What Goes Around... (18 page)

So I might as well have enjoyed putting on.

I park in the car park and I go to unclip Daisy, except she’s asleep.

She’s sound asleep an
d she doesn’t deserve to be disturbed.

I could le
ave her for two minutes, surely?

But it’s hot for May and I can’t.

I blink as it passes.

It just stops.

The urge just goes back from wherever it came.

I’ve never felt it leave before really – I mean a severe one.

I’ve always fed it.

So, instead of coming to in the front seat, fac
e and hands greasy from chicken, with empty containers surrounding me that I need to hide in the bin, instead of hating myself further, I’m coming to in the back seat and feeling stronger.

I gaze at a sleeping Daisy.

Then I ring Paul.

He’s at work, but he can talk.

I tell him what I’ve done, what I said to Eleanor, how it’s not fair on us, that we never get a chance to go out.

‘There will be time for all that later,’ he tells me. ‘Right now, you need to sort out Eleanor.’ He tells me what I know I need to do, what I was probably coming around to myself but it sort of speeds up the process when you’ve got someone you can talk to.

It feels nice that, for the first time, I do speak to another person about what’s on my mind.

I can’t tell him everything.

Paul goes a bit funny when I mention
him
.

I’ve tried to explain that I don’t usually talk or think about him this much – it’s just what with him being dead and now that bloody Lucy is stalling on the kids
’ payout…

Well, we don’t do very well when we talk about that but we’re doing very well talking about this.

‘Go with Eleanor to see the GP,’ Paul says.

‘She won’t go.’

‘She might now,’ Paul pushes. ‘Go round there now.’

It’s almost as if Eleanor is waiting for me. She opens the door and she just sobs in my arms. Daisy just lies asleep in her car seat on the floor beside her. I don’t cry, I’m still feeling strong.

I was strong with the GP’s receptionist too when I rang.

I told them I was picking up my daughter and we were on our way and we were not to be kept waiting for long.

The receptionist told me that I didn’t have an appointment and that she couldn’t fit me in till Thursday.

I said I was on my way.

She said there would be a long wait.

Do you know what I said?

‘Added up, I have probably spent six months of my life politely waiting for Doctor Carmody to see me. I’ve never complained and I’ve never made a fuss, so tell him, between patients, that Gloria Jameson is on her way with her daughter and, if anything, I expect Doctor Carmody to be waiting for me!’

I still can’t believe that I said that, but honestly I did.

I pile Eleanor in a car that is free of chicken takeaway boxes and I clip Daisy in the back. The snooty receptionist is pissed off when we walk in but, instead of being told to take a seat, we are taken straight through to the treatment room!

‘Gloria!’ Dr Carmody comes in about ten minutes later. He’s a lovely man. He’s been my doctor since before Eleanor was born. He’s seen me at my worst – far worse than Eleanor is now, let me tell you
, and he knows I don’t like to make a fuss.

He talks to Eleanor, who says little at first - just that she can’t stand to be near the baby. That she can’t stand how she can’t stand to be near the baby.

That she wishes it had never happened, how she wants it all to go away.

‘Do you want the baby to go away?’ Dr Carmody asks her
.

I don’t start crying or sobbing when she nods, nor when she voices her thoughts.

Better out than in, I tell myself.

They’re no worse than the thoughts I once had.

I just look at Daisy who’s still sleeping and Eleanor starts begging me not to go out tonight.

‘I’m not going to leave you with Daisy.’ I tell her.

I’m not.

For all that everyone moans about the NHS, if you get a GP like Dr Carmody, you really have nothing to complain about. For forty minutes we are in there and we’ll be back
again next week, I tell the receptionist, as I make the appointment and I thank her for getting Eleanor seen.

For the first time in six weeks we have a plan.

‘Eleanor has to be at my house at nine o’clock every school day,’ I tell Paul as we walk with Daisy to the slimming club. ‘And I don’t care if she just sits in the chair, Eleanor’s got to come. She’s on medication.’ Paul holds my hand over where I’m holding the pushchair as we walk. ‘Doctor Carmody is ringing around the mother and baby units but hopefully things will start to improve now.’

‘They will.’ He gives my hand a squeeze as we reach the centre.

‘We still haven’t been out on a proper date.’ I feel terrible for him I really do, it’s night-time feeds and nappies and I’m constantly exhausted.

‘We’re a couple with a new baby,
’ Paul smiles as he looks at Daisy. ‘We’ll get a babysitter at the weekend, if you want to go out.’

‘I don’
t mind not going out,’ I tell him. ‘I just feel bad for you.’

‘Gloria,’ he says. ‘I haven’t been this happy in a long time.’

He says the nicest things sometimes. ‘I really don’t want to get weighed,’ I admit. ‘I might not bother.’

‘Come on,’ says Paul and steers me in there. We line up in the queue. I bite my lip as she writes down my weight and the
n I get back my little book. I don’t look at it till I’ve sat down.

Paul’s lost one pound.

He doesn’t gloat.

I ask to see as I always do and when he shows me his, I show him mine.

Except, I’ve put on three pounds.

Imagine if I’d had that chicken?

The meeting starts. Beryl has a life-size cardboard cut out of her, from before she lost all her weight. She carts it around to all the meetings she holds in different venues and then, presumably, she takes it home. I could think of nothing worse than being reminded of how big I was, but it must work for her. She asks who’s had a loss and they get a gold star and then she asks if anyone has had a gain.

‘Three pounds.’

Normally I wouldn’t have answered. In fact, normally I wouldn’t have even shown up for the meeting.

Beryl goes through my food journal and we both know I’m lying, that I haven’t put everything I’ve eaten down.

‘What about exercise?’

‘I’ve got a six week old baby to look after.’

‘You have to make time for you, Gloria.’ Beryl says.

‘When?’

Beryl opens her mouth to give one of her long, convoluted answers, but I get in first. ‘I stopped to get chicken takeaway today,’ I tell her and I tell how badly I wanted it and how upset I was.

‘Did you ask yourself if you wanted that piece of chicken?’

‘I did,’ I say. ‘And, I did.’ Beryl purses her lips. ‘But a few minutes later it passed,’ I tell her. ‘I didn’t end up going in.’

I get a round of applause from the attendees and Beryl gives me a pat on the arm and yes, I’ve gained three pounds this week, but I’ve gained other things too. Like strength and knowledge and a plan for my daughter and a man who makes me smile.

‘I’m back on track,’ I tell Beryl.

Lucy

‘Mum! It’s Jess on the phone.’

I peel open my eyes and I try to orientate myself. It’s light
and the clock by my bed says it’s six but I don't know if it's morning or night.

‘Tell her that I'll call her back.’ I go to pull the duvet back over my head and then I remember something about getting takeaway and I know that I have to get up.

I know that something has to give.

I’m finally Eleanor.

I’m lying in bed ignoring a kid whose father has died and I hate myself.

Maybe I should see my doctor but she knows about the Viagra. I just can't face anyone who knows. Anyway, I’m going to change my doctor, I remember
, but it all seems too hard.

I just need some time.

I need some time.

I want to hide but it’s not fair on Charlotte.

Maybe I'll ask Luke and Jess to have her this weekend, or even for a few days. I just need some time on my own. I need some time where I don't have to think about dinner and breakfast and washing and uniforms and conversation and all the questions that she has about her father.

‘Jess needs to speak to you now.’ Charlotte hands me the phone. ‘She sounds like she's crying.’

Jess is crying.

Through my fog, I feel the same lurch of fear that I felt when I turned into the street and saw the ambulance and police car. Jess has been in an accident, she's okay, she reassures
me, through sobs.

She
is waiting for the tow truck and she can't face a taxi.

‘Luke’s at Glasgow airport
, he won’t be back for a couple of hours.’

‘It's fine,’ I tell her. ‘I'll come and get you now.’ I get directions and I hang up. Charlotte’s all anxious and wants to come with me
, but I'm worried about pulling up on the hard shoulder and I don't know what state Jess is in. It's not what she needs.

‘You stay here,
’ I tell her. ‘I'll ring you as soon as I get there.’

Honestly, I don't know if I'm doing the right thing leaving Charlotte on her own
- I’ve just got less and less options these days.

The traffic is heaving and I crawl along the motorway. I remember that Charlotte hasn't had dinner and that her uniform’s sitting wet at the bottom of the washing machine. I MUST remember to get it out.

These days, I have to force myself to do things that were once so automatic.

I have to really concentrate just to drive.

I pull up as Jess’s car is being towed and she apologises as she climbs in. ‘I’m sorry. I know you don't need this.’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ I tell her and I notice how pale she looks. ‘Are you sure you're not hurt?’

‘I've just got a headache. It's my own fault - I wasn't looking. I just pulled out without thinking.’

‘It’s their fault if they go into the back of you.’

‘I know,’ Jess says, ‘and Luke said the same when I called him. The thing is, it was my fault - I wasn’t looking.’

I grab some dinner. Not the burgers and pizza that we seem to be living on these days - I actually ring ahead and order Italian. I pick it up and we get home and Charlotte is delighted to see us, and with food!

I throw her dress in the dryer and make a massive pot of tea. Luke rings when he lands but, with the way the traffic is, he’s still a while away. ‘No, you can’t wait up for him,’ I tell Charlotte and I see her up to bed.

‘Love you,’ she says.

‘Love you too.’ I give her a kiss.

‘Sweet dreams,’ she calls as I reach the door.

‘Sweet dreams,’ I say.

‘See you in the morning.’

I close my eyes. I feel this tension building inside and I wish she’d stop, I wish the world would just stop for a moment and let me get my breath. I can’t ask Luke and Jess to have her now. The only person I could ask is Mum – she keeps offering.

Yeah, like I’d let her have Charlotte for a few days, l
ike I’d trust my mother with a child.

I don’t know how she has the gall to even ask.

‘See you in the morning,’ I say and head downstairs.

‘What are you doing?’ Jess asks as I haul the ironing board out. ‘Can’t you do it in the morning?’ Then she laughs, she’s looking a lot better. ‘Sorry, I forgot it’s you.’

Jess still thinks I’m super organised, little does she know that it’s all gone to pot.

I must get back into my routines.

I feel safer with them.

I must go on
a diet too.

I iron Charlotte’s dress and I put out socks and I sign a school note as Jess watches on and we chat.

‘It’s a lot of work.’

‘Kids are,’ I say and then I look over and try to make a little joke. ‘Are you sure that you won’t change your mind and have one.’

And, just when I thought I’d cheered her up, Jess starts crying, not a lot, just a bit. ‘Shit, Jess…’

Me and my mouth! Maybe they’re trying, maybe she just lost one. I go and put my arms around her. It feels strange to have a human in them; I’ve just stopped all contact really. She weeps for a moment and then she tell
s me.

‘I don’t know what I want.’

She cries for maybe another minute and then she pulls away. ‘Sorry.’

‘Stop saying sorry.’ Why does everyone keep apologising to me?