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‘Who are you?’ he said suspiciously.
‘It’s me, Bridget!’
‘Jones!’ he said, as if a light bulb had come on in his head. Just as quickly it went out, and he stumbled over to the bed. ‘You could at least have told me you were coming. Might have cleaned up a bit.’
He lay down and closed his eyes.
‘Silly arse,’ I said.
He fumbled for my hand. He was making
a very strange noise.
‘What happened? Why can’t you breathe?’
A flicker came into his eye, a glimpse of the old Daniel.
‘Well, the thing is, Jones,’ he said, pulling me over to him, ‘went on a bit of a bender, to tell you the truth. Pretty much drank through everything. I delightedly fastened upon what I took to be a bottle of crème de menthe, you know, the green stuff, drank the whole thing down.’ His face broke into the familiar rueful smirk. ‘It turned out to be Fairy Liquid.’
We both started shaking with laughter. I know it was a potentially tragic situation but it was pretty funny. But then Daniel started choking, making a wheezing noise, and bubbles started appearing out of his mouth. You could see exactly what had happened. It’s like when you run out of dishwasher tablets, and think it would be a good idea to put washing-up liquid in instead and it all froths up inside.
The nurse rushed over and sorted him out. Then he picked up the card and opened it. For a second he looked as if he was going to cry, then he shoved it back down on the table, just as a glamorous leggy blonde appeared.
‘Daniel,’ said the blonde, in a way which made me want to flick my hair at her and give her nits. ‘Look at you! You should be ashamed of yourself. It has to stop.’
She picked up the card. ‘What’s this? Is this from you?’ she said accusingly. ‘You see, this is his problem! All his bloody friends: “Dear old Daniel.” It’s just completely enabling.’
‘Best be off then,’ I said, getting up.
‘No, Jones, don’t,’ said Daniel.
‘Oh, please,’ snorted the girl, just as Talitha appeared carrying a basket of edible gift items, wrapped in cellophane and topped with a big bow.
‘You see? You see?’ said the glamorous girl. ‘This is exactly what I mean.’
‘And WHAT do you mean by that . . . sugar?’ said Talitha. ‘WHO exactly are you and WHAT does this have to do with you? I have known Daniel for twenty years and slept with him, on and off, for most of them . . .’
Almost burst out, ‘What??’ Was Talitha sleeping with Daniel when I was sleeping with Daniel? But then I thought, ‘What’s the point?’
I made my excuses and left, thinking, really, after a certain age, people are just going to do what they’re going to do and you’re either going to accept them as they are or you’re not. Unsure, however, if should altogether leave the children in Daniel’s charge again, at least until he’s been back to rehab, or can conclusively distinguish a fork from a hairbrush.
LET’S FACE THE MUSIC AND TEA-DANCE
Saturday 29 June 2013
Just set off for Hampstead Heath and had to come back as seemed like giant bucket of water was being emptied on our heads. Weather has been disgusting this summer. Rain, rain, rain and freezing cold, as if there is NO summer. Is completely intolerable.
Sunday 30 June 2013
Gaah! Is suddenly boiling hot. Don’t have sunblock or hats and is too hot to stay outside. How are we supposed to manage in this unbearable heat? Is completely intolerable.
Monday 1 July 2013
6 p.m. Right! Am going to stop being so sorry for myself lest I end up accidentally drinking Fairy Liquid. The end of the school year is almost here with its absorbing matrix of plays, school trips, pyjama days, emails about presents for the teachers (including a very strict one from Perfect Nicolette about everyone sticking to chipping in for the John Lewis vouchers and not buying their own Jo Malone candles), and – generating the most unfeasible number of mass emails of all – Billy’s Summer Concert. Billy is going to play ‘I’d Do Anything’ from Oliver! as a solo on his bassoon. The concert has been organized by Mr Wallaker, who seems now to be including half the music department in his military-style takeover, and is to be held at sunset in the grounds of Capthorpe House, a stately home up the A11.
Presumably Mr Wallaker will be dressed as Oliver Cromwell and his ‘so nice to meet someone with a real face’ wife will have had four pints of extra filler put in her face to celebrate. Oops, back in the knife box, Miss Sharp. Must read more of The Little Book of Buddhism: ‘We do not possess our home, our children or even our own body. They are only given to us for a short time to treat with care and respect.’
Oh, no! I still haven’t made the dentist appointment for Billy and Mabel. The longer I leave it, the more I daren’t, since clearly their teeth are now riddled with holes, they will end up like extras in Pirates of the Caribbean and it will be all my fault.
