She thinks I got drunk (which I did) but she’s a clever little thing. She really is, and I know that she’s so confused. I know that that doesn’t make sense to her because, as I told Doctor Patel, I don’t really drink.
Well, not much.
I just know that there are so many questions in her head.
So, I try to answer them.
I juggle the too much information ball with the truth ball. I juggle so many things, but I’m getting better at juggling these days.
I tell her that when I grew up, I had a problem with food and, as I drive, I ask her if she knows what bulimia is and she nods.
She knows so much more than I did at her age.
I wasn’t much older than her when it started. For years I didn’t even know its name.
For all the experts there are, and some will be shaking their heads, I am sure, as to how I tell her but, for all the experts there are, I am the expert on Charlotte. I name the white elephant, I tell her that I had a problem when I was younger, a problem that stayed well away…
‘But, when dad died,’ I tell her, ‘I felt as confused as I did back then.’ She’s not looking out of the window now; she’s watching me as I drive. As the sign posts change from English to English and Welsh, I tell her, I hope not too much, but enough for her to know that she can also talk to me.
‘I still feel like a teenager sometimes.’ That makes her laugh. ‘But, I’m not a teenager.’ I tell her that I love her very much and that her dad did too.
‘Did he know?’ Charlotte asks.
And the air blows out of my nostrils as the signs change from English and Welsh, to just Welsh.
‘Yes.’
It’s ten pm and we’re two hours later than we said we would be but I think they are the two best hours I have ever spent.
‘He found out my terrible secret…’ I glance over and I smile as my GPS tells me that we have reached our destination. I can see Jess coming out, but there’s just a little bit more of this conversation that has to be had. ‘He was never horrible about it.’ I look out of my windscreen, I see Jess coming over and my eyes fill with my first real tears for him.
He was a bastard.
By anyone’s standards, he was an absolute bastard.
Except…
I remember then the day he found me on a bender.
I was so ashamed.
More than ashamed.
I was shame.
He didn’t shout, he didn’t walk out, he didn’t get cross. He washed me, he bathed me and he put me to bed and then, when I woke up later, he was holding my hand.
There is so much to hate about my late husband but as the car door is pulled open by Jess, for the first time since Luke’s eulogy, I remember that there was also so much to love.
And there’s so much to love about Jess!
She just grabs Charlotte in a hug.
She kisses her and she brings her in and she’s bought her favourite chocolate drink and there’s a room all ready for Charlotte and Jess’s old teddy is waiting there on the bed.
They go for a wander.
I hear Jess showing her the washing machine and the cupboard of sheets, and I found out what was said as I drink my tea and eavesdrop. It would seem Jess was still wetting the bed at fourteen.
I don’t know if she’s exaggerating.
I just know I chose well.
Charlotte couldn’t have better godparents, even if I’m not quite sure about God.
I have to try to remember that, six days later.
I really have to force myself to remember that, because we’ve had the best week. Charlotte’s been riding on Jess’s neighbours’ horses, and we’ve spoken about schools and moving house and so many things… and now dusk is all around, Charlotte’s riding a pony as Jess brings up something she doesn’t have to.
‘I’m so sorry for accusing you,’ Jess says. ‘I just thought…’
‘Nothing happened.’ I watch Charlotte ride, I hear her laughter carry through the cool autumn air. I see her being a kid again and we’ve had four dry nights in a row now and I am so grateful to Jess for that.