One Summer In Paris. Sarah Morgan

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СКАЧАТЬ throw the computer in the trash, Audrey no longer dared risk storing things on her laptop.

       You teenagers spend too long on screens.

      On the calendar above her desk were crosses where Audrey marked the end of each day. Each cross took her closer to the day when she could leave school and home.

      Her mother was still hovering. “You don’t think Ron would prefer the pink? It shows a little hint of lingerie, and that’s always good.”

      “It isn’t good! It looks like you forgot to get dressed! It’s called underwear for a reason. It’s supposed to be worn under clothes.” Bursting with exasperation, Audrey finally glanced away from the screen. Her mother’s hair was wild from pulling dresses on and off. “Wear the dress you prefer. You can’t live your life constantly trying to please another person.” She couldn’t for a moment imagine asking a man what she should wear. She wore what she liked. Her friends wore what they liked. It was a roundabout of trying to fit in and trying to be different.

      Linda’s lip trembled. “I want him to think I’m pretty.”

      Audrey wanted Ron to think her mother was pretty, too. Audrey wanted Ron to take care of her mother, so she didn’t have to.

      “Green,” she said. “Definitely green.”

      None of the men her mother had dated had stuck around as long as Ron.

      Audrey liked Ron. His favorite response to everything was As long as no one is dead, it will be fine. Audrey wished she could believe it. “Stop drinking. Sober is sexy. Drunk isn’t.”

      “What are you talking about? I’ve had a drink, yes, but I’m not drunk.”

      Audrey paused, her heart pounding. “You drink a lot, Mum. Too much.” And her biggest dread was that Ron would grow tired of it. “Maybe you should talk to the doctor, or—”

      “Why would I talk to a doctor?”

      “Because you have a problem.”

      “You’re the one with the problem, but I can’t reason with you when you’re in this mood.” Her mother flounced out of the room, slamming the door.

      Audrey stared at the door, feeling sick. This was why she rarely brought the subject up. How could her mother think she didn’t have a problem? Someone in this house was crazy and Audrey was starting to think it must be her.

      And now her mother was upset. What if she went off the deep end and she drank everything in the house? From time to time Audrey went through the place, room by room, hunting down hidden bottles. She hadn’t done it in a while.

      Stressed, she grabbed a chocolate bar from the stash she kept hidden behind her textbooks.

      She tried to get back to work but she couldn’t concentrate. Giving up, she left her room and stood listening.

      She heard sounds of her mother crying noisily in the bathroom.

      Crap. She knocked on the door. “Mum?”

      The crying grew louder. Anxiety balled in Audrey’s stomach. It felt as if she’d swallowed a stone. “Mum?”

      She tried the handle and the door opened. Her mother was sitting on the floor leaning against the bath, a bottle of wine in her hand.

      “I’m a bad mother. A terrible mother.”

      “Oh, Mum.” Audrey’s insides churned. She felt exasperated, anxious and a little desperate. Most of all she felt helpless and scared. She didn’t know how to deal with this. Once, in a state of desperation, she’d called a help line for children of alcoholic parents but she’d lost her nerve and hung up without speaking to anyone. She didn’t want to talk about it. She couldn’t talk about it. It would be disloyal. Despite everything, she loved her mum.

      She wasn’t alone, but she felt alone.

      Her mother looked at her, mascara smudged under her eyes. “I do love you, Audrey. Do you love me?”

      “Of course.” Despite her dry mouth, she managed to say the words. It was a routine that happened often. Her mother drank, told Audrey she loved her, sobered up and forgot all about it.

      Audrey had given up hoping that one day her mother might say those words when she was sober.

      “Give me the bottle, Mum.” She eased it out of her mother’s hand.

      “What are you doing with that?”

      Audrey poured it down the sink before she could change her mind, bracing her shoulders against her mother’s distressed wail.

      “I can’t believe you did that! I was having one drink, that’s all, to give me confidence for tonight. What did I do to deserve a daughter like you?” She started sobbing again, apparently forgetting that a moment before she’d loved Audrey. “You don’t understand. I don’t want to lose Ron. I’m no good on my own.”

      “Of course you are.” Audrey put the empty bottle down on the floor. “You have a good job.” Which she was afraid her mother might lose if she didn’t sober up.

      What would happen then? Did Ron know her mother was an alcoholic? Would he walk out once he found out?

      She clung to the idea that he wouldn’t. Hope, she’d discovered, was the light that guided you through dark places. You had to believe there was something better ahead.

      Audrey grabbed a packet of wipes and gently erased the streaked mascara. “You have pretty eyes.”

      Her mother gave a tremulous smile, her earlier nastiness no longer in evidence. “You think so?”

      The vulnerability made Audrey queasy. Most of the time she was the adult, and the responsibility terrified her. She didn’t feel qualified for the role. “Definitely. People wear contact lenses to get this shade of green.”

      Linda touched Audrey’s hair. “I hated having red hair when I was your age. I was teased all the time. I wanted to be blonde. You don’t get teased?”

      “Sometimes.” Audrey reapplied her mother’s makeup, her approach subtler than Linda’s.

      “How do you handle it?”

      “I can take care of myself.” Audrey styled her mother’s hair and stood back and admired her handiwork. “There. You look good.”

      “You’re so much stronger than I was.”

      “You’re strong, too. You’ve just forgotten it.” And if you stopped drinking it would help.

      She didn’t say it again. Her mother was calm now, and Audrey didn’t want to do or say anything that might change that. They lived on a knife edge. One slip, and they’d all be cut.

      Her mother studied herself in the mirror, touching her cheekbones with the tips of her fingers. “You’d better get back to studying. Thanks for your help.”

      It was as if the emotional explosion had never СКАЧАТЬ