station, after first collecting the children from aftercare. He showed no concern for her well-being after the accident, or her ordeal at the station. He was cold, measured, which was more frightening than if he had been incandescent. They faced each other across the granite-topped island in the kitchen, Fiona thinking that really this probably wasn’t the time to dive into the fridge and pull out a bottle, but never had she wanted a drink more. Her head was throbbing, muzzy from the stress and the shock. She couldn’t think straight. She really didn’t want to talk about what had happened, but Tim was pointing at her, jabbing a finger in a manner that was uncharacteristic. He was usually so mild-mannered and easy-going.
‘You’re going to have to do some serious thinking to get us out of this mess,’ he was proclaiming.
‘I know. But we should get a courtesy car on the insurance. And I can always arrange for the girls to get a lift—’
He looked at her in disbelief.
‘I’m not talking about lift-shares. I’m talking about your fucking problem.’
Fiona flinched. Tim hardly ever swore. She tried to smile, shaking her head to show she didn’t understand.
‘Problem . . . ?’
‘For heaven’s sake, Fiona. I’ve tried to rein you in. Time and again. Screwing the lid back on the bottle so you can’t drain it dry every night. Keeping us out all day on a Saturday to put off the point at which you get the corkscrew out. Steering the waiters away from you at a cocktail party. It’s embarrassing, Fiona. Whenever we go out somewhere, you’re completely blotto by nine o’clock—’
‘Who isn’t?’ She felt rightfully indignant. He was talking as if all their friends were card-carrying members of some temperance society.
‘Most people aren’t. Most people are relaxed, not almost incapable of speech, bouncing off the walls. Crashing out at the dinner table, for Christ’s sake—’
‘Once! And I was tired!’
‘You were unconscious! You’d drunk yourself into oblivion. Like you do every night.’
He stared at her. She didn’t know where to look. She tried to smooth down her hair, look as if she was in control.
‘OK. So maybe I’ve been drinking a bit too much. It’s just a habit. I can deal with it. It’s just a question of cutting down—’
‘Cutting down?’ Tim’s voice oozed pure vitriol. ‘To what? Just the one bottle a day?’ Fiona looked wary. ‘You think I don’t know? You think I believe that half-bottle of white wine you get out of the fridge every night is the same one you put back the night before? I know it’s a fresh one, that you’ve guzzled the rest in between . . .’
She drew herself up to meet his accusing glare, ready to defend herself.
‘So why don’t you say anything, if you know so much?’
‘Fiona, I do. I have and I do. You don’t want to listen. You don’t want to know. And frankly, I don’t understand why.’ He threw up his hands to indicate their surroundings. He looked helpless. ‘You’ve got everything . . .’
She looked at the floor.
‘I know.’
‘So what’s the problem? Are you so unhappy? Do you not like being married to me?’
‘No, I’m not unhappy . . .’
‘Then what?’
Her tears were falling thick and fast now.
‘I don’t know. Maybe I do need . . . help. Professional help.’
‘You don’t think I’m going to fork out for you to go to The Priory, do you?’ he snarled. ‘You just need to get a grip.’
‘I will. I will . . .’ She could feel snot starting to bubble out of her nose. He looked at her in disgust as she wiped it away with the back of her hand.
‘In fact, just get out. I don’t think I can even bear you in the same house at the moment.’
‘You’re kicking me out?’
‘We’ve both got some thinking to do.’
‘What about the children?’
‘What about the children? I’ll take them to school, as you obviously can’t. And I’m perfectly capable of cooking them supper. Just leave a
‘You’re going to have to do some serious thinking to get us out of this mess,’ he was proclaiming.
‘I know. But we should get a courtesy car on the insurance. And I can always arrange for the girls to get a lift—’
He looked at her in disbelief.
‘I’m not talking about lift-shares. I’m talking about your fucking problem.’
Fiona flinched. Tim hardly ever swore. She tried to smile, shaking her head to show she didn’t understand.
‘Problem . . . ?’
‘For heaven’s sake, Fiona. I’ve tried to rein you in. Time and again. Screwing the lid back on the bottle so you can’t drain it dry every night. Keeping us out all day on a Saturday to put off the point at which you get the corkscrew out. Steering the waiters away from you at a cocktail party. It’s embarrassing, Fiona. Whenever we go out somewhere, you’re completely blotto by nine o’clock—’
‘Who isn’t?’ She felt rightfully indignant. He was talking as if all their friends were card-carrying members of some temperance society.
‘Most people aren’t. Most people are relaxed, not almost incapable of speech, bouncing off the walls. Crashing out at the dinner table, for Christ’s sake—’
‘Once! And I was tired!’
‘You were unconscious! You’d drunk yourself into oblivion. Like you do every night.’
He stared at her. She didn’t know where to look. She tried to smooth down her hair, look as if she was in control.
‘OK. So maybe I’ve been drinking a bit too much. It’s just a habit. I can deal with it. It’s just a question of cutting down—’
‘Cutting down?’ Tim’s voice oozed pure vitriol. ‘To what? Just the one bottle a day?’ Fiona looked wary. ‘You think I don’t know? You think I believe that half-bottle of white wine you get out of the fridge every night is the same one you put back the night before? I know it’s a fresh one, that you’ve guzzled the rest in between . . .’
She drew herself up to meet his accusing glare, ready to defend herself.
‘So why don’t you say anything, if you know so much?’
‘Fiona, I do. I have and I do. You don’t want to listen. You don’t want to know. And frankly, I don’t understand why.’ He threw up his hands to indicate their surroundings. He looked helpless. ‘You’ve got everything . . .’
She looked at the floor.
‘I know.’
‘So what’s the problem? Are you so unhappy? Do you not like being married to me?’
‘No, I’m not unhappy . . .’
‘Then what?’
Her tears were falling thick and fast now.
‘I don’t know. Maybe I do need . . . help. Professional help.’
‘You don’t think I’m going to fork out for you to go to The Priory, do you?’ he snarled. ‘You just need to get a grip.’
‘I will. I will . . .’ She could feel snot starting to bubble out of her nose. He looked at her in disgust as she wiped it away with the back of her hand.
‘In fact, just get out. I don’t think I can even bear you in the same house at the moment.’
‘You’re kicking me out?’
‘We’ve both got some thinking to do.’
‘What about the children?’
‘What about the children? I’ll take them to school, as you obviously can’t. And I’m perfectly capable of cooking them supper. Just leave a
Similar Books
