Chapter 29
Sunday night and Gemma and Laila were in the living room. The television was on but they were both on their phones when Timothy sent a message to the club. He wasn’t happy.
The doc says I have to stay here another week because my leg is taking its sweet time to heal. A week! If it wasn’t for visitors, I’d be losing my mind.
‘Oh, Gramps,’ Laila said.
Gemma didn’t blame him. Up until then, Timothy had been a fit, independent man and being confined to a hospital bed must be making him feel like a caged animal. Still, he couldn’t risk another injury by going home early.
Don’t worry, we won’t stop visiting, she wrote.
Thank you, Gemma.
Then, Nick joined in. Chin up, Timbo, you’ll be out in no time.
Laila giggled. ‘Nick’s funny,’ she said.
Gemma smiled to herself because it was true, Nick never failed to lighten any gloom.
Immediately, Nick set up another group chat that didn’t include Timothy.
Let’s do that clean-up and safety check of Timothy’s houseboat before he comes out. Wash his sheets and towels, fill the fridge, that sort of thing.
Good idea, Gemma wrote. What do you think, Laila? she added, even though Laila was sitting next to her on the sofa.
Yes, definitely, Laila typed So long as we don’t throw anything out.
Only food that’s gone off, Nick added.
Duh, Laila wrote.
Phyllida had yet to make an appearance in the chat, which Gemma thought was strange.
Normally, she’d have been the first to respond, but, so far, she’d been very, very quiet.
In the end, they made an executive decision to do it the following Saturday, as Timothy would be getting out on the Monday.
They hoped Phyllida would be free to join them.
By Monday night, Gemma was beginning to worry about Phyllida, who still hadn’t replied to any of the group messages.
If it had been Mel, Gemma’s friend – who was so late to her own wedding everyone had thought she’d changed her mind – she wouldn’t have given it a second thought.
But Phyllida was always extremely punctual.
Plus, Gemma didn’t think she’d been her usual self when they were at the hospital.
Should she be concerned or was she reading too much into it?
Gemma sent Phyllida a direct message on the pretence of whether they should organise a group mudlark if Timothy wouldn’t be able to go.
Gemma knew something must be up when Phyllida’s eventual reply contained swearing, after realising she’d missed the WhatsApp chat. Gemma decided to call her.
‘Are you okay, Phyllida?’
For a moment, there was silence. Gemma waited. A wasp buzzed in from outside and landed on the fridge. It crawled along the middle of the door and stopped on a magnet. Finally, Phyllida spoke.
‘Not really, no.’
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘Maybe,’ Phyllida said softly.
‘I could come over to your house tomorrow after work?’ Gemma suggested.
‘Not my house,’ Phyllida said quickly.
‘A restaurant?’
The wasp was now on the dish cloth. Gemma managed to shoo it out the door without getting stung, as Phyllida said yes.
Bright flowers filled window planters at the entrance to the gastro pub in Soho. The streets were bustling with pedestrians and the roads glossy from a summer rain shower. Gemma found a free table outside, at the front. Not long after, Phyllida arrived. Her face looked drawn and her eyes puffy.
‘Hi,’ she said solemnly.
‘Hi, Phyll.’ Gemma stood up and gave her a hug.
They talked for a few minutes about this and that before Gemma got them some drinks and ordered food. Then Gemma decided to see if Phyllida was ready to open up.
‘How are you today? You seemed upset on the phone. I don’t want to pry but would you like to talk about it?’
Phyllida fiddled with a spare coaster. Gemma knew to stop talking because the more you filled the silence, the less likely the other person was to speak. She sipped her drink and waited. Eventually Phyllida spoke.
‘Something terrible has happened.’
‘Oh, no, Phyllida, what?’
‘I’m losing my husband to gambling.’ Phyllida stated it so matter-of-factly it was as if she’d said, I’m losing my husband to golf. ‘In fact, I may have lost him already.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Our finances are a mess. I had no idea. I feel such a fool, and I’m so angry with him. So angry.’ She jabbed her paper straw into the glass, but it didn’t provide the impact she no doubt wanted.
‘How long has this been going on?’
‘Nearly a year. He said he started because he wanted to clear our debts and was going to stop after a winning streak but, of course, he didn’t – or couldn’t. Gamblers never can, can they? The addiction gets its claws in and burrows into their subconscious.’
Gemma squeezed Phyllida’s hand.
‘Then, surprise, surprise, he got us into more debt and our finances have been spiralling out of control. Eventually, he came to me to fess up – too late, of course – and says he can’t go on anymore. He can’t go on anymore! How does he think I feel?’ Phyllida’s voice rose in pitch, trembling.
Gemma gave Phyllida’s hand another squeeze. ‘He can get help, you know, and so can you. There’ll be a solution for it all, I’m sure,’ she said, as if she were an expert in gambling addiction.
‘It’s dire, Gemma. I think we’ll have to re-mortgage the house and borrow from family.
How could he have been so stupid? How could he not have talked about it with me before doing anything rash?
Especially when he knew that my sabbatical meant I’d only be paid a fraction of my usual salary.
’ She shook her head. ‘And you know the stupidest thing of all? I can’t seem to un-love him.
It’s like I hate him and care about him at the same time. ’
‘That’s exactly how I felt when Adam said he was leaving me,’ Gemma said. ‘It’s unsettling. But if you do still love him, you’ll get through this. Look how brave and strong you were to raise a child on your own.’
‘It seems to get harder the older I get.’
Gemma didn’t doubt that. She’d seen it with patients. The more setbacks you have, the more difficult it is to keep on rallying yourself.
A waiter arrived with their meals and cutlery wrapped in paper napkins.
‘There’s a difference between then and now, though,’ Phyllida said.
‘What drove me then was the need and desire to look after my child. I was in control of the situation. Now, everything feels out of my control. I don’t know what to do, where to start to make things right.
I can’t think straight anymore. And Robert, even though he’s remorseful, has fallen apart. ’
Phyllida stared at her food and said nothing more.
‘Why don’t we put it to The Mudlarkers’ Club?’ Gemma suggested. ‘Look at Timothy, we’ve proven we can band together and help each other out.’
‘But I’m so ashamed.’
‘You have no reason to be. No one will think badly of you. They’ll only want to help. We could raise it when we’re doing the clear-out on Timothy’s houseboat.’
Phyllida played with her food with a fork.
‘We don’t have to, of course.’ Suddenly Gemma felt bad for wanting to broadcast Phyllida’s personal problems to the group.
‘I feel like such an idiot …’ Phyllida dropped the fork and let her shoulders slump. She looked all-round defeated.
‘You’re not an idiot,’ Gemma assured her.
‘Well, Robert’s definitely an idiot.’
Gemma nodded gently. Phyllida’s husband may well have been struck down by a bout of idiocy, but she wasn’t about to criticise him when she didn’t even know him.
‘I suppose talking about it with others might help,’ Phyllida conceded.
‘I think it will,’ Gemma said. ‘In fact, I know it will.’
‘I do feel a little bit lighter having had this chat with you. Thank you.’
Gemma smiled and squeezed her hand again. ‘Any time. But now, let’s eat before it gets cold.’