Chapter Fifteen
I pride myself in being a man without prejudice, but I’ve proved myself wrong with this book.
I bought it as a bit of light relief, thinking I was going to enjoy something easy and funny, and in some ways, I was right.
But that’s not all this book is, or all it has given to me.
It’s written from deep in the soul and from a generous heart that has known significant pain.
And it’s burrowed its way into my own heart in a way I could never have anticipated, because in it, I saw Tony.
Grace’s eyes stalled at seeing the name of Frank’s older brother.
She shifted in the chair, holding a cushion to her tummy for comfort as the memories raced in.
She’d only met Tony a handful of times before his death, but the bubbly, outgoing young man had made an enormous impression on her.
She could hear the sound of his belly laugh even now, and when she pictured his face, it was never without a mischievous grin.
He’d died in a fall aged only twenty-six, not much older than Jude was now, and the tragedy almost broke Frank’s parents.
They never recovered from losing their child.
What parent would? The fact Tony had been drunk when he fell down the stairs at his girlfriend’s house was only spoken about in hushed tones but, on one dark, sleepless night, Frank admitted to Grace that Tony had been addicted to alcohol since his mid-teens.
The family did everything they could to help him, but he refused to admit it was a problem, insisting he was just having a good time while he was young.
‘Plenty of time to sleep when I’m dead,’ Frank quoted his exuberant, much-loved sibling when he’d suggested he slowed down the partying.
He broke his neck in the fall and the heartache of the memory added to the loss already swollen inside her. She took a breath and read on.
Watching Rachel struggling with her addiction was like watching my big brother.
I’ve since read that Keyes is a recovering alcoholic herself and there’s a raw truth, an unflinching honesty in Rachel’s self-destruction, her denial, then her road to recovery, that shows the writer knows exactly what she’s talking about.
Rachel’s recovery starts when her sister books her into rehab. I wish I’d been in a position to do the same for Tony. If he’d only survived another few years, I might have had the money, and the sway. When I was older, he might have listened to me in a way he never did when he saw me as just a kid.
Although maybe that’s not true. Perhaps there’s nothing I could have done.
The more I read on the subject, the more I understand that perhaps there was nothing anyone could have done for Tony.
I’m no stranger to the feeling of being drawn to something and not having the power to resist. Impulsivity, emotional dysregulation and addiction go hand in hand.
I’ve been lucky my addictions are work and books, and that I’m blessed to have my family to keep me stable.
But I know now my life could have turned out very differently if this symptom had taken another path.
Symptom. What symptom? Frank barely drank and he’d never taken drugs as far as Grace was aware.
Granted, he was a bit obsessive, but she would never have called him an addict, or even someone who struggled with impulsive behaviour.
‘Emotional dysregulation’ seemed like an extreme term for the man she’d lived with for forty-six years.
Yes, he was easily moved by all kinds of things, books, films, music and art.
She thought again about the tears on his cheeks on hearing ‘Strange Fruit’ by Billie Holiday, and the way he’d sobbed silently, his big hand over his mouth, during the film The Banshees of Inisherin.
They’d had to wait for Frank to compose himself enough to go out into the bright foyer, while the stewards cleaned up around them.
He never cried openly in public. He only allowed that side of himself to be seen by his family.
These instances showed he was sensitive, and she loved that about him.
He couldn’t bear to see other people in pain and admittedly, he cried more easily than most men she knew, but she’d always admired that about him too.
Even before the term ‘toxic masculinity’ was bandied about in the press, she’d been proud her husband was not prone to any of that behaviour.
He was someone who believed in authenticity, truth and justice.
He had a strong moral compass and would fight for the underdog. Nothing dysregulated about that.
Yes, he was often anxious and became overwhelmed easily. But he was in a stressful job, and people relied on him. It was normal for someone who cared as much as Frank did to be a perfectionist, and getting things right was stressful.
The word ‘stress’ kept coming back to her. His problem managing stress must’ve played a part in his heart failure. The autopsy showed one of the valves in his heart had prolapsed, and the pressure he put on himself couldn’t have helped.
She turned the page, but on the next one was a review of a book Grace had never heard of. Frank enjoyed it, according to his notes, but not as much as the previous one by the same author. She scanned the next few pages, but there was nothing else about Tony or whatever this symptom signified.
And when he said symptom, what did he mean? A symptom of what?