Wasted by Nicola Morgan

there’s no gin in it. Of course, there may only have been a tiny amount in it to start with, but this was not the case. The bottle is on its side and this position lends an extra seediness, as though even the bottle cannot remain upright.
    Now Jack understands. Why Jess’s mother had not heard them come in and why Jess did not want to open the door. And it’s not amusing at all. He feels as though he has stumbled on something he was never meant to see.
    â€œListen, Jess, do you want me to cancel the taxi? I don’t want to leave you.”
    â€œWhat about your dad? Won’t he be worried?” She is glad that he will stay, though what he can do, she does not know. She just feels that she would rather not spend the night with wolves, snakes and a drunkard mother.
    â€œHe’s not expecting me back yet anyway. He’ll be asleep but I’ll text him to say I’m staying here. He’ll be fine about it.”
    Jess nods, empty of energy. She is looking down at her mum. She wants to do nothing, to walk away from there. To pretend it didn’t happen. To wipe clean the whole disastrous night and start over in the morning. She is so tired and she should not have to think about anything else but herself.
    Jack looks around, trying to take control of the situation. “Turn the fire off. Maybe find a blanket or something?” They can pretend that this is just a sleeping beauty if they want. But they both know it isn’t. Jess nods again and moves towards the fire. Jack phones the taxi company and Jess goes upstairs to fetch the quilt from her mum’s bed. In her mum’s room, clothes are strewn everywhere. Make-up is open. A lipstick-edged wine glass sits on the dressing-table and there is a kind of shameful nakedness about it.
    Jess’s lips tighten. Her head is pounding and snakes are not far away, still hissing in her memory. She knows the snakes and wolves and unicorns are not really there but they were, oh, they were. She saw them and that’s all that matters. More than a nightmare, more real than that, a kind of madness in her. Her mother should be there to help her, not dribbling on the sofa. Jess is frightened by what happened in the club. What are mothers for if not to comfort with soft warm arms and mother-smell when scary things have happened?
    She goes downstairs with the quilt. “Mum?” Jess shakes her mum’s shoulder. Sylvia is lying on her side already, so Jess need not move her much. She mumbles and half opens her eyes. Says something that sounds vaguely like her daughter’s name. Groans, dribbles a little.
    And in that raw moment Jess hates her mother. For doing this. For not being there. It is a moment that passes quickly. It passes from hate and anger to sadness and anger. And fear. But although the moment passes, it is important, because it has changed something between them. There is a seesaw tipping-point.
    It is a faultline between them now. An earthquake crack in the road. Not a chasm, though. It is small, crossable; they could, either of them, leap over it fairly easily. Or even touch each other from opposite sides. But it is there.
    It may widen or it may repair, depending on many things. If Jess or Jack or Sylvia knew what the future held, they might try to make different choices. Or that is what they think.

CHAPTER 17
SLEEPING TOGETHER
    A little later. Spike has been let out – ears back against the rain. The sitting room is silent, apart from Sylvia’s snoring. A small lamp casts a soft glow, in case she wakes up and is confused. Confusion is highly likely in view of the state she’s in. Though waking up is not.
    Sylvia has, a few moments ago, been roused to brief consciousness – for Jess and Jack need to know that consciousness is possible. She has wiped her mouth, mumbled
Hello
and
Pleased to meet you
, fallen quickly back to sleep again. Jack has smiled at Jess, to show that he does not think