‘Remind me again, caring for a sick woman and child is what number on the Dream List?’
I sucked in a sharp breath. ‘Why would you even ask that?’
Having a friend to stay: item ten.
‘Because you need to see what’s happening here. You made a momentous change so that you could stop continuously prioritising someone else over your own dreams and happiness.’
‘What?’ I was utterly blindsided, my eyes stinging as they held back tears of hurt and humiliation.
‘You’ve severed one highly dysfunctional relationship and almost immediately reattached yourself to someone else who needs taking care of. This need to be needed is precisely why you decided to follow the No-Man Mandate and have the Dream List rules in place, to ensure this didn’t happen.’
‘I… my relationship with Joan is not dysfunctional.’ My voice was a hoarse croak. ‘I’m helping out a neighbour – afriend– who is very ill. I don’twantto be the kind of selfish person who wouldn’t do that!’
‘So what’s next on the Dream List, then?’
‘How can I think about the Dream List when three days ago I found a woman unconscious on her bedroom floor? A woman who has no one else to pack a bag and take her clean pyjamas to the hospital, or to step up and take care of her child, so she doesn’t have to go and live with strangers in foster care? I’ve not had a spare second to think, let alone plan some stupid fantasy night out.’
‘That’s my whole point,’ Steph said, sounding calmer now. ‘You’ve not had a spare second, Ollie, because you’ve taken on the responsibility of fixing this whole situation. Other neighbours would drop a meal round, take a bag to hospital or offer to watch Joan after school. They wouldn’t expect to do all of those things, along with everything else, turning their entire life upside downindefinitely.’
She paused, but I had nothing to say in reply.
‘I know you want to help. It’s the right thing to do. But you have two choices here. Slip back into your old negative patterns, creating another cycle of unhealthy dependency. Or, you can use this opportunity to figure out the boundary between being a kind and decent person, and someone who is kind or decent to herself. It isn’t up to you to fix this.’
‘They haven’t got anyone else,’ I said, my voice hollow.
‘That’s exactly what you always said about Tina,’ Steph replied gently. ‘I love you like a sister, Ollie. You know that. Please, promise me you’ll at least think about what I’ve said.’
‘I have to go.’ I stopped, rephrased that. ‘Actually, I’mchoosingto end this conversation.’
I didn’t promise, but Steph knew I didn’t have to. We had weathered too many storms together to allow a tough conversation to knock us off track. The least I owed my best friend was to think about what she’d said. Which of course I did, almost continuously, like a wire brush scrubbing away at my skull.
In the end, after two more days of relentlessly churning it over while frantically racing between the hospital and work meetings, picking up Joan from her holiday club and walking Nesbit, I reached some conclusions. I would care for Joan for as long as she needed me. It was the right thing to do, and children’s services would have to prise her out of my hands before they moved her away from her home or her dog. And I would help Joan find her grandparents, as soon as possible.
I would be a friend to Leanne, but not a carer. She would have to source that help from elsewhere.
And I would make sure I found time in all this to complete the last item on the Dream List, if for no other reason than to prove Steph wrong.
21
I had been rescheduling my ReadUp sessions to fit around Joan’s holiday club, ending up with back-to-back coaching on Friday with my three favourite clients. Yasmin was first, marching through the door on a mission.
‘Here, I’ve completed the second workbook.’ She handed me the book.
‘Wow! Well done. You’re really going for this.’
‘Yes, because today I need you to help me make a Facebook page and flyers.’ She stopped then, as if noticing me for the first time. ‘Ollie, you look terrible.’
‘I know.’ When I’d seen my face in the mirror that morning, I’d wondered if there’d been a mix-up, and I was the one who should have collapsed on the bedroom floor.
‘When did you last wash your hair?’ Yasmin peered closer. ‘When was the last time youbrushedyour hair?’
I shrugged.
‘That top was already dirty when I saw you at the dog park on Wednesday.’
‘I’ve been busy.’
‘Ollie.’ Yasmin sounded even more serious than usual. ‘There are some extreme situations when a woman can’t brush her hair or wash her clothes.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Or shower. Places where it is impossible to find shampoo or running water. There isno excusefor a woman living in Bigley Bottom, with a job and a house and the freedom to do what she wants, to treat herself like this. What is happening?’
