her drinking will get worse if she gets into debt, if she gets evicted, and you’ve helped your siblings out enough times when they’ve been in a hole.
’ The privilege of being the eldest brother with an overdeveloped sense of duty.
‘That’s not the same thing and you know it.’
I fold my arms and take a step back suddenly very aware I’m just wearing my bra and knickers. ‘Why isn’t it? As much as you say “family is family”, why do I always feel as if I come second place to your family? And why does it always seem to be one rule for your family and another one for mine?’
‘Because none of my siblings are addicts.’
Oof. Okay, he’s got a good point there, but I’m not going to let that stop me fighting my corner. I’m fed up feeling as if I’m always in the wrong, no matter how hard I try to do the right thing. ‘Oh, aren’t you the lucky one.’
‘Don’t be like that, Jess.’
‘Like what? Upset that you’re chastising me like I’m a child caught with my hand in the cookie jar?’
Luke slaps the book back down on the desk, scattering a couple of bills. One floats gently off the desk and onto the floor. We both watch it until it lands.
‘And why were you snooping around in my private journal anyway?’ I ask, my spine straightening further. ‘Don’t you trust me?’
Luke very nearly rolls his eyes. ‘One, it’s not a private journal, like a pour my secret thoughts out journal.
You’ve showed it to me before! It’s full of lists and projects.
And, two, you left it open on the page where you’d listed all your mum’s “loans”.
’ The fact he does air quotes when he says the last word infuriates me.
‘I picked up a couple of pieces of paper on top looking for the note I made about the restaurant reservation this evening, so I wasn’t snooping, as you call it. I just stumbled upon it accidentally.’
I haven’t got much I can say to that, so I just stand and glower at him, desperately wishing I had something to cover myself up with. No one likes arguing in their underwear.
‘And how exactly has this all got turned around on me, when you’re the one who’s been going behind my back?’
‘It’s not wrong to want to help my mum! You’re the one who told me to, remember?’
‘Yes, I remember. But that was three years ago now and the situation has changed, and we’ve discussed it, put plans in place …
boundaries … even though that’s a foreign concept to her.
But I do think you’re wrong for not talking to me if you wanted to change what we’d agreed.
We’re supposed to be a team, Jess. That’s what marriage means, doesn’t it? ’
Shame washes over me. He’s right. ‘I honestly don’t think I can win here, Luke. I tried to do what you asked but I end up in the wrong. And if I do what I think is right, well, that’s wrong too.’
‘Well, I do think you’re in the wrong,’ Luke says. ‘Earlier on you were all “we can’t afford to go away for your birthday, Luke!” but now I discover you’ve spent at least that amount of money helping your mum out. Who’s making who feel second-class compared to their family now, huh?’
I can’t take any more of this. I turn and stomp from the room and head back to our bedroom.
‘Jess!’ Luke yells after me. ‘Come back! We haven’t finished talking!’
‘I have,’ I mutter under my breath.
But Luke doesn’t give up that easily. ‘Jess … For God’s sake! Where are you going?’
I pause with one hand on the door frame.
‘The Uber I ordered is going to be here in ten minutes,’ I yell back. ‘So, unless you want me to go out to dinner like this and get arrested, I’m going to need to put some clothes on!’ Argue with that, I think, as I wrench the door open and stare unseeing into the back of my wardrobe.