Page 18 of To Hell With It
She shook her head and paused to let me know she wasn’t happy and I felt like a schoolgirl about to be told off.
‘And your shoes?’
‘I did them in the car.’
‘I see.’
‘What about the woodlice? Did you shut the gate without checking them?’
‘That’s different.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s their lives at stake.’
‘But your life is at stake, Pearl – your mental health – you can’t spend the rest of it like this. You can’t spend the rest of it trying to save woodlice.’
‘I can’t stop it all, not cold turkey,’ I protested.
‘We’ve tried the gradual approach, Pearl. We agreed we’d give this way a go.’
‘And I did, I tried my best but it was just too much.’ I sighed again.
‘I want to help you, Pearl.’ Mairéad looked at me with pity and I hated it. ‘I want to, but you have to help me too. It has to come from you. If you can break just one ritual, it will put you on the path to healing. It all starts with change, Pearl, and you’ve got to make a change.’
We both startled at the sound of a loud knock and I jumped to my feet, which prompted Mairéad to get up too.
‘He’s here,’ I said, my eyes full of panic.
‘Just breathe it will be fine. I’ll go, but call me if you need me – day or night, I don’t mind.’ She placed her hand on mine and I didn’t want her to go. I wanted her to stay, to tell me what I had to do, to do it for me.
I walked behind Mairéad until she reached the door and opened it. Jack was stood on the other side, a rucksack on his shoulder.
‘Hey.’ He smiled at Mairéad and then to me. I could see Mairéad’s car parked outside, withWellMindscrawled across the bodywork in bold red and underneath –Ensuring Mental Health Matters.
Mairéad smiled at Jack and then turned back to me.
‘Remember what I said.’ She squeezed my arm again.
‘I will. Thanks for stopping by, Aunty Mairéad. I’ll let Mum know you were looking for her.’
I pleaded with my eyes for Mairéad to go along with it, and she didn’t say anything, just gave me a look and walked to the gate.
When she reached it she stopped, fixed her eyes on me and then pulled it firmly shut behind her.
And all I could think about were the squashed woodlice.
ChapterTen
My grandfather drank whisky, my father drank it too, but I never liked it. It sat at the back of my throat like I’d swallowed fire. The taste lingered too long and no matter how much I diluted it, it still saturated me.
I had never turned to drink when things got difficult. I had never drowned my sorrows or hidden behind them. Una had. She drank for weeks when she found out Shaundid everything butwith Carmel. Una didn’t drink whisky either. She drank vodka-lime-and-sodas. She drank them by the doubles and there was many a night when I held her hair back from her face while she was sick in the hedge after a night in The Tally.
I’d strip her down when she got home (wearing my surgical gloves that I made Una keep in her utility room), lift her into her bed, then I’d take a quick shower and borrow some of Una’s fresh clothes, and sleep on her futon (that I’d covered with a clean sheet from her airing cupboard) just to make sure she didn’t choke on her sick in her sleep. There was no way I could have left her alone with that in my head. She never did choke on her sick, of course. Just on her tears. I had never seen someone cry so much as Una did whenShaun did everything butwith Carmel.
I’d shown Jack around the house, left out the part about my grandmother being born in the front room and told him where he could find the spare towels, should he need more than one. I casually explained (there was nothing casual about it) that I locked the porch door at night and kept the outside light on, but I left out the part about the woodlice, the door and window checks, the counting, and the intrusive thoughts. He didn’t need to know the finer details.
He’d not said much, in fact I don’t think he had really taken it in at all, and when we’d got back into the kitchen he’d pulled out a bottle of Irish whisky from his rucksack and offered me a glass.
