tw: substance abuse

Chapter One - Meeting

“Michael. You can’t keep on drinking like this. I’m worried about you”.

Laura’s husband was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the crystal whisky glass in front of him.  The freshly opened bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label was already looking quite depleted. It was only 7pm.

Concern on her heart-shaped face, she took the seat opposite his, and reached for his hand. He snatched it away, took a large swig of scotch, and set the glass back down.

“Sometimes I think I’m invisible to you”.

“Sometimes you are”.

Laura shook her head sadly, stood, and turned towards the door. She stopped.

“At least try to make it to bed tonight. Please. I’ll be waiting for you”.

Lately, Michael had taken to drinking himself into oblivion and crashing on the sofa.

He was still angry at her for doing something unknown but secretively on his laptop. This was the one he used for conducting his business affairs and share dealing. He had taken his Range Rover to be serviced the previous morning after checking his emails and had returned to find the lid of his laptop open. He was a creature of habit and knew himself well enough to know that this was something he would never do. He could find no trace of anything different on his machine. Nothing on his browser history, no unusual windows open. But she was always the smart one with this kind of thing, and he knew that she knew how to cover her tracks. Still. It was not worth arguing over. He decided to give her the benefit of the doubt, but he was left with a nagging suspicion…

Suddenly, he removed his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose, walked to the sink, and tipped the contents of his whisky glass into it. He rinsed it and put it upside down on the draining board.  

“Laura?”

Again, but louder:

“Laura!”

No response. He stood, stretched, and looked out of the window. Filthy weather. He put on his hat and coat and paused:

“I’m going for a walk.”

silence

“I won’t be long.”

As he left, he locked the door behind him.

Things had once been so different.

They were married on the 13^th of May 2000. Laura was at first reluctant to fix the date on the 13^th, having had a lifetime superstition against the number. Michael thought she was being silly, and besides, it was the only weekend that his mother and father could fly over from Canberra for the occasion. His father was a government minister, and long-standing commitments meant that his calendar was almost constantly full.

As it turned out, it was a perfect spring day, and everything was just as they had hoped. The small church in Chipping Norton was picture-postcard perfect, and the reception in the exclusive Heythrop Park Resort Hotel went without a hitch. Laura’s father held directorships of many companies and was very well heeled. He had paid for most of Michael’s extended family (who were themselves almost all very wealthy) to fly over from their homes in various cities in Australia and had paid for their stay in the same hotel. In fact, he had hired out the entire hotel for a week so that Michael’s family could spend plenty of time exploring the beautiful Cotswold Hills before returning home - Business Class, of course. Laura’s dress was a one off special designed by David Emanual, who had designed the wedding dress worn by Princess Diana 19 years earlier.  

Michael waited patiently at the altar. He was an atheist and didn’t really care for religious ceremonies, but Laura’s family were staunchly Anglo-Catholic, and Laura was adamant that they should marry in a church. And besides: her father had spent a king’s ransom on his only daughter’s big day. Suddenly, there was silence, immediately followed by much coughing and the sound of people rising to their feet. The pipe organ burst into Wagner’s Wedding March. This was it. Michael gulped.

A few seconds later, he heard another sound. Surprised gasps and whispering.

“It must be the dress”, he thought.

Finally, curiosity got the better of him, and he turned to see what was causing the commotion. She was of course walking arm in arm with her father, but it wasn’t just the dress that was causing the reaction from the guests. She was beyond beautiful.

He turned back to wait for her, and involuntarily and uncharacteristically he trembled. He tried but was unable to hold back a tear that welled up and ran down his cheek.

“Cheer up mate. She doesn’t look that ugly”.

Both men sniggered a little too loudly, earning a silent and good humoured rebuke from the priest.

Adam Boyd was his oldest friend. Together, they had frequently painted the streets of Sydney red during their college days. It was during a gap year world tour in 1995 when they were both in London that Michael had met Laura at a party. He had simply walked over to her, stood next to her, and handed her a glass of champagne without even looking at her. Confused, and without thinking, she took it from his hand. Looking around the room, he leaned towards her, and said quietly, in an almost conspiratorial tone:

“Jeez, this is a boring party. Let’s drink up and go to that Aussie bar down the street. Looks a bit more lively there”.

Taking his cue, Laura took a sip of her champagne, looked around the room, and said quietly:

“You do realise that this is my party, don’t you?”

Michael looked skywards, started to blush, and blurted:

“God, I’m sor..”

Laura cut him off.

“Kidding”.

Michael breathed a sigh of relief.

She finished off her drink in one gulp.

“Ok. Let’s go”.

Five minutes later, they were ordering drinks in the Aussie bar down the street.

Chapter Two – The Fall

Michael Lifted the collar of his Drizabone Stockman’s coat against the wind and held on firmly to his Akubra hat. Laura thought that his typically outback Australian garb was comical, and teased him relentlessly about it, but he didn’t care. He could walk to his local in the worst weather that coastal  Sussex could throw at him and he always arrived warm and… dry as a bone.

“Mike! How’s it going? The usual?”

The Half Moon was only 10 minutes’ walk from his home in the South Downs, and was the only pub in the village. Michael had been a regular since he and Laura had first moved there in 2010. He and the landlord were by now firm friends, and often went fly fishing together on weekends. The ‘usual’ was a double Johnny Walker Black Label with ice.

“G’day Wilko. No mate. Not tonight. I’ll have a pint of Lager”.

“Foster’s?”

Michael snorted.

“Pig’s arse!”

His friend was already pouring him a glass of Stella Artois. Michael had informed him years before that contrary to what the rest of the world believes, Australians don’t drink Foster’s.

He peeled off his wet coat and hat, hung them in their customary position on a coat-stand by the door, and found his pint of lager already waiting for him. The friends exchanged chit-chat for a while, but soon the Pub Quiz crowd arrived. They were about to get very busy. Michael winked at his friend, and took his beer over to a quiet corner of the bar where he could think. He took out his  Apple Airpods, and selected some Mozart on his iPhone. It took him back to Vienna, and the time when things had started to go wrong.   

It had been a perfect prolonged weekend trip. They had visited the many museums in Vienna over two glorious spring days, before going to a concert at the Musikverein, followed by dinner at a Michelin starred restaurant. They were now finishing off the evening with Sacher Torte and a glass of Asbach Uralt.

He knew that he was about to sour the mood. But it had to be said.

“Laura, I don’t want to bring this up again, but..”

He saw her tense, instantly.

“Well don’t then.”   

He knew he should have just dropped it, but sadly he knew that was not in his nature. He had always been a stubborn bastard, as his father would say.

“It’s been five years, Laura. We always agreed that we would go to Australia after a few years”.

“Yes, but that was before Daddy’s stroke!”

He bristled.

“Daddy’s fine, and you know it. Doesn’t stop him doing 18 holes every weekend at the golf course”.

She hated the way he mocked her for calling her father ‘Daddy’. He knew very well that she was from a social class where this was customary. She wasn’t going to change her ways just to pander to his inverted snobbery. He liked to think of himself as a rough and ready Aussie bloke, and often jokingly referred to himself as her ‘bit of rough’, but Laura knew that he had attended the most expensive and exclusive private school in Australia, and owned a luxurious house In Sydney with a panoramic view of the harbour. A bit of rough indeed.

“Laura, I really need..”

“Well bloody well go then, but I’m not ready. I’ll come and visit you, but I’m not leaving!”

There it was. They both knew it. An impasse.

And then his big mistake.

“I want a son, Laura”.

He didn’t even know why he had said it. Anger? Frustration? Laura knew. It was sheer cruelty. She had endured an ectopic pregnancy three years earlier, and they had both been told that her chances of bearing a child were negligible. He wanted to wound her.

She stood, picked up her handbag and without looking at him, said quietly:

“I’m going to the hotel. Don’t hurry back.”

She caught a taxi outside the restaurant and managed to hold back her tears until she was safely in her room in the hotel suite with the door locked.

The pub quiz was over, and the boozy and (mostly) disappointed people had wrapped up and filed out of the pub.

Michael checked his watch. 10.15. He finished off his lager, stood, put on his hat and coat, and bidding farewell to his old friend, he headed home.

The lights were off. He quietly unlocked the door, entered, removed his shoes, and tiptoed quietly up the stairs. Laura was in bed, gazing silently into space.

Pleased to see that she was still awake, Michael quickly undressed and climbed in next to her.

“Laura love, I’m so sorry. About everything. I’m such a bastard. But I love you so much”.

She turned to look at him, with those green eyes he adored. He could see them glittering in the light from the light of the moon being filtered through the open blinds.

“No, you’re not a bastard Michael, and I know you love me. I love you too, but it’s time you went home. You know it is.”   

“But what about you?”

His voice was strained. His throat was choked up.

“You know I can’t go with you, Michael”.

“But!”

“Shh”. She put a finger across his lips. “Just go to sleep Michael. We can talk tomorrow”.

He gently pulled her over to his side of the bed. She laid her head on his chest and wrapped her arm around him.  He smelled the sweet fragrance from her soft golden hair. Michael felt more at peace than at any time he could remember, and he was soon fast asleep.    

Chapter Three – A Journey

Michael rose at 7.00 sharp, feeling unusually refreshed. He showered, shaved, brushed his teeth, and went for a run in the crisp morning air. As always, he took a scenic route over the South Downs, with a glorious view of the English Channel across to Brighton and beyond. He had noticed over the years that the sea had moods. During winter, it was usually grey and angry. At other times it was blue and tranquil. Today the sea was a sparkling emerald green, like the eyes of his Laura.

She was the love of his life. And he knew that she felt the same about him. But they argued often, ferociously, and at times quite bitterly. After the argument in Vienna, Michael did indeed return to Australia. After some months, Laura came for an extended visit. Michael awarded himself a month’s break from his work, and they travelled in style around the whole continent - by rail, road, sea, and air. Finally, they returned to Sydney, exhausted, but with their connection to each other restored. When he waved Laura off into the departure gates at Kingsford Smith airport, he felt a crushing weight on his soul that he could not bear. Within a week, he was back in England. And he had remained there ever since. Sydney could wait.

His run over, Michael returned home - pleasantly tired, and ravenously hungry. It was around 8.45, and Laura was obviously still in bed. As usual, he half-filled a bowl with her favourite cereal, and put it on her side of the table along with a small jug of semi skimmed milk and a bowl of sugar. For himself, he took two very thick slices of bread, and toasted them until they were almost black. Then he smothered them with a thick layer of butter, and finally topped them with an unfeasibly large smearing of Vegemite. Sheer heaven. He crunched, greedily.

Just as he finished, Laura walked into the kitchen in her thick woollen dressing gown, hugging herself as if against the cold.

“Good Morning! Breakfast?”

She smiled, shook her head, and walked over to the window.

“Expecting someone?”

She turned, and Michael thought that he caught a strange look in her eye. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it bothered him.

“Laura, are you ok?”

She walked over to him, bent down, kissed him on the head, and held him to her side. He put his arms around her, and they did not move.

“I love you Michael. I always will. Remember that”.

Michael pulled away. This time, he was really concerned. But before he could say anything, he heard the crunching of car tyres driving slowly on the gravel path from the main road.

“What? Who?”

The car pulled up outside the kitchen, and Michael was delighted to see his old friend and best man Adam slowly climb from the door of the hire car.

Confused but excited, Michael rushed to the door, opened it, and ran over to Adam to embrace him with a manly Australian bear hug. As he pulled away, he was surprised to see a sombre expression on Adam’s face.

“I got your email, mate. Got here as fast as I could”

Now Michael was thrown into utter confusion and felt himself being engulfed in a wave of terror. The open laptop. No. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly, until finally, he whispered, almost groaning:

“Laura.”

Adam took Michael by the shoulders and locked eyes with him.

“She’s not coming back mate. It’s been three years. Time to come home”.

Michael crumpled. As if every bone and muscle in his body gave way at the same time. He curled into a ball on the driveway.

“It was my fault”.

Adam kneeled beside him.

“Bullshit mate. It was the cancer that killed her. You did all you could. You did everything. You’ve suffered enough.”

Finding reserves of strength that came more from madness than anything else, Michael stood quickly and ran into the house.

“Laura!... Laura!”

“LAURA!!”

Epilogue

Adam finally managed to calm his grieving friend with the aid of what was left of the bottle of Scotch. The human mind is a strange thing, and grief is amongst the strongest of emotions. She had seemed so real. They had been speaking only minutes before. He had even held her in his arms the night before and smelled her hair. Adam listened patiently. If he found all this strange, then his face gave nothing away. The email?

“That was a cry for help, mate”.

At Adam’s insistence, they started packing essential things only for the next Qantas flight to Sydney. Michael had the resources to have others finish the job and sell the house. He could not return here. He had to move on, for the sake of his sanity.

His suitcases loaded into the car, Michael turned and gazed at his house for the last time. Suddenly, he though he saw something move behind the bedroom window. A trick of the light. He climbed into the car and closed the door.

Looking from the bedroom window, she watched her love leave her for the last time. She waited until the car disappeared behind the trees, and the sounds of exhaust and tyres had died away to silence. And then she turned. 

THE END