Need to find Dom. I somehow make it through the hall and into the kitchen where a sea of faces turn to stare as I stagger and push my way past as though in slow motion, everyone’s expressions a fuzzy mass of wide eyes and open mouths.
My husband is outside somewhere. Need to get out. Need to give Daisy to him. He won’t be happy about that. He won’t be able to enjoy himself properly, not if he has to look after her. As I head outside, I misjudge the step and my right heel catches on the door threshold. My knee gives way and I topple sideways with a scream, throwing myself as far onto my back as I can to keep Daisy from tumbling onto the hard slate patio.
I fall so slowly, like I could right myself at any time. But then, like a switch being flicked, everything speeds up. I desperately try to keep hold of my daughter, terrified I’m squeezing her too tightly, or not tightly enough. But as I hit the ground, landing on my side with a thud, Daisy jolts out of my arms, sliding across the patio onto the grass. Shocked cries and screams are followed by silence, apart from the music, which thumps away, oblivious.
Then Daisy lets out a piercing wail.
‘Oh my God!’
‘Is the baby okay?
‘Are you okay?’
‘She fell over.’
‘Is she drunk?’
‘Is she high?’
‘Her name’s Kirstie.’
‘She dropped her baby.’
The voices swirl around me, but I’m more worried about my daughter than about the party guests. ‘Daisy all right?’ I ask, reaching out for her, but she’s scooped up by a stranger. ‘Is she ’kay?’ I wipe my brow and my mouth with the back of my hand. ‘She ’kay? I… not… I.’ What the hell is wrong with me? I definitely sound drunk. My body is numb, unhurt, even though I know I landed heavily on hard slate.
‘She’s off her face!’
‘Who is she?’
‘Think she’s one of their neighbours.’
‘Kirstie! Are you okay?’
It’s Dom. I crawl up onto my knees. ‘Fell over,’ I manage to say before vomiting across the pristine slate patio.
‘Ew!’ a woman cries.
‘That’s gross.’
‘What the fuck. She’s puked on my shoes!’
Dom’s aftershave cuts through my senses. I feel his arm around me. My head lolls into his chest. His voice in my ear, angry, hissing, ‘Are you drunk, Kirstie? You are. You’re totally shitfaced. How could you? You could have seriously hurt Daisy. Killed her even!’
‘She ’kay?’ I persist. ‘Daisy? She okay?’
‘She’s fine, no thanks to you.’
‘Not drunk. Feel ill.’ I throw up a little bit more, this time all down Dom’s immaculate shirt.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ he cries. ‘I’m taking you home.’
‘Bring Daisy,’ I say, my head tipping backwards and then forwards again.
‘No. You’re in no fit state to look after her. I can’t believe this. I can’t fucking believe it. You’re a mess, Kirstie. There’s no way you should have been drinking. You’re breast feeding, for Christ’s sake. This is so irresponsible.’
‘Daisy,’ I persist. Even though my mind is woozy, I’m paranoid that this could be the perfect opportunity for Martin to snatch her.
‘Daisy’s fine,’ Dom snaps. ‘She’s with Mel.’
I try to tell Dom that I’m not drunk. That I only had two bottles of non-alcoholic beer. That something else has happened to me. Maybe an allergic reaction or something. But the words won’t come out. My mouth is thick, my brain sluggish. As though I’m not here. Disembodied. It’s no good. I need to close my eyes. I need to sleep.
I blink heavily. Once. Twice. Three times. I catch sight of Rosa’s shocked expression, of Mel with Daisy in her arms, Tamsin, the Parkfields. All of them staring at me like I’m insane.
My eyes close and their faces fade…
Thirty
I wake with a fuzzy head and realise I’m lying on the sofa in the lounge, still wearing yesterday’s red dress, infused with the faint smell of vomit. I try to sit up and the whole of my right side screams in pain while the events of the barbecue tumble into my brain: Martin, the dizziness, the fall. And worst of all – I dropped Daisy! I actually dropped my baby!
‘Dom!’ I try to yell, but it comes out like a croak. My throat is raspy, my stomach hurts, I feel nauseous and my body is in absolute agony. ‘Dom!’ I try again, but it’s no good – I have no strength in my voice whatsoever.
I gingerly rise to my feet. Once I’m upright, I hitch up my dress to examine my body. My right leg is a mass of red and black bruises. My hip is swollen and tender to the touch. My arm is in the same knocked-about shape. I really took a tumble. But I can’t even think about that now. I need to find out if Daisy is okay.
Flashbacks of yesterday evening assault me like a stop-motion video. Dom telling me I was drunk, and bruised down one side, but not seriously hurt. I remember trying to explain that I wasn’t drunk, that I hadn’t even been drinking, but my words were slurred. I felt and sounded drunk to myself, so why would anyone else believe me?
I make my way into the kitchen to try to find my husband. To apologise and tell him that I wasn’t myself. That something else is going on here. Something I can’t explain. Every step sends a volley of sharp knives into my side, and every movement feels as though my brain is becoming dislodged, like it’s sloshing about in my head. Dom is not in the kitchen. The time on the cooker clock says 8.05 a.m. Early for a Sunday, but he’s an early riser. Perhaps he overslept. I rinse out an empty glass from the draining board and fill it with water. Take a few sips to ease my throat.
Everyone thinks I got drunk yesterday. But I didn’t knowingly have one single sip of alcohol. Could somebody have spiked my drink? I think back to the party. All I drank were a couple of bottles of alcohol-free beer that Rosa opened in front of me. I left one on the table behind me for a while. How long was it there? Could someone have slipped something into it? I don’t know. Could it have been an allergic reaction to something? I drain the glass of water and set it back on the counter.
Through the kitchen window I see that it’s another glorious day out there, a day for picnics and families and fun and relaxing. I can’t see my day turning out anything like that. I make my way up the stairs and enter Daisy’s room. My pulse quickens when I see she’s not in her cot. It’s okay, she’s probably in with Dom. I go to our bedroom next, but there’s no sign of either of them. He must have taken her out. I tell myself not to panic.
As long as Daisy is okay. But what if she’s not? What if that’s why Dom isn’t here? What if he’s had to take her to the hospital? She could have hit her head yesterday and had a delayed reaction. She could be in intensive care.
Stumbling out of the bedroom, I head back downstairs. I need my phone. I need to call Dom to make sure Daisy’s okay. But I can’t see my bag anywhere. I frantically search for it, hoping I didn’t leave it at the Cliffords’ place. There’s no way I’m going back over there to retrieve it. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to show my face in the street again. I pick up the landline handset and call my mobile. There! It’s ringing! I follow the sound of the ringtone into the lounge where, thankfully, I find my bag wedged under a sofa cushion.
I call Dom and he answers almost straight away.
‘Is Daisy okay?’ I pant.
‘She’s fine,’ he says tersely.
Relief floods my body and I sit on the sofa getting my breath back. ‘Where are you?’
‘Mel’s.’
‘Mel’s?’ A sudden chill coats my spine. ‘What are you doing over there?’
‘She messaged me this morning to see how you were. You were still asleep so I decided to come over here for a coffee.’
‘With Daisy?’
‘Yes, with Daisy. You were asleep. And anyway you were pissed out of your head last night. I didn’t think it would be appropriate to have you breathing your alcoholic fumes all over our daughter first thing this morning.’
‘You didn’t think it would be appropriate?’ My chest is thumping with anger, with outrage. ‘I wasn’t pissed, Dom. You probably drank more than I did.’
‘You were off your face, Kirstie. I saw you. Everyone saw you.’