I contemplated asking them whether they’d seen Carol, but I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of explaining whatever situation she’d got herself into, so I waited until they’d rejoined the throng in the kitchen and snuck upstairs on the pretext of trying to find another loo. I tried a few doors off the spacious galleried landing, found an enormous bathroom that I felt obliged to use for a quick wee just because it was so amazing, and then followed a corridor leading off to the left of the stairs. It was dimly lit as I moved beyond the central chandelier, but I could see a bottle of Champagne had been knocked over on the deep shagpile carpet and emptied its last dregs in a soggy puddle, and a little way ahead a glass of mulled wine teetered precariously on the edge of a corridor table next to a Santa hat. Further still I could just make out a sparkling heeled foot poking out at an odd angle from behind a door.
‘Carol,’ I whispered as I approached the prone foot, collecting the empty bottle on the way and propping it up against the wall. ‘Carol?’
I nudged the door open and there was a soft thud as it encountered what I assumed was part of our hostess. I squeezed through the gap but could tell before I found the light switch that she’d been sick. It’s not the sort of aroma you forget, particularly if it was only two years ago that you’d had to mop up after one of your daughter’s friends who’d had a similar misadventure. She groaned as I turned on the light, which was reassuring because she had looked fairly leaden in her heap on the floor and I had briefly wondered whether she was in fact still alive – choking on vomit at your own Christmas party would be a particularly awful way to go.
‘Carol,’ I said wedging my hands underneath her armpits and hauling her into a seated position. ‘Carol, sweetheart. It’s me. It’s Hattie.’ Her dress was stained and her eyelash extensions were bent and crumpled with a couple stuck to her cheek. There was a smear of lipstick trailing from lip to chin where she’d perhaps had the idea of reapplying her make-up to spruce herself up a bit. I wondered what sort of mess Tiggy and Felicity had seen her in. There must have been a gap between then and now because surely even they wouldn’t have left a woman comatose on the carpet in a pool of her own sick.
‘Hattie,’ she said hoarsely. ‘I’m fine. G’way.’ She tried to shoo me away.
‘You’re not fine,’ I said, practical mummy mode kicking in. ‘No need to feel embarrassed. We’ve all been there. Just let me get you cleaned up a bit, okay? And then I’ll leave you alone.’
She nodded her consent, too exhausted to argue, and I left her to forage in the ensuite for an empty wine glass, which I filled with water. Between us we managed to wrestle off her dress which I put to soak in the sink and I found an oversized t-shirtin one of the drawers, presumably Steve’s, for her to get into while I sponged the carpet with a damp towel and soapy water. Within about fifteen minutes the floor was not clean exactly, but not releasing fumes that stung your nose, and Carol was in bed, dutifully sipping her glass of water and dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.
‘Hey,’ I said, crossing over to sit on the chair beside her. ‘Why are you crying? It’s alright. These things happen.’
‘The party,’ she said, her mouth drooping at the corners. ‘Shpoiled it. Felicity said…’
‘What did Felicity say?’ I asked sharply.
She shrugged. ‘Sh’was mean. You know. They…’ She gave a juddery sigh. ‘I went to show them m’shtudio, m’pictures. My stuff. Dunno why. Stupid. Jus’ wanted to show themI do something. It’s always… they’re always talking about how much they have to do with looking after the children andoh, you’re sssho lucky Carol, all this time to yourself, all this free time, and sometimes, I mean, maybe that’s not what I wanted, lots of free time – maybe we wanted something different, me and Steve and…’ She burped quietly. ‘Shorry. And I showed them, and they were, Tiggy, she… they were laughing. Like, pretending it was just an old joke from before, sshomething Linda or Jane had said downstairs…’ She took another juddery breath. ‘But it was me!’ she said, eyes wide. ‘They thinkI’mthe joke.’
‘I’m sure they don’t,’ I said, offering her another tissue. ‘Maybe they genuinelywerelaughing at a joke that Linda had made earlier. Although, from what I’ve seen of Linda, that’s unlikely.’
She gave a gulping laugh that turned into a sob and her face creased in on itself again. ‘I just want them to like me,’ she said pitifully. ‘I try so hard. So hard.’ She jabbed at the duvet for emphasis. ‘And I always balls it up.’
Carol was clearly entering the ranting phase of drunkenness, and I was confident she wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning, so I was more honest than I’d usually be in this scenario.
‘I think maybe you need to pick your friends more wisely, Carol,’ I said. ‘That’s all. There’s always a bunch of mean girls, everywhere you go in life. And sometimes the mean girls have been victims in the past and sometimes they’ve always been the perpetrators, they just don’t know any other way to behave.’
‘Yeah!’ she said, nodding fervently. ‘Like them. Like Flisty and Tiggy.’
‘Well, I couldn’t possibly comment,’ I said in ayou know what I’m sayingvoice. ‘But I do know there is no point in spending your time trying to get the mean girls to like you. It’s a waste of your energy. This is what I say to Layla. And this is what I have to tell myself, repeatedly. Because it’s a hard habit to let go of.’ I looked at her seriously. ‘But you must, Carol. Honestly, it’s probably the single most valuable lesson I’ve learned in forty-seven years.’
‘Y’right,’ she said solemnly. ‘Y’ssso right.’
‘I am,’ I said, gently taking the glass off her and going to refill it with more water.
‘Now, I’m going to head home,’ I said. ‘I’ll put a towel by the bed here just in case you feel sick again. And I’ll just tell Steve that you weren’t feeling well and you’ve gone to bed. Okay?’
‘Steve!’ she said sadly. ‘My lovely Steve. He lovesh me you know.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘We’ll keep this lamp on okay? And I’ll turn the main light off.’
‘I don’t deserve him you know.’
‘You do, Carol,’ I said, backing away towards the door, aware that if we began an entire conversation about her husband I’d behere for another hour. ‘And it’s been a great party. Not spoiled at all. Very festive.’
‘Pee Christmash,’ she mumbled as she rested her head back on the pillow and closed her eyes.
‘Happy Christmas to you too,’ I said, pulling the door closed behind me as I made my way downstairs.
I found Steve and told him that Carol had gone to bed with a bit of a stomach ache and that it might be worth just sticking his head around the door in a few moments to make sure she was okay.
He gave me a knowing look. ‘Is she alright?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘A bit partied out perhaps, but it’s exhausting hosting something like this, isn’t it. She’s been on the go all night, prepping the food and spreading festive cheer. I think she’s just a bit tired. But do make sure she knows that everyone’s had a lovely time.’
‘I will,’ he said. ‘Thanks Hattie. And Joe,’ he turned to my husband, ‘see you over at the club tomorrow?’
