Now, I’m sitting in the living room with Mum as she shakes on the sofa.
Her skin has a sheen of sweat, and she can’t decide if she’s hot or cold.
She’s detoxing. Her face is always contorted, and she trembles a lot. It looks excruciating.
“Mum, we need help.”
“N-No. I can do this.”
Well, I can’t! “Rehab will be easier than this. There are people who know what they’re doing, and can help you much more than I can. They can give you something for the pain.”
Once again, I’m a carer. I can check a pulse and roll a person onto their side. That’s it. I have absolutely no idea what to do with a detoxing addict. All I can do is make her as comfortable as possible and watch her around the clock.
Is that enough? If I fail this, does she die, too?
“No, Indie.”
The responsibility of this turns my stomach to lead. Mum needs counselling and, although I’m taking a bloody degree in it, my mind keeps going blank. This is my mum. I’m far too close to look at the situation objectively. I’ll get too angry when delving into the past. I’m not the right person to help her but she won’t understand that.
I’m taking the week off uni. I’ll catch up somehow. At the minute, I can’t focus on studying for longer than three seconds. I used to be able to lose myself in textbooks. Now they have abandoned me.
“What do you need?” I ask.
Teeth chattering, she shakes her head and groans. I grab the blanket from the arm of the sofa and lay it over her, unsure if she’s actually cold.
“Try and get some sleep,” I tell her.
I should have made her go to her bedroom. I’m not sure when she last slept in her bed. She won’t go up there. Maybe because she doesn’t want to be there without Dad.
We’ll have to decorate, change her bedding, and get new sofas. These ones are disgusting.
Neither of us wants to sit in here and stare at the place where Dad died.
If she is serious about getting sober, this room needs to not look like her old drinking slum.
I leave her to sleep and walk into the kitchen. Our house isn’t very big, but rattling around here on my own makes it seem huge. I only stay in the house to sleep and clean. Now I’m looking at it like a home again, and there is nothing I like. The house is stuck in the nineties. Dad is everywhere.
With a deep breath, I call Wren and prepare to continue the pretence.
“Hey, Indie, how are you feeling?” she asks.
“A lot better, though I’m still strictly on plain foods and water.”
“You really got the bug bad, huh?”
I bite my lips together. “Mmhmm. What’s going on in the outside world?”
“Well, my husband wants to take me on a honeymoon.”
“What a bastard,” I tease.
God, it’s good listening to someone else’s life.
She laughs. “I know. I’ve just got a lot on at work. We’re expanding, and I’m overseeing the building of the new training areas.”
“And you don’t want to leave the dogs.”
Wren began volunteering at the local dog rehoming centre, and then she was offered a paid job. She’s now working on other avenues the centre can get income from.
“I could take them all home. Especially our older dogs. They’re not likely to get rehomed. With the training rooms being rented by guide dog trainers and a groomer, I’m hoping we can do something for our long-term dogs. Brody won’t let me adopt them.”
“You can’t really have an apartment full of dogs, Wren.”
“All the more reason for us to save our money, skip the holiday, and buy a house with a huge garden.”
Oh my God, they’re going to end up with ten dogs.
“When are you back at uni?” she asks.
“Next week, I think. I’ll email Grant today and see if he can give me more of what I’ve missed.”
Though I don’t think I’ll be able to get into it.
“Don’t worry, Indie, you’re the smartest person I know. You’ll soon catch up.”
“Have you heard from Mila?”
“This morning. Her car broke down again. Reid had to jump start it.”
Reid is Mila’s very beautiful neighbour. I think he’s an editor. He always has books and manuscripts with him. He lives alone after his parents moved back to his hometown. He also has a bit of a thing for Mila, I’m sure of it.
She’s currently with Liam… or almost back with him.
“Her car is worse than mine.”
“Your car would survive a nuclear attack.”
“See, everyone thinks it’s crap but at least it’s reliable.”
“It is crap. It’s about a hundred years old and full of rust.”
I roll my eyes and pick up a watch from the counter. It’s the watch I bought Dad for Christmas, four years ago. The batteries have run out, the hands frozen at two-fifteen. I curl my fingers around it and close my eyes.
“If you’re better at the weekend, do you want to come over for dinner? Brody is out with Luke and Mason.”
“I’m in if I feel better,” I lie. There is no way I can leave Mum. We have no alcohol in the house now, but I can’t risk leaving her. She knows how to get deliveries of alcohol sent to the house. I don’t even know how long the detox will take, either. She might still be suffering.
“Great. Okay, I need to head out, but I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Yeah, bye, Wren.”
She blows a kiss down the phone and hangs up.
I hold the watch to my chest. It’s so very weird grieving Dad when I feel like I lost him a long time ago. I’m not even totally relieved that I don’t have to check on him every morning.
Well, if I’m honest with myself, I’m a little relieved. I would just continue doing it if I could have him back. What a messed-up situation.
I make a tea and
