less of her for having such a mother. Jess has smiled back, though she does not feel like smiling and it is a smile that is fragile.
This is not how the night was supposed to end: staring down at a dribbling mother. Jess is struck by the difference between herself and this so-called mother. She is glad her father left before all this happened. Though if he was here then perhaps her mother would not be like this. But how impossibly untangleable is the tangle of
what ifs
. Once the coin falls and life tumbles one way, infinite possible worlds become impossible. If you try to think of them too much it will turn you mad.
But when her father left, her mother did not go to pieces. She was angry, certainly, but didnât turn to the bottle. Unless sheâs been hiding it, Jess wonders, which perhaps would be easier with a young child than the near-adult that Jess now is. She doesnât seem to be hiding it now. Though perhaps it is actually
even
worse than it seems. Perhaps she takes empty bottles secretly out of the house and disposes of them. Jess has heard that alcoholics are devious like that. But deviousness has never been a Sylvia thing.
âYou need to go to bed now,â says Jack. âCome on.â
And he follows Jess upstairs, after leaving the cold cups of tea on the kitchen table. Into her bedroom. She sits on the bed, shoulders slumped.
âSomeone spiked my drink, didnât they?â
âItâs hard to believe but I guess ⦠I suppose. We should get you checked out, maybe?â Jack is struck by this thought as he says it. Should they? But Jess is better, sheâs lucid, she just needs to sleep. Surely. And with Jessâs mother in that state, they canât go now, can they? He stands for a moment, tired himself, struggling to think.
âNo, Jack, no way. I have to go to bed. Please.â
Sheâs right. Thereâs not really any argument. Whatever was in her drink, she is clearly recovering from it. It hasnât killed her. But he cannot think about that, cannot face that scary place.
âOK, go and finish in the bathroom. And have you got a big T-shirt or something I can use?â
She grunts, gets up, rummages in a drawer and finds something that will do. The smell of her invades him when he holds it.
A few minutes later, Jess is in bed, washed, make-up vaguely removed, or what was left of it. Jack comes back from the bathroom himself to find her with her eyes closed, lying on her side. The house watches quietly as he positions himself carefully beside her. He lies on top of the duvet, with the quilt wrapped around him.
âGoodnight, Jess,â he says softly.
She smiles, though he cannot see this. âThanks, Jack, for looking after me. And Iâm sorry that ⦠you know.â Her voice is somewhat mumbled, her lips almost unable to work through tiredness and the after-effects of whatever it was.
âCould have been a lot worse,â he says. And he knows it could. But just now, at this moment, in this place, Jack is only struggling to hold on to one idea: how lucky he is. Because if he does not focus on that one thing, he will be forced to face the other side of the same coin: that he was very nearly unlucky.
But being very nearly unlucky is the same as being lucky. And lucky he is. Everything has turned out right. Jess has come to no harm. He is lying in bed with her.
It is best not to think of alternatives.
CHAPTER 18
AWAKENING
THE house creaks awake when the boiler switches itself on at dawn. Outside, the birds are singing after the rain and, as the air warms, the doors and windows and walls and roof click and squeak as though spirits were walking through them. As perhaps they are, though it is also the physics of particle expansion which cause the noises that all houses make.
Jack wakes first. His bladder is full and he needs to go to the bathroom. But he does not, not immediately. First because he is a stranger in this house and
This is not how the night was supposed to end: staring down at a dribbling mother. Jess is struck by the difference between herself and this so-called mother. She is glad her father left before all this happened. Though if he was here then perhaps her mother would not be like this. But how impossibly untangleable is the tangle of
what ifs
. Once the coin falls and life tumbles one way, infinite possible worlds become impossible. If you try to think of them too much it will turn you mad.
But when her father left, her mother did not go to pieces. She was angry, certainly, but didnât turn to the bottle. Unless sheâs been hiding it, Jess wonders, which perhaps would be easier with a young child than the near-adult that Jess now is. She doesnât seem to be hiding it now. Though perhaps it is actually
even
worse than it seems. Perhaps she takes empty bottles secretly out of the house and disposes of them. Jess has heard that alcoholics are devious like that. But deviousness has never been a Sylvia thing.
âYou need to go to bed now,â says Jack. âCome on.â
And he follows Jess upstairs, after leaving the cold cups of tea on the kitchen table. Into her bedroom. She sits on the bed, shoulders slumped.
âSomeone spiked my drink, didnât they?â
âItâs hard to believe but I guess ⦠I suppose. We should get you checked out, maybe?â Jack is struck by this thought as he says it. Should they? But Jess is better, sheâs lucid, she just needs to sleep. Surely. And with Jessâs mother in that state, they canât go now, can they? He stands for a moment, tired himself, struggling to think.
âNo, Jack, no way. I have to go to bed. Please.â
Sheâs right. Thereâs not really any argument. Whatever was in her drink, she is clearly recovering from it. It hasnât killed her. But he cannot think about that, cannot face that scary place.
âOK, go and finish in the bathroom. And have you got a big T-shirt or something I can use?â
She grunts, gets up, rummages in a drawer and finds something that will do. The smell of her invades him when he holds it.
A few minutes later, Jess is in bed, washed, make-up vaguely removed, or what was left of it. Jack comes back from the bathroom himself to find her with her eyes closed, lying on her side. The house watches quietly as he positions himself carefully beside her. He lies on top of the duvet, with the quilt wrapped around him.
âGoodnight, Jess,â he says softly.
She smiles, though he cannot see this. âThanks, Jack, for looking after me. And Iâm sorry that ⦠you know.â Her voice is somewhat mumbled, her lips almost unable to work through tiredness and the after-effects of whatever it was.
âCould have been a lot worse,â he says. And he knows it could. But just now, at this moment, in this place, Jack is only struggling to hold on to one idea: how lucky he is. Because if he does not focus on that one thing, he will be forced to face the other side of the same coin: that he was very nearly unlucky.
But being very nearly unlucky is the same as being lucky. And lucky he is. Everything has turned out right. Jess has come to no harm. He is lying in bed with her.
It is best not to think of alternatives.
CHAPTER 18
AWAKENING
THE house creaks awake when the boiler switches itself on at dawn. Outside, the birds are singing after the rain and, as the air warms, the doors and windows and walls and roof click and squeak as though spirits were walking through them. As perhaps they are, though it is also the physics of particle expansion which cause the noises that all houses make.
Jack wakes first. His bladder is full and he needs to go to the bathroom. But he does not, not immediately. First because he is a stranger in this house and
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