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

‘OK, you’re right. Who sent the letter doesn’t matter,’ I say. ‘But I’m on top of this, I promise. Yes, I have been drinking a bit too much recently. With Mum suddenly back in my life, and Dad’s stroke, and Finley’s accident … well, all of it. It’s just become a habit, and I’ll stop. I will. And the rest of it, well, I’ve just been a bit scatty. I don’t need any time off, honestly. It’s helped just having this chat with you. I’m OK, I promise.’

Gabby is looking at me with a doubtful expression, clearly not entirely convinced, but she nods slowly.

‘All right, we’ll leave it for now. I am concerned, Beth. However, I know you’re a strong and sensible woman, and I’m going to take you at your word that you have all this under control. But we’re here to help. And I want you to promise me that if you’re feeling overwhelmed, or have any more panic attacks, or if you’re struggling to control your drinking or anything else, you’ll come straight back here and talk to me, OK? Promise?’

I give her a little mock salute.

‘Promise, ma’am!’ I say, and she laughs her lovely melodic laugh which always somehow makes me think of sunshine and honey. I leave her then and I go back to my office, and I sit there for a long time, wondering. Wondering who wrote that letter, and whether it really was written by someone who cares about me, or for some other reason. Wondering if I’ll ever have the guts to confront anyone about it. Wondering why everything’s changed so much, why I’ve changed so much. Why, when I should be so happy right now, I’m really, really not. Why, increasingly, I have this low-level, nausea-inducing feeling of pure dread deep inside.

And, most of all, wondering why, despite Gabby’s reassuring words, I have this awful sense that something even worse is just around the corner.

Chapter 25

BRRRR. BRRRR.

It’s after nine on Saturday morning and I’m still in bed when my mobile rings. The kids are both away – Friday night sleepovers with friends – and Mum insisted I make the most of it today, telling me to sleep in as long as I like and promising to bring me breakfast in bed. I didn’t tell her anything about the anonymous letter Gabby received; I’m almost certain it didn’t come from her, and I simply couldn’t face having a conversation about it with her – or with anyone. Not right now. I keep telling myself that whoever sent it did it out of genuine concern, but that feeling that it may have been written with a more sinister motive in mind keeps creeping in and it makes me feel sick. I can’t let myself think that, I just can’t, because if I do it will mean I can’t trust anyone, and that’s unbearable.

So this morning I’m focussing on all that’s good and positive, and I have a lot to be thankful for. Mum, for example, who knocked on my door half an hour ago with a tray of tea and smashed avocado on toast, and a tiny vase with a soft-pink camelia bloom freshly picked from the garden. It’s nice, so nice, to feel loved and cossetted like this. And overall, despite the new anxiety about the letter, I’m feeling so much better this morning than I did a week ago. OK, so I’ve lost Brenda and Barbara, and that still hurts horribly if I let myself dwell on it. And at work, Deborah’s behaviour is still bothering me – on a professional level as well as a friendship one – but no doubt I’ll get to the bottom of that eventually. But at home things are pretty good right now. Robin’s still working for me, which is good enough for now. Eloise, after a frosty few days, seems to have forgiven me for the missing letter and school-trip debacle; all her focus now is on the school play in a couple of weeks’ time, her little face glowing with excitement at the prospect of her parents, her grandmother, and her auntie all being there to support her. Because yes, to my delight and relief, and despite what happened on her first visit, Liv has promised to come back up to Cheltenham for the occasion. She was bright and bubbly as ever on the phone during the week, saying she wouldn’t miss it for the world. So I’m feeling OK on this Saturday morning, nibbling my toast and sipping my tea. The duvet is cosy around my legs, the radio is tuned to Classic FM, and the calming strains of Grieg’s piano concerto in A minor fill my room as the morning sunlight streams in through the window.

When the phone rings, it’s like an assault, an unwanted intruder, and instantly my heart begins to thump.

A call this early on a Saturday morning can’t be good news, can it? Has something happened to one of the children?

I grab my mobile from the bedside table, but to my relief it’s Ruth’s name on the caller ID and I hit the button to accept the call.

‘Hey, you. You’re up and about early.’

I settle back on my pillows, expecting a gossipy catch-up, maybe a suggestion to meet for a walk or lunch over the weekend. Instead there’s a pause, and when she speaks her voice sounds sharp and tense.

‘Beth, what on earth is that on the surgery Facebook page?’

I frown. I haven’t looked at the page since yesterday morning when I did a quick post; some of our patients have begun dumping their cars on single yellow lines on the street outside the surgery recently instead of using the car park across the road, and I wanted to warn them that traffic wardens have been patrolling the area around us with greater frequency and to be careful or risk a ticket. But that was early, around ten, and I haven’t logged on since.

‘Why?