Lies Lies Lies. Adele Parks
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have never been so desperate to get to the end of a term. It breaks my heart to close the door behind me every morning, knowing Simon is most likely going to spend the day in bed drinking, or slouched in front of the TV drinking. Without the pretence that he’s going into work, I fear the ‘functioning’ part of the label ‘functioning alcoholic’ is null and void. It’s desperate. He isn’t shaving, or even showering. He’s barely speaking. Still, I’ve kept it together. I have responsibilities. Millie, Elsie and my job. I’ve told Millie that Daddy is a bit poorly which is why he isn’t going to work.
‘Has he got a poorly head again or is his tummy upset?’ she asks innocently. ‘Poor Daddy. He’s often ill. He needs to see a doctor.’ Out of the mouths of babes. I don’t want to leave him alone more than I have to, but I honour my commitment to visit Elsie. Despite what Simon says, I think Elsie does enjoy our visits; maybe she can’t anticipate them or even remember them but when she’s in the moment, they seem to bring her some ease. Usually. Unfortunately, this week, she’s picked up a urinary tract infection which is common in dementia sufferers, and she’s had bouts of terrible hallucinations and intense paranoia. She threw things at me when I went into her room, she thought I was an undertaker and had come to measure her up. I’ve tried to concentrate on my class, who are all excitedly looking forward to their summer holidays and to the idea of going to big school after that. I busy myself writing reports and rehearsing for the end of year assembly. I manage to warmly thank my students and their parents for their thank you gifts of chocolate and cava but all the time I’m at school, my mind and heart are with Simon.
What are we going to do? My first thought is his health but I’m also concerned about money. How will we pay the mortgage with only my salary? Who will give him a job now? No one in their right mind.
Thank goodness it’s the holidays and I can have some breathing space. I’m only just holding on and I know I need to do more than that. I need to hold us together.
The last thing I want to do is go to Connie and Luke’s anniversary party. I had not expected Simon to so much as remember it, let alone want to attend. I thought shame would keep him away. I can barely stand the idea of facing Luke, but Simon doesn’t have the same sensitivities. He wakes up on Saturday morning and is buoyant about the idea of going.
‘We’re going, Daisy. We promised Connie and Luke,’ he says. As though he’s a regular guy and keeping his word is important to him. The fact is, parties mean alcohol. Lots of free-flowing alcohol. They also mean dancing, catching up with old friends and eating gorgeous nibbles, but none of that is important to Simon. For him a party only means alcohol. Lots of people will be drinking to get drunk. He’ll fit right in.
I haven’t seen my friends since Simon was sacked. I’m avoiding them. My sister Rose called as soon as she heard but I fobbed her off. ‘Connie has exaggerated things wildly,’ I told her. ‘You know how she is.’ In fact, the account of Simon’s dismissal that Rose relayed to me, gifted to her from Connie, was less sensational than what really occurred. I guess Luke did us a favour of playing down how dreadful the whole episode was. ‘The truth is Simon and his boss came to a mutually agreeable decision to part ways. Simon is looking for new creative challenges,’ I insisted.
‘Really, Daisy?’ my sister asked, concern oozing from her voice.
‘Rose, I’d tell you if there was anything seriously wrong.’
‘Would you?’
I’d want to. That’s almost the same thing. My sister and I used to confide everything in each other. Then that stopped being possible. I no longer believe a problem shared is a problem halved. I know it for what it is, double the trouble. Some secrets must stay just that. I don’t want to go to this party. The thought leaves me feeling panicky and breathless. Even before Simon’s humiliating dismissal, I’d had no intention of going. Throughout the day I try to persuade Simon that we shouldn’t bother.
‘Let’s just stay in, have a quiet night,’ I suggest.
‘What’s the matter, Daisy? Are you afraid everyone will be gossiping about us?’
‘I just don’t like parties. You know I don’t.’
‘The sooner you start to behave as though nothing is wrong, the sooner everyone else will believe that is the case,’ he replies smugly, unrepentant, as though it was me who soiled my clothes and had been hosed down by my best friend. I know what he says is true, but it smacks of wallpapering over the cracks, rather than fixing the problem. Something I can do and have done for a long time. I just don’t think I want to anymore. I get the feeling that if I carry on that way, the whole house might fall down around me.
‘My parents can’t babysit. They are going to a concert at the Royal Albert Hall. They already have tickets.’ I offer up this problem, but I didn’t expect it to matter to Simon.
‘Why haven’t you sorted out a sitter sooner?’ he asks crossly, then adds, ‘We can take her along.’
That’s not happening. No way. I nip over the road and arrange for Millie to sleep at her friend India’s. Millie and India are in the same class, that and the proximity of their homes means they’re best friends. The pair of them are always in and out of each other’s houses, having meals, watching TV, playing in the garden, but this will be their first official sleepover. Millie is deliriously excited.
Early afternoon, Millie and I nip out and buy popcorn because India tells me her mum has promised sparkly nail varnish and facemasks. I’m not sure that I approve of six-year-olds wearing nail varnish, and they definitely don’t need facemasks, but on the other hand, I once read a feminist book that argued grooming rituals are an important part of female bonding. I don’t want to pour cold water on the plan. What harm can a single at-home-spa-night do? Whenever I feel a tidal wave of fear or shame, and I consider backing out of the party, just staying at home and using looking after Millie as an excuse, I remind myself that Millie would be upset if her sleepover didn’t go ahead.
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