Chapter 26
The day both dragged and raced. While Tom was doing paperwork upstairs, SJ cleaned the house in a rare spurt of domesticity. She didn’t much feel like cleaning, but someone had to do it, and she was too restless to do nothing.
In between cleaning, she smoked far too many fags, and shovelled painkillers down her throat.
She might not have a hangover, but the headache she’d woken with was real enough.
She knew she should probably have something to eat, but she didn’t feel like eating.
Still, at least she should look even thinner in her dress. That was a result.
Just after lunchtime, Dorothy phoned. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Awful,’ SJ confessed.
‘Well, don’t forget what I said. Make sure you have plenty to eat – before you go, I mean. Not when you’re there and someone’s trying to shove a glass of wine in your hand.’
‘Okay.’
‘Did you have a good night’s sleep?’ Dorothy persisted.
‘No, not really. I had nightmares.’
‘Take your mobile to the party and if you get the slightest urge for a drink, you phone me. Okay?’
‘Sure,’ SJ murmured, wondering how she was going to manage that in a houseful of people.
Hi, Dorothy, I’m gasping for a stiff drink. Can you talk me out of it, please?
A couple of people at meetings had advised her not to go to the party.
They said it would be too difficult with only seven weeks of sobriety behind her, and SJ would have dearly liked to take their advice.
But Dorothy had said that if the party was important, she should go just for a short time, but she should make sure she didn’t feel hungry or lonely or tired.
Well, she didn’t feel hungry, but she felt very tired and very alone.
Tom had been more distant than ever lately.
He hadn’t even questioned the number of texts she’d been getting, most of them from Dorothy to see if she was okay.
She could be having an affair for all he knew.
SJ wished it was that simple. An affair would have been a logical reason for her lack of interest in the bedroom, but she had the uneasy feeling that she hadn’t lost interest. The longer she went without alcohol, the clearer her head became.
She’d never been that interested in sex with Tom.
She had thought, at first, that they just needed practice; she’d been wrong, and she had never had the courage to tell him.
Tanya phoned too. ‘How are you doing? You all set for tonight? You will phone me if you have a problem, won’t you?’
At this rate, she’d be spending more time on her mobile than talking to party guests.
‘Who are you talking to?’ Tom appeared in the kitchen doorway and SJ jumped.
‘Only Tanya. Bye, Tanya, I’ve got to go.’
She hung up as Tom yawned and stretched his hands above his head. His face was crinkled with tiredness and he blinked a couple of times. ‘I suppose we ought to think about getting ready. It’s quite an early start, isn’t it? Do you want first go in the bathroom?’
‘No, you carry on. I’ll be ages. I’ll take Ash for a quick walk while you’re getting ready.’
By the time she was back he was done, so she showered and did her hair and make-up.
She could hear Tom whistling downstairs – one of them was obviously looking forward to it then. She put on the dress, sorted out the straps, pinned up her hair and studied her reflection.
It took three goes to get her nail varnish on. Her hands were shaking too much. And why was it that whenever you’d just painted your nails you got an urgent itch right inside your ear that couldn’t wait the required time for them to dry – which was always much longer than it promised on the bottle?
Tom came upstairs. He wolf-whistled from the door of the bedroom.
‘Blimey, I’ll be the envy of every man there. You look amazing. You should wear dresses more often. You’ve got gorgeous legs.’
‘No, I haven’t. They’re too fat. And I’m getting cellulite at the tops.’
‘What rubbish. You’re beautiful.’ His eyes narrowed in appreciation and SJ shivered. He hadn’t looked at her like that for a very long time.
She put her hands out in front of her – ostensibly to check out the colour of her varnish: hot pink chocolate, whatever that was supposed to be; they were more pink than anything else – but really to see if they were still shaking.
They were.
‘Tom, I don’t think I can go through with this,’ she said, glancing up at him. ‘I can’t face Alison, I really can’t.’
‘SJ, darling…’ He must be intent on going; he never called her darling. ‘We don’t have to stay long – but we do have to go. Your mum and dad will be really upset if we don’t.’
‘They probably won’t notice,’ SJ said in desperation. ‘They’ll be surrounded by people.’
‘We can’t let them down. We’re taking the wine.’
She wished he hadn’t reminded her about that. ‘That’s another thing I’m worried about. I’m going to be surrounded by all these people drinking. I don’t think I can cope.’
‘Why not? I mean, it’s just willpower, isn’t it?’
SJ blinked. Was that really what he thought? That she didn’t have any willpower and that’s why she frequently drank herself into oblivion, no matter how much she hurt herself and anyone else who happened to be in the vicinity? It was obvious from his expression that he did.
‘Are you saying I haven’t got any willpower?’
‘I don’t think you’ve got any when it comes to alcohol – no. You can’t have – or you wouldn’t get so drunk.’
‘It’s not about willpower, Tom. It’s an illness. It’s recognised as an illness – alcoholism – ring any bells? You must have heard of it.’
He was smiling. He was actually smiling. As if this was just some simple little matter that they’d sorted out and resolved, just by her going to a few AA meetings.
‘Well, you’re certainly ill when you drink too much. I agree with you there.’ Gently, he took her hands in his. ‘You’ll be fine. I know you will. In a couple of hours’ time you’ll be wondering what you were worried about.’
SJ doubted that very much, but she knew when she was defeated.
Short of faking an urgent illness on the way over, she couldn’t see a way out.
She supposed she could pray the car broke down en route, or that a gang would rob the off-licence just as they were picking up the wine and hold the two of them hostage at gunpoint.
That would be good as long as they didn’t actually shoot them – she could probably sell a story like that to the nationals and make some money.
Not that God usually answered her prayers – the miserable old bugger.
Aware that Tom was still holding her hands and seemed to be waiting for her to say something, she made an effort to pull herself together.
‘You look great, too,’ she said, and he did. He was wearing black trousers – how come men could get away with it? And the jacket he’d worn at their wedding. It still fitted him perfectly. None of the clothes she’d had when they got married fitted her now.
‘So are you ready then? I said we’d pick the wine up just after five.’
Why did he have to keep mentioning wine?
Feeling a surge of irritation, she grabbed her bag and followed him to the front door.
As they stepped outside, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to see a butterfly – a red admiral – was caught in a cobweb strung between the window and the front wall of the house.
Its wings fluttered frantically as it tried to escape but only succeeded in entangling itself further in its prison.
In the corner of the web, a large striped spider appeared, attracted by the movement. SJ shuddered. She hated spiders. Torn between wanting to rescue the butterfly and not wanting to go within touching distance of the spider, she paused.
Catching her look, Tom stepped forward, carefully freed the butterfly and set it on the grass. They watched as it shook out its wings, as if not quite believing it was free, before fluttering away like a piece of bright satin.
How odd that Tom understood some of her fears so well, yet he was oblivious to how afraid she was now.
‘What?’ he asked, pausing and raising his eyebrows.
‘I was just thinking what a sweetie you are. I bet that butterfly thought its number was well and truly up.’
‘Well, I could hardly watch it struggle.’ He smiled at her and she looked at him, standing there in his dark suit, his eyes suddenly vulnerable.
Yet you can stand there and watch me struggle with the hardest battle of my life.
She ached with loss. Oh, Tom, where did we go wrong?
How come we look so normal on the outside when we’re in bits below the surface?
When we don’t communicate any more – when you haven’t a clue how I feel?
Do you know how much I want to fly off somewhere?
Escape to some peaceful land where there is no wine and no temptation? Do you know how scared I am, Tom?
‘What?’ he asked again, and this time he tilted his head slightly so a triangle of sunlight slanted across his face and highlighted the grey glints in his hair. SJ could smell roses and hear the muted coos of a pigeon somewhere close by.
‘I was just wondering what you were thinking,’ she said huskily. And she knew that their disintegrating marriage was partly her fault. How could he be expected to read her mind?
‘I was thinking that if we don’t get a move on, we’re going to be late,’ he replied, putting an arm around her shoulders and propelling her firmly in the direction of his car.