Chapter 17
Paula is hiding in the loo. It’s not terribly dignified but it’s better than being out there. With them. With Gerald.
This second session with the family counsellor has so far been even more awkward than the first. The man keeps talking about mutual support and identifying emotions. He must’ve said at least four or five times that he wants to facilitate dialogue . Which honestly just makes Paula want to scream.
Would that be considered facilitating dialogue? Or would it be him demonstrating active listening ?
And they’ve talked so much about John.
Tilly has cried twice today, talking about her dad.
Both times she was telling a story from her childhood.
She told Gerald the counsellor about a Christmas Day where the star attraction was the brand-new video camera under the tree.
Tilly cried buckets as she described rehearsing a version of Sleeping Beauty all day with Seb, and how John laughed his head off filming their efforts.
Then she talked at length about a birthday spent at a theme park, where, she says, her dad had nearly cried from fear in the queue for the biggest roller coaster, but didn’t run away.
Tilly smiled through tears, describing how he threw up afterwards, but went on again when she begged.
Paula remembered both days vividly. They were good days.
But when the focus had turned to her – when Gerald had asked her to share some of her own favourite memories – she had stuttered, panicked, then excused herself for a loo break.
It was hard enough talking about John in the last session, before she found out about the fifty thousand pounds. About the loan sharks. About what he might have done.
About what she now knows he definitely has done.
Paula’s spent much of the last two days rooting through John’s things, looking for proof of this fifty thousand pound loan.
Looking for proof that he couldn’t really have done this to her or to their children, that surely he never could.
But late last night she found a slip of paper, tucked into a pile of unopened junk mail.
It listed games played, alongside names Paula vaguely recognised from the snooker club, and the sums and sums of money he’d bet.
It took her only minutes to understand that John’s losses added up to that horrible, outsized figure the loan sharks were asking for.
And at the top of the sheet of paper were five letters written in damning capitals: CRAIG. His name was underlined twice, and Paula could feel her husband’s fear in those scrawled strokes.
So now she knows. And Paula doesn’t know where to go from here.
She’s been awake all night, questions racing through her mind.
She’s surprised to find that she doesn’t feel surprised, but she does feel pain.
Pain at the betrayal – not of her, but of their children.
How could he do this to them? And how could he not have told her so they could deal with this together?
How could he leave her with this huge, awful thing to cope with all alone?
She’s been shocked by the rebellious strength of her feelings; by the pure fury she feels towards John.
She’s disgusted with him. Disgusted! Appalled that he could do this to her – to the family.
And then the guilt arrives, because how can she be angry with him when he’s dead?
The worst part is that there’s nowhere to put the anger or the guilt.
She can’t talk about John here, with Tilly and Seb – and Gerald – not without thinking about his lies.
She can’t talk about him without thinking of the cash envelope she’s started putting together, that so far has only around one per cent of the total she needs.
She can’t tell them. She knows how much it would hurt them and she can’t do it.
So she’s hiding in the loo. Paula stares at herself in the mirror, wondering how much more of the session she can get away with missing. They’re nearly at the end, maybe she can ride it out in here.
She pulls at the bags under her eyes, wondering if there is anything that can be done there.
She looks old. She always looks old. She might even look older than eighty-something Audrey Swift.
Though it’s hard to see Audrey properly when she shines all the time, with so much joie de vivre and so many layers of floral clothes.
Could Paula get away with a pashmina? Probably not. She might manage a scarf from M&S but a pashmina made from cachemire goats just isn’t her.
She sighs, looking away. This is why Paula tends not to look in mirrors.
In her head, she’s still young. She’s perhaps thirty-two-ish.
It was a good age to be, an age where she felt like she was a grown-up to the outside world but not too grown-up yet on the inside.
Either way, her face no longer matches the way she feels. It hasn’t for a long time.
But Audrey is twenty years older than Paula, and she doesn’t seem to mind that fact. She is the youngest old person Paula has ever met.
Paula takes a deep breath, looking at her reflection again. She takes in her sun spots and laughter lines, and decides to be kinder to the person looking back. She is going to be more Audrey.
Which also probably means facing up to things that scare her.
With a resigned sigh, Paula turns away from the mirror again and heads back in the direction of the therapy room. She pauses for a moment outside the door, hearing Tilly’s raised voice. She and Seb are talking to the counsellor and her daughter sounds upset.
‘What’s wrong with her though? Why is she so . . . cut off?’
There is a pause before Gerald replies, ‘It’s likely your mum still hasn’t processed what’s happened yet. But that is completely normal! Everyone deals with grief in a different way. You need to give her more time. Be patient with her.’
‘You don’t understand, this isn’t normal. Not for her! This isn’t . . . her! She’s not herself. Is she, Seb?’
Seb’s reply is sarcastic, ‘Oh sure, yeah, because she reacted sooo differently when her last husband died suddenly in a horrifying car accident.’
‘Shut up, you idiot.’
‘I mean, c’mon, Tills,’ Seb’s voice is lower – less invested. ‘She’s just trying to cope or whatever. Just because she’s being bananapants weird lately, doesn’t mean there’s something more going on. She’s just – I dunno – sad about Dad or whatever.’
‘But is she?’ Tilly cries. ‘Because she doesn’t seem that sad to me.
’ She gulps, sounding like she wants to cry.
‘This doesn’t feel like grief at all! I’m so worried about her.
She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t seem sad or morose.
She’s not depressed. She doesn’t even get angry.
There are no tentacles, Seb!’ Paula can hear her daughter shift position in the room, turning to Gerald.
‘What are the seven stages of grief again?’
Seb interrupts, ‘Isn’t it twelve steps?’
Tilly angrily sighs, ‘Shut up, Seb! It’s seven, right, Gerald?’
Paula’s daughter always has to be right. Especially around her little brother.
‘Um.’ Paula can sense the counsellor’s discomfort through the door. ‘Well, it’s actually five stages. I think, Seb, you’re thinking of AA? And, Tilly, maybe . . . deadly sins? Or wonders of the world?’
‘Oh.’ Tilly sounds embarrassed. ‘OK, but I was closer. Twelve steps was way wronger, Seb.’
Gerald clears his throat. ‘The five stages of grief are thought to be denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Although I would argue that grief is a much, much more complicated—’
Tilly interrupts, ‘See! Mum’s not doing any of those! Where’s the secretive weirdo stage?’
Secretive weirdo? Paula doesn’t much like that description of herself.
Has she really been acting so oddly? She’s just been getting on with things, hasn’t she?
Trying to make her way in this new world.
And hasn’t she always kept certain, difficult things to herself?
Maybe Tilly doesn’t know her as well as she thinks she does.
It occurs to Paula that her children are only just noticing her now. And they seem to be discovering they don’t really like what they’re seeing.
Behind the door, Paula’s phone buzzes.
It’s Audrey, sending a video of Paula the Dog doing something called the ‘zoomies’.
Buying a car together yesterday has been quite the bonding experience.
Teddy even created a new WhatsApp group for them all.
It’s named TLWWC. Paula still thinks it’s a rather silly name, too clunky and awkward.
And, for goodness’ sake, where are all the apostrophes supposed to go?
Surely they warrant at least two or three?
Paula’s mother was an English teacher, she’d know the answer.
Teddy doesn’t use any at all, which surely can’t be right, but she’s the one who seems very set on the name – even after Paula brought up the grammar issue – so it seems they’re stuck with it.
Either way, it’s been a nice distraction. It seems not an hour can pass without one of them sending some funny picture or Facebook meme. Many of them, Paula is well aware, Tilly would probably tell her off about, for being inappropriate or sexist towards men, but they still make Paula chuckle.
She steels herself and opens the door.
Seb startles in his seat, looking guilty. Tilly looks upset and vaguely annoyed.
‘Your tummy OK?’ she says pointedly and Paula dips her head, reddening. She hid in the bathroom for too long.
‘I’m afraid we’re at the end of the session for today,’ Gerald says, giving Paula a regretful look over his grandpa glasses.
Tilly sighs. Paula knows it’s directed at her, but she’s relieved all the same.
They’ve signed up for six of these sessions, which means she’s a third of the way through already.
Paula gathers her bag and coat, pleased with her quick maths.