‘I’m off now till Tuesday. I’m just getting into the swing of working…’
‘At the supermarket.’ I hear the slightly derisive note in her voice, one that has being creeping in more and more since she started senior school. I know she's embarrassed, in all honesty, I'm embarrassed too but I'm doing this for her. I’m doing this so she can go to her posh school and keep her nice house and I feel this churn of anger rise in my stomach.
I’m doing this for her.
‘Do you think I want to go to work?’ I turn and I see her face shutter. ‘Do you not think I’ve got enough on my mind right now?’
‘I'm sorry.’
I don't want her to be sorry, I don't want her to have to be sorry and it just makes me more cross that she is.
She's turning into spoiled brat – and I'm a word away from telling her that. I’m a moment away from pulling the car over and telling her what a selfish cow she can be at times. I’m a second away from slapping her cheek and I’m gripping on to the steering wheel for dear life.
‘I'm sorry, Mum,’ she says it again and I don't know if it's anger or tears that are choking me but I swallow them down and we make it home. Charlotte flounces off to the computer and she’s straight onto Skype.
‘I've got a headache. I'm going to lie down.’
Things were getting better.
They were supposed to be getting better but it lasted for all of five minutes.
It’s all falling apart again now.
I’m so tired from working.
I shouldn’t have to be working. I should be taking care of myself and taking care of Charlotte.
I am just so tired.
I haven't even made the bed and the curtains are still drawn. I can hear her on Skype and they’re making plans for the summer holidays. I’ll have her home for six weeks soon and I just want to close my eyes and never wake up. I don't seem to be able to stay out of bed for more than a couple of hours these days. There’s just too much to deal with. It's more than I can deal with and I just want it all to go away. I just want to close my eyes and sleep and then wake up and everything be sorted.
Or not wake up, I don’t care.
I just don't care.
It's his birthday tomorrow.
I would have been out buying a dress today - I've already got his present, it’s in the wardrobe in the spare room. He wanted these golf clubs. I know nothing about golf but Jess and Luke play and in January, Jess had told me that the clubs he wanted were on sale.
Tomorrow, I'd have been going to the hairdresser’s and to get my nails done. Then, in the evening, we would have gone out to the same restaurant that we always went to on his birthdays, one of those restaurants where you’re seen. We’d have held hands and then we’d go out to the car and have a kiss before going home.
Then he’d head up to bed and I’d set up the conservatory.
The holding hands, the kissing, the PDAs, were all for the benefit of others.
Or were they?
They benefitted us too, added to the illusion we created.
I don't know what part of us was real.
Do I miss him?
I don’t know.
Is he missing me?
I don’t know that either.
Did he love me?
I have no idea.
Charlotte wakes me up at six and I go out and get dinner.
I spend ten pounds on takeaway.
That’s two hours of work.
It doesn’t make sense.
If I was home I could have cooked dinner.
I’d have some time.
It doesn’t make sense.
My mind feels all flickery.
It’s the best word I can come up with, even if it doesn’t exist.
He doesn’t exist.
It’s his birthday tomorrow.
I think of the poster on Dr Patel’s wall and I wonder if he looks like that now.
We eat pizza from the box and we drink our bonus bottle of cola. ‘Can we have salad tomorrow?’ Charlotte asks. ‘And, can you get some fruit for my lunch box. I don’t like going to the tuck shop.’
I look at the empty pizza box.
She’s only had one slice.
I’m disgusting.
She disappears for a little while and I remember it’s bin night. I should get up and drag them out but I just don’t have the energy and then Charlotte calls me upstairs.
‘I've run you a bath…’I walk into the bathroom and Charlotte's been busy - there