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But as I feared, next moment Lois’s voice rings out, shouting for Irene to just get lost because she doesn’t want to talk to her– but with a rather more colourful choice of vocabulary. I want to go up to Lois myself to see if she’s okay, but I’m obviously enemy number one right now for forcing her to tell Rory about her treachery.
Guilt is sitting like a boulder in my abdomen.
If their relationship is over, I’m the one who’s made it happen...
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The atmosphere in the house has never been as bad as this. It’s five days since Rory ended their relationship. (Lois eventually confirmed this the other morning in the kitchen when I asked if Rory was coming over. ‘I’m cancelled,’ she said abruptly, and walked out.)
Irene, still miraculously off the booze, looks white-faced and exhausted all the time. She keeps trying to talk to Lois, but it’s clear her daughter is still feeling such animosity and resentment towards her, she can’t even bear to look at Irene. Lois herself is barging around like an injured bull, slamming doors and leaving balled-up tissues everywhere. And I’m in the middle, wondering how the hell to resolve things.
Honestly, I’m almost pining for the good old days, when they were casually indifferent towards each other.
One good thing is that Irene’s been making a conscious effort to spend more time with Bertie. She bought him a scooter at the charity shop and polished it up a bit, and he’s been spending a great deal of time practising ‘tricks’ on it with Luke. He’s no doubt picked up on the weird atmosphere– kids usually do– but I’m thankful that at least his new scooter obsession is keeping him occupied...
*****
The situation reaches crisis point the following afternoon.
It’s Sunday and it’s raining, so Bertie can’t go out on his scooter, which means he’s moping around the house being– unusually for him– a total pain in the butt. Irene’s watching a weepie black and white film on TV and sniffling into a hanky, and Lois is blaring drum and bass music upstairs, like a truculent adolescent. Irene keeps turning the TV up so she can hear the dialogue over Lois’s music, and the resulting cacophony is now so loud, it’s giving me a headache.
I’d go over and see Gran, except she’s having lunch with Sylvia and Mick today.
In despair, I decide I need to bake. That always cheers me up, and I might be able to get Bertie involved. But halfway through mixing the chocolate cake batter, I remember we’ve run out of icing sugar.
I feel like screaming with frustration. And then Irene pops her head round the door.
‘That music of hers is doing my head in.’
I grin at her. ‘Mine, too.’
‘I’m going to ask her to turn it down.’
‘Right.’Good luck with that, then.
‘If I don’t return, you’d better phone for an ambulance.’
‘Got it.’
In spite of everything, we exchange a wry smile.
She goes upstairs and I stand in the hallway, listening.
‘Lois, love, I’ve got a bit of a headache. Could you turn your music down just a bit?’
But Lois’s response is to blast it even more loudly, and Irene’s patience finally snaps. She barges into Lois’s room, yelling, ‘Where’s the switch? I want to turn it off.’
‘There isn’t a switch, you stupid woman. I’m streaming it.’
‘So stop streaming and being so bloody inconsiderate.’
Lois gives a harsh laugh. ‘You’relecturingmeon how to behave? Jeez, Mother, you don’t even know themeaningof the word considerate. If you did, you’d haveconsideredmy feelings when you decided to tell me all those wicked lies about my dad. And no, I don’t want to hear any of your pathetic excuses because thereisno excuse for it... no, still not listening. La, la, la.’
Next second, I hear Irene stomping down the stairs and slamming the front door behind her.
Anger surges up inside me.
Well done, Lois! You’ve probably just driven Irene back to the bottle!
