Page 54 of The Day Shelley Woodhouse Woke Up
‘No. I think he’s gone to his mum’s. He dropped his key off.’
I nod. I’m not close to David’s mum, but things have always been pleasant between us. How does she feel about this? Do you just let your child in, at any age, no questions asked, if they need somewhere to go? Or do you put your foot down, if they’ve done something you find abhorrent? David has probably spun her a story, though. He probably said I slipped. For a moment, I panic. What if everyone believes that? What if the police do?
‘How are you doing it all?’ I ask. ‘My job and yours?’
‘I roped my sister in. I hope you don’t mind. She’s been driving me mad since she got back from uni, moping around waiting for the perfect job to fall in her lap. I said she might as well earn a bit of money and help me while she waits. She’s turned out to be surprisingly good at it. Derek likes her, so that’s half the battle, right?’
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘Maybe we’ll keep her on. We never did replace Mary, we just all took on her shifts between us. Will you thank her for me?’
‘Mary?’
‘No, your sister, you idiot.’
‘There she is. There’s the Shell I know and love.’
There’s a levity to the pair of us, but then worry takes over. ‘I’ll have to go to court. I’ll have to look at him, and tell everyone what he did. I’m so ashamed.’
‘You’re ashamed? Christ, Shell, you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. He’s the one who should be hanging his head.’
‘But I let it happen. I didn’t leave.’
‘But he did it, Shell. Don’t ever forget that. Not leaving is one thing, but he was the one who was a violent prick.’
I nod. I know, on a practical level, that Dee is right. But believing it is going to take some time.
When Dee gets up to leave, saying she needs to get to the pub, I wish so fervently that I could go with her. All the boring jobs, like putting in an order with the brewery or doing a stocktake orsorting out the staff’s wages. I’d take any of them over this. This lying around and waiting. I tell myself to be patient, that I’ll be back there before I know it, no doubt moaning about those jobs again, this longing entirely forgotten. And besides, going home will mean facing it all. The fact that I now live alone, that I have to go through a court case and a divorce while still managing to keep my pub running. I need my mum, I think. It isn’t something I think very often.
So after Dee’s kissed me on the cheek, leaving behind her scent of mint shampoo and cotton fabric conditioner, I find my mobile in the bag of things she brought in with her, and I call my mum before I can change my mind.
‘Shell?’
‘Hi, Mum.’
There’s a pause that feels awkward, and I think of the times I’ve overheard Dee and her mum on the phone, both of them battling to get their words in. No pauses, no gaps, or at least they fill any there are with love and compassion.
‘What do you want, love?’
That’s our relationship in a phrase. Mum knows I must want or need something to have called, but she still adds an affectionate tag on to the question, because there’s still hope.
‘I’m in hospital. In Intensive Care. It’s David, Mum. He pushed me down the stairs.’
‘The General? I’ll be there in an hour.’
I sob after I’ve ended the call. At the fact that Mum and I haven’t spoken for several years, but she will still put everything to one side to come to me when I need her. And I do need her. If I’ve ever needed her, it’s now.
When Mum arrives, I am moving the remains of a jacket potato around my plate. I push it away, take a big drink of water. Mum looks different, older, though I would never say that. She doesn’t have any visible bruises. I have enough for both of us.She stands there, at the end of the bed, as if afraid to come any closer, and I see tears in her eyes.
‘I never wanted this life for you,’ she says.
‘Did you want it for yourself?’ I ask.
She doesn’t answer that. She comes over to the chair, sits down. ‘I didn’t bring anything. I left in such a hurry. I should have stopped for flowers or grapes or something.’
‘No, I don’t need anything like that. I just needed to see you.’
‘Is this how it’s been? Your marriage?’
I don’t want to admit it. Still feel shame about it, even now it’s over. ‘Not always,’ I say. ‘He’s not all bad.’
