Читать книгу My Pear-Shaped Life - Carmel Harrington - Страница 12

Greta was disorientated at first. She couldn’t remember where she was, and even though the room was pitch black, something about it felt wrong. Different. This wasn’t home. Then her brain clicked into gear, and her memory came back. She was in a hotel. In London. The sound of housekeeping banging on her hotel room door startled her, alerting her to the fact that it was well after eleven a.m., her checkout time. She pulled herself up to a sitting position and looked around the room in alarm. Strewn across the floor were empty packets of crisps and chocolate. She’d eaten all of this? She closed her eyes and tried to piece together the events of the previous evening. The last thing she remembered was falling asleep at about four in the afternoon. Nearly twelve hours previously. And she’d only eaten one bag of crisps before that. She was sure of that fact.

Something was slipping inside her; her control on the situation, on herself, on life. She was losing … she just wasn’t sure what that was yet. It must be jet lag, from the early flight.

She pushed aside the fact that there was no time zone change between Ireland and the UK. Her hands itched to find her bottle of tablets again. Had she taken another tablet during the night? Her rule of an occasional tablet to help with her insomnia and anxiety had somehow drifted to one every night these past few months …

She took a quick shower, dressed, packed her case and made her way to the airport. She noticed she had dozens of missed calls and messages from her family. A flurry of messages had come in from various Gales throughout the morning. Including a new text message from Aidan.

Aidan: Why do you have to be such a bitch? Just let Mam and Dad know you are alive.

Talk about going over the top. She wasn’t a seven-year-old. She was a grown woman!

Greta: Soz Mam and Dad. Did I nearly give you a heart attack with the worry? I’m such an eejit. I left my charger on the train yesterday and phone went dead. Had to buy a new one today. Hope you weren’t too worried. London is so much fun! Love it here. G x

That should quieten them all down. And she would even be magnanimous with Aidan when he apologized for his unnecessary comment. After all, it was hardly her fault she had no charge for her phone.

That was the thing with lies, when you told enough of them, they became easier to believe.

After traipsing through security, and feeling ravenous because she’d missed breakfast, she headed to Burger King for a Chicken Sandwich meal. An hour later she boarded her flight. The meal she’d eaten made her feel sluggish. She wished she could click her heels and be at home in her warm bed. Once she was buckled into her seatbelt, with the help of the extender strap, she thought about the half tablet from the night before. She scooped it out and swallowed it dry.

Hands gripped her shoulders, shaking her, hard. It hurt and Greta shrugged them off. A voice shouted in her ear, ‘Are you OK? Hello? Are you OK, miss?’

Greta opened her eyes and realized that her head was slumped against the aeroplane seat in front of her. She could feel the imprint of the table-top on her forehead. She looked around and saw that the plane was empty. They’d landed in Dublin and she couldn’t even remember taking off in Gatwick. Greta wiped away a line of drool that was making its way down her chin. Her face flamed as she felt a flush rush over her body, top to toe. Please don’t let me have done anything stupid.

‘It looked like you weren’t breathing there for a minute. I got quite a fright,’ the stewardess said.

‘What must you think of me? I’m so sorry. Honestly, I’m an eejit,’ Greta replied. ‘I didn’t get much sleep last night; it must have caught up on me. Someone had a party in the room next door to me in my hotel. It kept me awake all night.’

‘I thought you were dead.’

Greta put her two hands up and did her best zombie impression. ‘I feel a bit like the walking dead, for sure.’ Greta unclipped her belt. The stewardess looked unsure. Greta wanted to get off the plane and away from her probing eyes and questions. She’d been stupid to take a pill when on public transport. Rookie error. She needed to be more careful. And as Greta made her way through the arrivals hall, that new feeling joined the regular residents of shame and embarrassment that lived inside her these days. She was scared. But she didn’t have time to analyse that because her mother was waiting for her, smiling, eyes bright with expectation. Emily opened her arms to welcome her daughter home.

‘All OK, love?’

Greta could still feel the imprint of the hard seat on her forehead, where she’d slumped for the one-hour flight. But she pushed that away and gushed, ‘Mam, London was amazeballs. Honestly, we have to go together soon! The view from the London Eye is incredible. It made me quite emotional, took my breath away.’

‘You wouldn’t get me up into one of those things! Look at you, all flushed with excitement from the trip!’

Greta thought about the too-small seatbelts, the sweating and the blackouts. ‘It’s been so much fun. And they loved me in the audition. Nailed it!’

‘Course they loved you. That dress was beautiful on you. The nicest thing I’ve seen on you in years.’

‘Thanks, Mam. I felt really good in it.’

‘Did you take lots of photos?’

‘I couldn’t, Mam. No charge on my phone, remember? And I really am sorry about scaring you.’

‘That’s all right love. Once you are safe and happy, I’m happy. When will you hear about the part do you think?’ Emily asked as she paid for the airport car park.

Greta shrugged. ‘It’s hard to know. Could be weeks. But they did ask me if I was free in September when they start shooting.’

‘I’ll start the novenas tonight then. No harm in asking for a bit of help from up there,’ Emily said as she fed money into the car-park machine, and Greta wondered if the nine days of prayer might indeed make the difference between success and failure.

All of a sudden Greta felt the ground swoop up towards her. Her head swam and her eyes blurred as she grabbed onto the wall to steady herself.

Emily missed the whole thing. She chattered on, happily unaware of her daughter’s light-headedness. As she was about to get into the driver’s seat, her phone rang. ‘Oh, it’s your aunty Amanda!’ She tossed the car keys to Greta and said, ‘You’d better drive home. I haven’t spoken to her since she got home from New York last week.’

Greta knew she should tell her mother that she didn’t feel well enough to drive. She was out of sorts, woozy from her sleep on the flight. But her mother was oblivious to everything but the animated conversation she was already having with her sister. They were close and spoke every few days. Sometimes they drove each other mad, and her mother often called her Amazing Amanda behind her back, because her life was … well, amazing. But it was said in affection.

‘What are you waiting for, G?’ Emily said. ‘We want to beat the M50 traffic before the evening rush.’

You should drive, Mam. I don’t feel well. But the words in Greta’s head refused to form. She couldn’t cope with the inevitable questions that her admission would evoke. The looks she would be given, the unsaid accusations about her weight and the effect it was having on her health. So Greta shook herself both mentally and physically, then switched the engine on. She could do this drive in her sleep. Greta stifled a yawn. For someone who found it hard to sleep most of the time, right now she’d give anything to close her eyes.

The traffic was kind, and Greta was on the M50 in under five minutes. She stayed in the slow lane and turned the air con down to fifteen, its lowest setting. She needed the cold blast to keep awake.

‘One-sec, Mand’ …’ Emily paused her conversation and fiddled with the air con. ‘Are you trying to turn me to ice?! Honestly sometimes, G …’

As the temperature rose from ice cold to warm, Greta felt the weight of lead pushing her eyelids closed. Her feet felt numb. She felt her head loll down but jumped back up when her mother’s voice exclaimed loudly, ‘Go away! As big as that? Well, I never …’

Greta was surprised when she found herself turning into her road. She had driven the twenty-five-minute journey to Lucan on autopilot.

‘Greta! In the name of God, what are you doing!’ Emily shrieked suddenly.

Greta’s eyes opened just in time to see their car moving towards the lawn outside Mrs Oaks’s house, their next-door neighbour. She pushed down hard on the brakes, but it was too late to stop or swerve back onto the road. She felt her mother’s hand on her arm, and heard her screams. But the car continued through Mrs Oaks’s rhododendron bushes, before hitting the side of her garage face on. The airbags exploded on impact and Greta blacked out for the third time in less than twenty-four hours.

When she came to, the first thing she noticed was the smell. Then she heard her mother whimpering beside her. Mam! She turned towards her and saw blood trickling down the side of Emily’s face. What had she done? What was that smell? Smoke. Was the car on fire? Mam. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry, Mam.

Emily got out of the car, staggering as she stood up. She walked around to the driver’s side and pulled Greta out. ‘Are you OK?’

Greta nodded, unable to speak, shocked by the blood on her mother’s head. It made her feel ill, and she felt the contents of her stomach heave. She proceeded to vomit everything up onto the grass.

‘That’s the shock. It’s OK. We’re both OK. I’d better ring the guards. Do you need an ambulance? Are you hurt? What on earth will Mrs Oaks say when she sees the state of her garden?’

Greta felt herself sway again at her mother’s words. ‘If the guards come, they will want to know if I’m under the influence.’

Shock flashed across Emily’s face.

‘Have you been drinking?’ Emily whispered.

‘No.’

‘Oh, thank goodness.’

‘But I did take a sleeping pill on the flight.’

Now anger flashed across Emily’s face. ‘You stupid, stupid girl. How could you be so reckless?’

Greta couldn’t look her in the eye. She hung her head low, ‘I’m sorry, Mam. I’m so sorry.’

Emily ignored her, reaching into the car until she found her phone on the floor.

‘What happened? I heard screams,’ Amanda asked, when she rang her back.

‘We crashed the car. But we are both fine. I just wanted to tell you that. But I’ve got to go now. I need to get hold of Stephen.’

His phone went to voicemail, so she left a message, then rang Ray who thankfully was at home and could come over straight away.

‘Mam …’ Greta reached over to touch her mother’s arm. All she wanted was to feel her mam’s embrace, telling her that it would be OK, everything would be fine.

‘Don’t!’ Emily took a step back from her.

Greta blanched at the intensity of Emily’s reaction.

‘Just don’t. I’ll deal with you in a bit. For now, we need to clear your mess up.’

When Ray arrived, the first thing he noticed was that Emily and Greta were standing three feet apart. His sister-in-law had a trickle of red blood staining her white face. His niece was pale, shaking, with her two arms wrapped around her chest, as if she were giving herself a hug. Ray had a feeling that whatever pain was afflicting his niece, it was the kind that you couldn’t see with the naked eye.

‘What happened?’ He walked around the car, surveying the damage.

‘I was driving. I swerved to miss a cat and lost control of the car,’ Emily said.

Ray watched the look that passed between his sister-in-law and his niece. Something didn’t add up here. ‘What am I missing here?’

Emily held eye contact with her brother-in-law and a silent communication passed between the two. The kind that only family who had shared history for decades could understand. They were the keeper of each other’s secrets. He looked around to see if there were any twitching curtains. The road was deserted, with the neighbourhood all at work. A good guess was that if anyone had seen the accident they would be out here already, rubbernecking. That was the way with most folk.

‘Is Mrs Oaks in?’ Ray asked.

Emily shook her head. She wouldn’t get home from work until after six at the earliest.

Ray squeezed into the driver’s seat, pushing the deflated airbag away from him. The smell of smoke and powder tickled his nose, making his throat feel scratchy. He switched the engine on and was surprised to hear it turn over. He reversed it out slowly, then moved it into its rightful place, next door. He’d call a tow truck, later on, to take it away. He figured it was a write-off. Mrs Oaks’s garage wall was unmarked, with not even a scratch on it. But there was considerable damage to the lawn and the flowerbeds. Ray felt his stomach flip as he contemplated how much worse this could be. If anything had happened to Emily or Greta … He saw Emily wipe another trickle of blood away and he took hold of her arm and led her towards the house. ‘Let’s go inside and have a cup of tea. I want to take a look at that cut.’

‘I’d better ring Mrs Oaks to tell her what’s happened,’ Emily said.

Greta couldn’t take her eyes off the squashed flowers. Muddy brown tyre marks ripped through the green lawn, telling tales of the reckless, stupid, unforgivable thing she’d done. She’d put her mother’s life at risk. Her own, she didn’t care about.

The weather was in sync with how she felt, because all at once it began to lash rain, the clouds grey and thunderous above them. She felt movement at her feet; when she looked down, the scrappy black dog was sitting beside her again. His coat was drenched, showing how thin and bedraggled he was. Poor little mite. His eyes met hers, and Greta recognized something of herself in him again.

‘Inside,’ Emily shouted, her voice shrill. ‘Now!’

Greta followed her indoors, looking back one last time at the dog. And the fear that had been snaking its way around her body since she’d arrived at Dublin airport made its way to her neck and started to tighten, strangling her. She wasn’t sure she was ever going to be able to untangle herself from its grasp ever again.