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Alex glared at her, headphones dangling from his ears. ‘What?’
‘Tea,’ she said, recoiling as a waft of weed hit her senses.
‘Oh, right. Cheers.’ Alex took the mug, snatched up a few biscuits and slammed the door in her face. And she’d thought smoking pot was supposed to chill a person.
There was no way Alex would have been allowed to smoke in the house before the break-up – her parents would have hit the roof – but this was yet another effect of their split. Her dad was no longer around to lay down the law and her mum no longer cared enough to fight.
In an ideal world, Beth would try talking to her brother about his lack of ambition and slovenly lifestyle, but she had enough on her plate trying to contend with her mother’s fragile emotional state and organising her sister’s wedding. Not that her interference would have been welcomed anyway. Alex wasn’t open to changing his ways, and Beth didn’t have the energy for another battle.
Heading down the landing, she paused outside her mother’s room. ‘Mum, are you awake? I’ve made tea.’
A weak voice called out, ‘Come in.’
Beth released the door handle with her elbow and entered the bedroom. ‘Are you feeling any better?’
‘Not really.’ Her mother was lying on the bed, wearing a pair of her dad’s old pyjamas. Her hair was unwashed and matted, and she had a sleep mask pushed onto her forehead. Despite it still being light outside, the curtains were drawn, and the air was tinged with a combination of stale perfume and musty breath.
Beth placed the tray on the bedside cabinet. ‘Do I need to call the doctor?’
Her mother shook her head. ‘I’m not ill, it’s in here that I’m sick,’ she said, rubbing her chest for dramatic effect.
Beth checked her mother’s temperature. There were no signs of a fever, but nonetheless it wasn’t normal for a person to spend four days in bed.
She’d become aware of her mum’s meltdown at the spa last Friday when her dad had called her on Saturday morning and recounted a bizarre tale involving her mother running from security guards and calling herself Betty Boothroyd.
It was only when her dad had casually mentioned that Tiffany had also been at the spa that things had started to make sense. No wonder her mother had had a meltdown – what was her father thinking? Leaving her mother was cruel enough, but rubbing her face in it was a step too far. But he seemed oblivious to the hurt he continued to inflict.
‘Can you sit up, Mum?’ Beth flicked on the side lamp, making her mother blink from the sudden light. ‘You need to have something to eat.’
‘I can’t face food.’
‘You can manage a digestive, surely.’
Her mother rolled away. ‘You have no idea how much it hurts.’
Beth rubbed her mum’s back. ‘It’s not like I haven’t had my heart broken, too. It’s rubbish, but spending all day in bed isn’t going to make you feel any better.’
‘I’m different to you, I feel things. When Hughie left, you barely shed a tear.’
Beth flinched. That wasn’t true at all, she just hadn’t cried in public. In private, she’d bawled her eyes out.
She’d met Hughie at university, where they’d studied together, graduated together and ended up moving in together. It had all been very easy and companiable. No great dramas, lovers’ spats or heightened make-up sessions, like some of her friends had experienced. Their relationship had been based on friendship, mutual respect and a desire to forge successful careers.
It was only when Hughie started working in London that everything changed. Quiet country living was no longer enough for him. He began partying, and meeting new and exciting people, and he became disenchanted with his safe and ‘boring’ little life.
When he’d finally left, Beth had been bereft. Partly because she genuinely hadn’t wanted the relationship to end, but also because she’d felt aggrieved. She’d known the relationship wasn’t the most dynamic of affairs. They hadn’t enjoyed a wild sex life, or been overly slushy or romantic, but she’d accepted that. She’d compromised having a satisfying physical relationship for stability and security. She’d thought they both had. Turned out she was wrong.
She glanced at her watch. It was gone seven o’clock, and she was meeting Zac and Matt Hardy at half-past to discuss wedding plans. ‘Come on, Mum. Please sit up and eat something. I can’t leave until I know you’ve at least had some fluids.’
She wasn’t sure which appealed the least, tending to her heartbroken mother or meeting up with a man she’d taken an instant disklike to. At least Zac would be there to soften the blow. Zac had tasked them with finding a suitable wedding venue, and she was excited to show him her presentation. With any luck, her dealings with Matt Hardy would be limited and fleeting.
Her mother shuffled up the bed and slumped against the headboard. ‘Did I tell you that Tiffany is twice divorced?’
‘You did, Mum.’ Beth repositioned the pillow behind her mum’s head.
‘And that she was an exotic dancer at a nightclub?’
‘That too.’ Her mum’s tear-streaked face had Beth reaching for the tissues.
