The Happy Family by Jackie Kabler (electric book reader txt) 📕

‘Nothing to apologise for. Listen, Beth, this letter. It came in the post this morning and it’s unsigned. But it came from someone who seems to mean well. They say they’re extremely worried about you. And having seen the state of you, I’m worried too now.’

Worried about me? So it’s not … not about what happened back then, after all? I think. Relief sweeps over me for a moment but I’m still struggling to comprehend what’s happening here. My head is fuzzy and my heart is still beating far too quickly. I take another deep breath and try to focus.

‘I don’t understand,’ I whisper, and I raise a shaking hand and push my hair back off my sweaty forehead. I’m starting to wonder if I’m actually having another nightmare, if any minute now I might wake up, safe in my bed at home.

‘I’ll explain, but please don’t get upset again.’ Gabby leans forward, squeezes my knee, then straightens up again. She pauses, looking at me for a moment with her head tilted to one side, then picks up the letter.

‘Right. Well, whoever sent this said they’ve been growing increasingly concerned about you for some time now. And they, for whatever reason, didn’t feel they could speak to you directly so they felt maybe speaking to one of us, the GPs, might be the best way to deal with it—’

‘Deal with it? Deal with what?’ I interrupt her. I’m starting to feel frantic.

‘Beth, please. Deep breaths, remember. OK, well they say they’re concerned about a number of issues.’

She taps the piece of paper with her forefinger, the nail painted a creamy beige.

‘They say they’re worried you may have issues around food. Sometimes you binge eat and sometimes you eat virtually nothing. They’re also concerned about your use of alcohol and say that your heavy drinking has been causing some problems. They’re worried it’s affecting your memory and concentration to a concerning level. You’re very forgetful, apparently, losing your keys and various other things. They’re also worried about the children, Beth. They say you’re distracted and not doing things at home properly, possibly putting the children in danger, and citing Finley’s recent accident as an example. They even think you might be having hallucinations. Apparently you keep seeing a man who you think is following you? And—’

‘But I did! I do!’

I stand up and I’m shouting now but I can’t help it.

‘I did see a man. He was everywhere, and I saw somebody out in the garden looking in my window in the dark too. I even saw his footprints in the flowerbed. I’m not imagining these things! God, Gabby, some of this stuff is true, yes. I have been really stressed, and things have got on top of me at home. But the way you’re saying it, it makes me sound … makes me sound unhinged.’

I sink my face into my hands and I can feel the tears now, hot and angry, spilling out between my fingers. Gabby’s hands are on my shoulders, moving me back to my chair, pushing me gently down until I’m seated again.

‘You’re not unhinged,’ she says gently. ‘Far from it. And I’m glad you feel able to confirm that these are valid concerns, Beth. That’s a very positive step. If it helps, none of this has affected your work here, by the way, not as far as I’m aware anyway. You’ve obviously got an awful lot going on at home, and you’ve clearly been doing a marvellous job of keeping it together and not letting it impact on your job. But Beth, I wish you’d spoken to me, or to one of us. We all struggle at times, and maybe you just need to talk to someone, take some of the pressure off yourself? Maybe a bit of time off, a few duvet days?’

The kindness in her voice brings a fresh rush of tears, but I wipe them away and shake my head.

‘I’m fine, honestly. I mean, what the letter says is largely true; all of those things have happened recently, but … who wrote it, Gabby? Who would do that?’

She shakes her head and shrugs.

‘I have no idea. But it was clearly someone who cares about you very much, someone who wants to help you and just didn’t know how. And that’s why I’m going to do this.’

She stands up and walks quickly across the room, and before I’ve even realised what she’s doing she’s popped the letter into the paper shredder that sits on top of her filing cabinet and pressed the button. The machine whirrs and seconds later the letter has vanished.

‘Gabby!’ I gasp, but she’s shaking her head again as she walks back to her desk.

‘It’s done. I don’t want you anguishing over who sent it, OK? I’m just glad they did.’

‘But Gabby!’

My mind is racing.

Who did this, who? Mum? After our conversation on Saturday, when she told me how worried she was about me, she seems the most likely suspect. But no. She did have the courage to confront me, didn’t she? She told me she was concerned; she spelled it out. Why write a letter too? That wouldn’t make sense, would it? So who else? Who was worried but felt they couldn’t say anything? Jacob? Brenda or Barbara? Robin? Ruth or Deborah, even? They’ve all expressed some concerns over the past few weeks, haven’t they? All mentioned my eating habits, or my drinking, or my forgetfulness, told me to stop worrying about someone following me. They all know about Finley’s accident … What if some of them got together, shared their concerns, and decided telling Gabby was the way to go? But that seems so unnecessary, so strange … and surely they’d know this could get me into big trouble? If Gabby thinks I’m not fit for work, I could lose my job …

I’m feeling panicky again. I need to convince Gabby that everything is OK, that I’m fine. I take a deep breath and