Twenty seconds later, the contents of my stomach were at the bottom of the pan, hopefully along with the two sedatives I’d just taken. I prayed I’d caught them in time.
Following a quick shower, I put on my fluffy dressing gown and came back downstairs. I ran a glass of cold water from the kitchen tap and took it through to the living room, sitting down in the gloom and trying to get my thoughts straight.
I knew, without any doubt, that the smartest, most effective thing I could do for myself right this second was to flush the remaining tablets down the toilet.
I wanted to do it, I really did.
I could just take the damn things out of my handbag, walk upstairs and flush them down the loo. And then I could go to my bedroom, open the shoebox under my bed, take out the birth, marriage and death certificates and reach for the other two small brown bottles hidden under there, full of tablets. I could flush those away too.
But even as I walked through the steps in my mind, I knew I couldn’t do it. Not yet.
Those tablets were all I had. They were the only buffer between me and a very messy meltdown. Since Andrew’s death, they had served as a dam against a tsunami of pain and grief that had been waiting to crush me.
I picked up the glass of water and gulped it down in one.
I couldn’t face getting rid of my sole defence, not yet. It wasn’t that I wasn’t going to do it, I just had to give myself time to get used to the idea. Grow stronger.
After all, it would be totally counterproductive to get rid of the pills and then find myself unable to function.
It was true that, most of the time, I felt ashamed to call myself a mother. Yet, pitiful as I was, I still managed to fulfil some parental duties most days. And that was preferable to finding myself trapped in some institution, leaving my daughter to face life without me.
I had to keep the tablets for the time being, purely as a safety net. I realised I couldn’t manage without them, but continually sabotaged myself by using them.
I was trapped, caught in my own personally created hell.
43
Three Years Earlier
Toni
On Monday morning, Evie was quiet and a little withdrawn.
I helped her on with her coat in the hallway. ‘What’s wrong, poppet?’ I said, knowing full well it was her dislike of school that was behind it all.
She stared at the wall, saying nothing.
I hadn’t gone into great detail with her about Harriet Watson’s after-school club. I didn’t want to add to her stress by asking her to cope with yet more new things. Hopefully, she’d enjoy having some one-to-one time with an adult other than me or Mum; it would make her feel special.
Harriet had advised me not to press her to talk about school, so I quickly changed the subject.
‘How about we swing by McDonalds later?’ I said. ‘A fast-food tea. Whaddaya say, kiddo?’
She gave me a tiny smile but it was far from the jumping up and down and squealing that the offer of a McDonald’s meal on a school day would usually bring. I almost wished I hadn’t suggested it. It was an expense I could ill afford and which would get me little or no payoff, judging by her subdued response.
I ignored my headache and overcompensated for Evie’s silence by chatting too much on the way to school. When we arrived, I was relieved there was no refusal to go through the gates and no pulling away to go back home.
There seemed to be a new, quiet acceptance from my daughter that almost concerned me more than if she’d thrown one of her tantrums.
* * *
The effects of yesterday’s set-to with Sal were paired with a feeling of lethargy and sluggishness that made me think traces of the two tablets I’d tried to vomit up might have been absorbed, after all.
I made a coffee and lay down on the couch with my book, setting the alarm on my phone for two hours’ time, just in case I dropped off.
I opened the book and tried to pick it up where I last left it weeks ago. None of it made any sense, so I went back to the beginning.
My concentration span was short. I began reading about the main female character, who was a bit of a sap, to say the least. She suspected her fiancé was having an affair with her best friend, so she quickly embarked on an unsophisticated plot to kill them both.
If only life were that easy.
I closed the book and let it fall to the floor before closing my eyes.
‘Bryony’s in the back,’ Jo said in a low voice when I got to the office. ‘I was going to text you over the weekend but didn’t want to intrude. I couldn’t believe the change in her when you popped in with Evie.’
‘I hope her change of heart wasn’t just for show in front of Dale,’ I said wearily.
‘Just act normally,’ Jo advised. ‘Offer to make her a cup of tea or something.’
Jo was doing her best to help, but I didn’t see why I should brown-nose Bryony when, actually, I’d done nothing wrong. She was the one who had been swizzing her most loyal of customers. Of course, my brave indignation deserted me the moment she showed her face.
‘Could you call the Wiltons, please, Jo,’ Bryony said, handing Jo a piece of paper and showing no signs she’d even noticed me in the office. ‘I’ve written down some possible viewing times for the converted barn.’
She had on a black skirt, bright red jacket and impossibly high black stilettos. Her hair sat perfectly in a neat chignon.
I stood up and spoke to her back. ‘Hi, Bryony, I’m just going to make a hot drink, would you like one?’
She turned and her nose wrinkled slightly, as if she’d detected an unpleasant smell.
‘No, thanks,’ she said curtly. ‘Toni, I’d like you to go through some of the archived boxes of old property details this afternoon. They’re in the back office, in a bit of a mess. Everything needs filing in alphabetical order.’
Behind her, I saw Jo’s eyes widen. If I had to dream up the most mind-numbingly awful job I could give someone in an estate agency, then this was probably it.
‘Fine,’ I said brightly, ignoring the burn of muscles tightening across my shoulders and neck.
‘And when you’ve done that,’ Bryony continued, ‘you can go through the property database and make sure no fool has tagged anything as sold when it’s still available.’
She turned on her heel and stalked out before I could reply.
‘Ouch.’ Jo grimaced. ‘That’s a bit brutal, even for her.’
44
Three Years Earlier
Toni
It seemed luck was on my side, because it turned out to be one of the busiest afternoons since I’d worked there. There was a steady stream of customers and Jo was pretty much continually occupied.
‘You’ll have to leave the archiving until later,’ Bryony sniffed. ‘It’ll wait, I suppose.’
I processed a bond deposit and booked in a viewing for a student bedsit conversion that had just gone on the market that morning.
Something had been niggling me about my desk since I’d got into work, and as I reached for a notepad, I suddenly realised what it was: Evie’s photo was missing. I opened my pedestal drawers and peered in, but the photograph was nowhere to be found. Just as I was about to mention it to Jo, a young couple came in.
‘We’re interested in the two-bedroomed house that’s just come up for rent on Muriel Crescent in Bulwell,’ the girl said, pushing back a long mousey-brown fringe. ‘Our friend told us about it. Number sixty-one.’
I smiled and opened my mouth to tell her that I lived on Muriel Crescent, but then thought better of it. I didn’t want them knocking on my door at Christmas when the boiler had bust or something similar.
‘Take a seat, please. I’ll just get the details up,’ I said, tapping at my keyboard.
‘I’m afraid that property has already gone,’ Bryony said from behind them, seemingly appearing from nowhere. The clients turned around in their chairs to look at her. ‘It went this morning. But I’m sure Toni can find you something similar in the vicinity.’