Darling Girls, page 9
Nope. Mel Robbins’ tip was bullshit.
What was she going to do now?
She thought about waking Phil. So what? he’d say. You took some Valium! They shouldn’t have left it lying around.
It didn’t matter that Jessica was in the wrong – not to Phil. His loyalty was blinding. Once, when they were first married, Jessica had reversed into a parked car. They hadn’t had much money back then, and she’d been furious with herself for being so stupid.
‘What kind of idiot leaves their car parked somewhere?’ Phil had said when she told him.
She’d laughed and laughed. That was the point. But she’d stopped laughing somewhere along the line. Not just at Phil. She’d stopped laughing at all. There was just always so much to do!
What she needed, ironically, was a Valium, to help her think. She’d been prescribed benzodiazepines three years ago, after having what she later discovered was her first panic attack. She’d been helping a client sort through her deceased mother’s attic when it came on quite suddenly.
It started with acute, overwhelming nausea. Within minutes she was breathless, her palms were damp, her mouth dry. There was a pain in her chest: a sharp, stabbing pain that she thought might be a heart attack. She told her client – Mrs Souz – not to call an ambulance; Jessica had never liked a lot of fuss. Sure enough, by the time Mrs Souz fetched her a glass of water and asked if she might be pregnant, she was already feeling better.
She’d assumed it was a one-off thing, a ‘funny turn’. But then, three weeks later, it happened again.
‘Panic attacks are very common,’ Dr Sullivan told her, when she finally made an appointment. ‘But they can be quite frightening when you don’t know what they are. If you do nothing, they will go away on their own. But if it’s impacting your livelihood, you might want to consider medication.’
‘I don’t want pills,’ Jessica had said. ‘I have a business to run. I can’t be in a daze.’
‘It affects people differently, but many people find that all it does is take the edge off. In any case, I think you should fill the script, Jessica. Some patients find just having the bottle with them makes them feel more secure. Knowing it’s there if they need it is enough.’
Being the rule-follower she was, Jessica had the prescription filled. And the next time she had a panic attack – in the car on the way to a client – she pulled over and took a pill. The result wasn’t instantaneous. By the time it kicked in twenty minutes later she’d all but recovered from the panic attack. Still, she felt it. Like a blanket of calm. Her thoughts slowed, her chest became loose. It was a fucking miracle. And it was available to her whenever she needed it.
It carried on this way for a while. She’d have a panic attack every so often, take a pill, and then have a wonderful day. After a while she started taking a preemptive pill before a busy day, just in case. They were excellent for sleep, too, she found. When she took a pill, she slept like the dead. She started to yearn for that feeling she got when the pill slid down her throat. The knowledge that calm was coming. No amount of meditation, yoga or journalling could bring her that same sense of peace.
The pills ran out surprisingly fast, and at the speed Jessica was consuming them, the doctor was reluctant to prescribe more. But one of the great things about being a home organiser was that you had access to a lot of people’s medicine cabinets. Jessica only took a few here and there. She had a reputation to protect, after all. Lately, though, she’d become a little more cavalier – hence the hullabaloo at Debbie’s house today.
Jessica sat up. For heaven’s sake – if there was ever a time to take a pill, this was it. Tomorrow was going to be a big day, a difficult day, and she needed a good night’s sleep if she was going to be on her game. In the morning, she’d call Debbie and smooth things over. It would be fine. Everything always looked brighter after a good night’s sleep.
She opened her bedside drawer and fished out an emergency bottle of pills she’d placed there for moments like this. These were heavy-duty. Extra-strength. The label read Emily Makiv. Nice woman. Jessica had organised her pantry last year.
Jessica tipped two pills into her hand and reached for her water bottle. Sleep is coming, she told herself as she lay back down. Sleep is coming soon.
THE OFFICE OF DR WARREN, PSYCHIATRIST
My next session with Dr Warren starts much like the previous two – with him pointing at the vacant chair and then making me wait several minutes for no discernible reason before he appears to remember I’m there. This time, I don’t sit in silence till he tells me to speak. I am a little short of people who are prepared to listen to me lately. And when no one will listen to you, the idea of an open forum starts to look quite appealing.
‘Where was I up to?’ I say.
His gaze is already back on his file. ‘The church ladies came to your house to help out with your financial situation.’
I might have been flattered that he remembered had I not spied the words ‘church ladies/money problems’ written on the notepad in front of him, under the date of our last session.
‘That’s right . . . Well, the week after the church ladies showed up, they came back with the parish accountant, a man called John Wagner. He was there to help Mum go through the bills and get an idea of our financial situation. John was a big, tall man and he wore a shirt and slacks, which was unusual for the country. He reminded me of a schoolteacher.’ I grimaced at the memory of him. ‘He spoke very formally to my mother. He didn’t even look at me. He and Mum spent the entire day in the dining room, going through boxes of bills, and looking at statements and payments from past years. Every few hours, John would yell out, “Can we get some coffee in here?”; “Can we get some tea in here?”; “Can we get a sandwich in here?”
‘I remember being surprised. I’d never made my parents tea or coffee or lunch before. Still, if John was helping Mum, I was happy to oblige – even when he failed to thank me for my efforts.
‘After he left, Mum was more animated than usual. She heated up some soup for our dinner and, as we ate, she told me she was hopeful that, with John’s guidance, she might be able to get on top of things. I threw my arms around her when she said that, which is saying something. Mum was so surprised she almost forgot to hug me back.
‘“John was a bit weird,” I said to her when I’d resumed my seat. “He didn’t even make eye contact with me once.”
‘“Really?” Mum said, frowning. “I didn’t notice. I thought he was nice.”
‘“Oh, he is nice,” I said quickly. “Helping us with our finances out of the goodness of his heart? He doesn’t need to look at me. I’ll always be grateful.”
‘Mum looked relieved. She said, “Well . . . good. You can bring some of that gratitude with you to church tomorrow.”
‘I blinked. “Church?”
‘“It’s the least we can do after what they’ve done for us.”
‘I groaned. “Fine. As long as it doesn’t become a regular thing.”
‘But it did become a regular thing. Week after week we went to church every Sunday and listened to the pastor drone on about being a good Christian. We sat in a pew with the women who’d come to the house, and afterwards we stood out the front while the members of the congregation chatted. John, who played the organ during the service, joined us, and he and Mum would stay talking long after everyone else had left. At first, I was glad to see this, hopeful that his influence would keep Mum on the path towards financial competence. But by the fourth week, when I once again found myself waiting for my mother to finish up a conversation with John, I started to feel irritated.
‘“Mum!” I whined, pulling on her arm. “You’ve been talking for ages. Let’s go.”’
‘“Do not speak to your mother like that,” John said, so sharply that both Mum and I startled. It was, I realised, the first time he’d acknowledged my existence at all, and the rage in his eyes felt incongruent with my infraction. I was just a child.
‘“Don’t just stand there gaping,” he said. “Apologise to your mother.”
‘I looked at Mum, who appeared as surprised as me. But after a moment, she nodded. I’d never felt so betrayed.
‘“I’m sorry,” I said, looking at my shoes.
‘After that, I stood quietly while John told Mum that she’d allowed me to take advantage of my father’s death. At my age, he said, I should be doing at least as much as she did around the house, and I should be speaking to her respectfully at all times. Mum listened without contradicting him.
‘“Can you believe that guy?” I said, when the two of us were walking home. “Asking me to apologise? Who does he think he is – my father?”
‘Mum winced. “He is very strict,” she conceded.
‘“And then saying I’ve taken advantage of Dad’s death! That I need to do more around the house!”
‘“He doesn’t have any children of his own, so I think he’s a bit out of step with his expectations,” my mother allowed. “But I could hardly tell him that after everything he’s done for us. Better to be polite. Besides, he’s right – you could be doing a little more around the house.”
‘“I don’t like him,” I said sulkily. “Why do we have to go to church, anyway?”
‘“Because the church gave us money.”
‘“So now they own us?”
‘“No. But we need to be respectful.”
‘“To John?”
‘“Yes. To John.”
Dr Warren listens avidly as I relate this, straightening in his seat every time I mention my relationship with my mother. I wonder what it is about her that interests him so much.
‘And that made you angry?’ he says. ‘Having her take his side like that?’
‘I guess.’
‘Must have been lonely,’ Dr Warren says. ‘Losing your father and then, in a way, losing your mother.’
‘Yes.’ The tears that spring to my eyes are born of surprise as much as anything else. ‘It was.’
A long silence ensues. I’m not sure what is happening, but I sense that Dr Warren is pleased with me. And even as a fully grown woman, there is something about pleasing people that still makes me feel good.
‘I’m afraid our time is up,’ he says, a second before the knock on the door. He closes the file in his lap and opens the brown leather briefcase by his feet. It contains an alphabetical file organiser. A filing system in a bag. He flicks through the dividers until he gets to ‘F’ for Fairchild.
‘I’ll see you next time,’ he says as he slides my file inside.
14
NORAH
From the back seat of Jessica’s Audi, Norah reached between her sisters and grabbed the vanilla-scented cardboard air-freshener tab that hung from the rear-view mirror.
‘Hey!’ Jessica cried.
‘These are full of chemicals,’ Norah said, tossing it out the window of the moving car. ‘I read somewhere they can give you cancer.’
Norah had read no such thing, but the smell of those things was like sandpaper against her brain, and she would never last the distance to Port Agatha with it in the car.
‘I wouldn’t need it if you didn’t always insist on bringing your dogs in my car!’ Jessica muttered. ‘Where am I dropping them anyway?’
Norah had been slightly duplicitous when she’d loaded them into the car, telling Jessica she just needed to ‘drop them somewhere’ and immediately changing the subject. She’d hoped Jessica would forget they were there, but they weren’t being their best selves. Thong had already drooled all over the leather seats and Couch had shed hair everywhere except for the blankets Norah had brought for him to sit on. Converse, who was resting his head on the centre console, had been relatively quiet, but that was only because he’d discovered the bag of bougie dog treats in Jessica’s bag and devoured the lot, meaning he would soon have terrible gas.
‘Doggy day care?’ Alicia suggested, when Norah didn’t respond.
‘As if,’ Norah said. ‘Those things cost an arm and a leg!’
‘Jessica will pay,’ Alicia said, and Jessica nodded enthusiastically. Jessica loved paying for things. ‘It’s only money,’ she’d say with a wistful, floating expression, as if she were a meditation teacher. ‘You can’t take it with you when you die.’
As for Norah, she was more than happy to take Jessica’s money. In fact, lately, whenever Norah wanted new clothes, she simply emailed links to Jessica and a few days later the desired garments showed up in boxes on her doorstep. It was like Uberclothes, except they didn’t charge her card.
Alicia, however, refused to take Jessica’s money. Recently, when Norah was giving her a hard time about it, Alicia told her it was because she was too proud.
‘Proud of what?’ Norah had cried. ‘Being poor?’
Alicia hadn’t responded. Sometimes Norah didn’t understand her at all.
‘Norah,’ Jessica said tightly. ‘Tell me where I’m taking these dogs, or I swear I’m leaving them on the side of the road.’
‘Jess,’ Alicia said in a conciliatory tone, ‘surely we can let them –’
‘No. They can’t come all the way to Port Agatha. Not in my new car.’
‘They’re on blankets,’ Norah said. ‘And they’ve already drooled on the seats.’
Jessica looked like her head might explode. Luckily, her phone chose that moment to ring. ‘Fine!’ she said. ‘But never again. I mean it, Norah.’
Alicia gave her the thumbs-up and Norah settled back into her seat happily, ready to enjoy the drive as they left the city behind.
‘Jessica Lovat, Love Your Home,’ Jessica said.
‘Hey, Jess, it’s me.’ Norah recognised the voice that boomed over the speaker. It was Sonja, the manager of Jessica’s business. ‘Sorry to bother you on a weekend.’
Norah snorted. As if Jessica didn’t work all day every day. As did Sonja, apparently, since it was Saturday morning. Trust Jessica to find such a high-achieving employee.
‘Hi, Son. What’s up?’
‘Just a quick one: I had a phone call from a client . . . Debbie Montgomery-Squires? You did her bathroom overhaul yesterday?’
Jessica’s face darkened. ‘Is this about some missing pills? I reorganised her cabinets. Things were moved around.’
Norah caught sight of Jessica’s face in the rear-view mirror. There was something off about her, Norah thought.
‘I know,’ Sonja said. ‘I explained that. I just wanted to touch base because I’m a bit worried about her. She’s the litigious type. The type to go to A Current Affair.’
Jessica’s jaw flickered. ‘I’m headed out of town, bit of a family emergency, but I’ll give her a call now, okay? I’ll offer her a free wardrobe cleanse.’
‘Can I suggest consulting with legal first?’ Sonia countered. ‘In case that could be seen as an admission of guilt?’
‘Good idea,’ Jessica said. ‘Thank goodness for you.’ She ended the call. ‘Never work with rich people or animals,’ she told her sisters.
‘That’s a bit rude,’ Norah said. ‘To animals.’
‘What was that about?’ Alicia asked.
Jessica shrugged. ‘Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.’ Her cheeks were pink.
‘Pills, eh?’ Norah said. ‘I remember when people used to steal jewellery.’
‘I didn’t steal anything!’
‘I know, I know,’ Norah said. ‘I’m just saying, if you did want to steal, go for cash. The safes are always behind paintings in those big houses. At least, that’s where they are in the movies.’
Norah trailed off when her phone beeped. Looking at the screen, she saw it was Kevin.
Loved that photo.
Norah rolled her eyes. Of course he loved it. Who wouldn’t? Meanwhile, she had a list of odd jobs still to be done. He sent another message.
How ’bout another one?
The audacity, Norah thought. For a broken nose? He should count himself lucky he didn’t end up with two broken legs.
‘Who’s texting you?’ Jessica asked.
‘The man I went on a date with yesterday.’
‘Ooh,’ Jessica said. ‘Must have gone well if he’s texting?’
Alicia spun around. ‘Let’s see a picture.’
Norah pulled up his profile pic and handed Alicia her phone.
‘Is this him?’ She sounded appalled. ‘He looks like a chipmunk.’
‘A weasel,’ Norah corrected. ‘And that photo is flattering.’
Alicia shuddered. ‘Gross.’
‘I didn’t expect you to fancy him,’ Norah said defensively, taking her phone back, ‘what with you being a lesbian and all.’
‘She’s bisexual,’ Jessica corrected, perking up. Jessica loved talking about the fact that Alicia was bisexual. She found it exciting. Norah also found it exciting, truth be told. She’d looked forward to the arrival of a sister-in-law, perhaps one with a dog, but so far Alicia had been a very disappointing lesbian-or-bisexual. She’d never even had a girlfriend.
‘She’s a non-sexual,’ Norah said.
‘For God’s sake,’ Alicia muttered.
‘You are,’ Norah said. ‘When was the last time you had sex?’
‘Alicia has an avoidant attachment style,’ Jessica said. ‘She pushes people away before they get too close.’
‘Okay, Brené Brown,’ Alicia said. ‘We were talking about Norah’s date.’
‘Classic avoidant,’ Jessica said, throwing a small smile over her shoulder.
‘Are you sexting him?’ Alicia said, looking over her shoulder.
‘I had to,’ Norah explained. ‘I broke his nose, so I needed to do something to stop him from pressing charges.’
The sharp intake of breath that followed made Norah wonder if Jessica was having a medical episode.
‘Relax,’ Norah said. ‘I sent him a photo of my boobs. He’ll never do anything now. My boobs are magnificent.’
‘That’s true,’ Alicia said.
