“How do you bail her out?”
“Money mainly, time when I can. For a while I was paying her bills direct from my account, just to make sure it got done. She seemed to be getting better at it, so I gave her back control earlier this year and just gave her money when she needed it. A big mistake. She’s now three grand in rent arrears and they’re threatening to throw her out. She claims Colin needed the money I sent her, to fight a custody battle for one of his kids or some shit. He promised he’d pay her back before she got evicted, only now he’s done a runner.”
“So she blew your money on some loser named Colin?”
She flinched, eyes narrowing to shards of pain. “It’s not the first time. I’ve tried to get her professional help but she won’t take it, says I’m the only one who can help her, but I’m too far away living it up in the big city. She hates that I moved here, wants me to go home, but I couldn’t go home, even if I wanted to. The money’s better here, and she always needs all I can spare. One day I hope I’ll be earning enough that I can get a bigger place, have her come live with me, if she will, that is. At least then I could keep an eye on her.”
“You said she’s been like this as long as you can remember, was it the same when you were growing up?”
“It was worse when I was growing up,” she said. She looked away, but not in time enough to hide the sheen in her eyes, the threat of tears. She choked it back well. “When I was little I couldn’t help her, I’d just have to watch and tell her it would be ok. Weak words from a seven year old, of course. She’d cry all night, say she couldn’t cope and kiss me goodbye, telling me that I’d have a new family soon, with a mum who could take better care of me. I’d be so scared, watching from the stairs all night while she drank herself unconscious. She never seriously attempted suicide, but she got out the pills a few times. I hid them in the end, in the cupboard under the stairs, she’d shout at me when she had a headache, but I’d never tell her where they were. I was too scared. I used to pray every night that God would help me save my mummy, but God never answered, only a string of losers, with foul mouths and fouler manners. I lost count of how many men I should call Daddy.”
“Did any of them hurt you?” My mouth was dry as sand, no matter how much wine I sipped. I inched my chair closer, holding back the urge to reach across the table for her.
“Hurt me? Like physically? No. It wasn’t that bad. I wasn’t abused or anything, most of them ignored me entirely.”
I breathed out in relief. “You shouldn’t have had that on your shoulders, Lydia. You were too young, much too young. Did nobody help you?”
“Mum had a friend I called Auntie Sylvia, she’d come round often, try and help out. She’s still there with Mum now, living round the corner. I’d never have been able to leave if she wasn’t. She’d cook for us sometimes, when Mum was too depressed, and bring me toffees and a pat on the head. She’s nice, Syl. She helped.” I heard her breath hitch again and this time she struggled to bring it back in line. She put her hand to her mouth and her fingers were shaking. “I shouldn’t talk about this, I’m sorry. You’ll think I’m a right freak.”
“I don’t think you’re a freak, Lydia, I think you’re a bloody saint. A lot of people would have cut that shit off long ago.”
“I can’t cut her off,” she said. “She’s my mum, she needs me. I promised myself I’d be able to save her, just as soon as I was old enough... brave enough... clever enough... I’m not any of those things yet, it appears.”
“You are all of those things,” I said. “But you can’t save other people, no matter how much you want to. People will always walk their own path, dance with their own demons.”
“I have to try,” she wheezed. “I have to try harder. I let her down again. I always let her down.”
Her pain broke my resolve, and I was off, dragging my chair to her side, so close. Her delicate little hands in mine, so small. Bright eyes staring up at me. “No, Lydia. You didn’t let her down. She let you down.”
“She let herself down. She’s worth so much more than this, if only she could see what I see. Why can’t I make her see?” Her eyes were pleading, searching, open and raw.
My heart raced, buckling under the pressure to touch her, to pull her close. “People only see what they want to see, and they only do whatever they want to do. You can make excuses for them all you like, but you’ll always be making excuses for them, Lydia. Always.” I lowered my head to hers, eye to eye. “It was the same with Rachel. She had different men every week, and then she’d cry and say she was sorry, that she’d try and be better and she needed me to love her, that I was all she had. I blamed her for letting herself down, blamed me for trusting too much, but ultimately she let me down, and your mum let you down, too.”