Half the World Away

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

After Saturday brunch, I’m going to fetch Finn from swimming. Isaac is at Sebastian’s leaving party, Nick is out, God knows where. Penny has eaten with us and I leave her and Lori clearing up together. This is engineered so Penny can talk to Lori without me there.

Whenever I’ve mentioned counselling Lori has dismissed the idea and I’ve confided in Penny: ‘She says she’s fine, which she patently isn’t. Then she says she doesn’t want to think about it, let alone talk to some random stranger about it, which I do understand.’

‘She knows what she can deal with,’ Penny says, ‘but maybe she needs to hear a bit more about what it would involve. How’s she acting?’

‘She’s all over the place. She’s showering three or four times a day. She has flashbacks. She’s hiding from it but it’s not working.’

‘Everyone’s different,’ Penny says. ‘Everyone reacts in different ways. I could have a word with her.’

Penny was raped by an ex-boyfriend when she was in her early twenties. It was several months before she confided in a friend. Penny never reported it to the police. She suffered with insomnia and anxiety, and it had a detrimental effect on her work, her friendships and social life. She told me about it a year or so into our friendship, and she described Rape Crisis as a lifeline.

Ten days later Lori asks if I can give her a lift to their counselling service. I wait in the car outside, listening to the radio, and worry about Nick, wondering how to tackle him on the subject of his drinking. He was out till late again last night and the boys found him asleep on the sofa this morning. That’s not the first time.

It’s a blustery day, unseasonably cold, clouds scudding high and fast. The trees at the edge of the car park whip to and fro. My feet grow numb so I flex my toes and turn my ankles, trying to get the circulation going.

When Lori comes out and gets into the car, her eyes are pink from crying, her nose puffy. She looks completely gutted. All she says is, ‘OK,’ once she’s buckled her seat belt.

Not wanting to intrude, I put a CD on to fill the silence, reggae-dance songs, innocuous enough, I hope.

I’ve been seeking advice online as to how I can help. Let her take control seems to be the most important thing. Be guided by her. It’s easier to say than do.

‘Are you going again?’ I say, as we reach home.

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Same time next week.’

‘Good.’

The boys run out to meet us. ‘Daddy says he’ll go for pizza,’ Isaac says.

‘Does he now?’ There’s food in the freezer but he wants to splash out on a takeaway. To curry favour, I assume. Or perhaps because it gives him a chance to leave the house and drink in secret.

‘I want pepperoni,’ Finn says.

‘Let’s get inside and see,’ I say.

‘I want meatballs,’ Isaac says.

Thank God for the children, I think. Their energy, their needs and demands, their zest for life make it impossible to dwell on the dark side for too long. Their presence keeps shifting the perspective.

Nick reaches into the fridge for another bottle of wine, and I say, ‘We need to talk about your drinking.’

He pulls a face, mouth open, eyes darting to the side. Like it’s the most stupid thing he’s ever heard. ‘Just leave it,’ he says.

‘No, listen, it’s affecting us all. The boys find you crashed out on the couch, reeking of booze. God knows what Lori thinks.’

‘Don’t be so melodramatic.’ He makes a show of twisting open the wine, pouring a glass, full to the brim.

The boys are in bed and Lori is out with Tom. I can feel the animosity sizzling between us, like static.

‘You shouldn’t be driving in that state.’

‘Fuck off,’ he says quietly. His dark eyes are hard, like marbles, as he raises his glass.

There’s heat in my face, tension in a ball at the back of my throat. ‘You need to do something, Nick.’

‘You need to get off my back. Nagging and moaning.’

‘It’s not about me. You need help.’

He shakes his head, gives a bitter laugh.

‘I know things have been difficult,’ I say. ‘They’ve been difficult for us all, most of all for Lori. You getting drunk all the time isn’t helping. You need to stop. To control it.’

‘Don’t keep telling me what I need,’ he says, his voice low.

‘You stop,’ I say firmly, ‘you get help, whatever, or you leave.’

‘I’m going nowhere,’ he says. ‘This is my house as much as it’s yours.’ He drinks half the wine.

‘Don’t you care? Think about the rest of us, think about Lori. The day after we got home, the very next day, you went off on a binge and told us you were going to your parents. We nearly lost her-’

‘You slept with him, didn’t you?’ he says.

My heart thumps. He’s staring at me. He drinks more wine.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ I say.

‘You fucked him.’

‘No, I didn’t,’ I say. ‘Is that what you’ve been telling yourself? Is that why you’ve not come near me? Or is it because you’re too drunk to get it up?’

‘You bitch.’

My anger drains away swiftly to be replaced by sadness. How did we get here? I cover my eyes, elbows on the table. I will not cry. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘That wasn’t fair. But I don’t want you here, not acting like this.’

‘Well, maybe I don’t want to be here.’ He hits out at the edge of the table. The wine bottle teeters but doesn’t fall.

He goes to the bowl on the side, looking for his car keys.

‘You can’t drive,’ I say. ‘Nick, please, wait a minute. Sit down and talk to me. We can work something out.’

He spins around. ‘Where are the car keys?’

‘You can’t drive.’

‘Fucking hell, Jo.’ He slams at the table again and the bottle goes over, rolls and smashes on the floor.

‘Mummy? Daddy?’ Isaac is calling from upstairs.

Nick makes a snarling sound, teeth set, eyes glittering.

‘Please?’ I say.

He bolts out of the kitchen. I hear the crash of the front door slamming.

‘Mummy?’

‘I’m coming. It’s OK.’ I take a deep breath but I can’t stop myself shaking. I’m just glad Lori isn’t at home.