I thought it would be a comfort. Her childhood bedroom, freshly ironed sheets, home-cooked meals. But of course ‘gratitude’ has never been Rachel’s middle name. She was surly and combative when she returned home. Nick was too infuriated to bother with her after a day of it, so I was left to take the flak. She holed up in her bedroom watching endless episodes of American dramas, tinny and nasal, through her battered laptop, ignoring the surround-sound TV in the living room. ‘Binge is such an unattractive word, isn’t it?’ I prompted her, but she k ept her eyes trained on the screen as if my voice was the buzzing of a fly she was too lazy to swat. The truth was that it hurt me. I would never have told her that – a fatal mistake perhaps – but every time I sent a spiky dart in her direction it was my heart that it pierced. I don’t know what I’d expected – your daughter being scraped off the pavement, unconscious, drooling tequila, is hardly the perfect precursor to quality mother/daughter time – but clearly some part of me was as deluded as she was. By the time the doorbell rang out on day five I was desperate for someone to break the spell. There was something about the way she stood there that unsettled me – the sureness of her stance, as if the doorway was a gilt picture frame and she was a priceless piece of art. She didn’t speak immediately, just smiled. ‘Amber?’ She didn’t look entirely like the picture on her website either, but nor was she brandishing a copy of The Watchtower, so it had to be her. Her dark hair was cut to just below her ears, where it kicked up in the kind of girlish curls that demanded product and a roller brush. She wore gold earrings, tiny, shiny tassels that brought out the brightness of her cornflower-blue eyes. There were gold studs, too, that ran up the ear lobes in a punky flourish. The eyes themselves were watchful, quickly scanning my face as if an internal computer was downloading the data faster than the speed of light. ‘Yes,’ she said, sticking out a gloved hand. ‘And you’re Lily?’ ‘I am,’ I said, st epping aside. I swallowed, suddenly unsteady. I clung to the door handle, fixing a smile on my face. Every st ep was like this. The phone call. The drive to the hospital. Each one was an incontrovertible admission that there was something de eply wrong with my child. ‘I’m so glad to be here,’ she said, her voice soft, and I felt something inside me unfurl. ‘It was wonderful you could fit us in,’ I said, opening the door fully and ushering her into our wide hallway. There’s a large bamboo-framed mirror that hangs down the length of it, an inlayed lacquer table where post and keys get dumped. I automatically de-focused my eyes, not wanting any stray folds of jowly skin to make themselves known to me. ‘Tea? Coffee?’ ‘Something herbal would be great,’ she said, her gaze still trained on me. I was glad. Everything looked so untidy: Nick’s giant, muddy wellies discarded by the doormat, a pizza leaflet shouting loudly about extra mozzarella. I k ept a brisk pace towards the kitchen. ‘Rachel’s resting upstairs. I’ll put the kettle on and go and find her.’ ‘No rush,’ she said, smiling at me. I grabbed it, then filled it from the fiddly little filter jet. My hands were shaking, and a few drops of scalding water dripped onto my bare flesh. I winced, tried to hide the pain. ‘No...’ I said. ‘I’m just conscious we’ve only got an hour with you.’ She waved an airy hand. ‘The first session has its own pace. I try not to get too hung up on time...’ She pantomimed hitting an imaginary watch on her wrist, which was ringed by a set of silver bangles. ‘Heal faster! Not really my approach. Kind of counter- productive, don’t you think?’
And I realized with a jolt that I didn’t know what I thought. I hadn’t thought beyond... her turning up, her making it better. I hadn’t imagined how any of this would unfold. Looking back now, I want to slap myself for the lack of foresight, even if it was born out of desperation. ‘Yes, no – absolutely,’ I said. Suddenly my feet felt rooted to the tiled floor. ‘You’ve made a really brave decision,’ she said softly. Her words hung in the ether; the silence broken by the ping of the kettle. ‘If you tell me where the bags are, I can do it?’ ‘No, no,’ I said, finding my mojo. I made her a lemon and ginger and shoved the strongest capsule in the Nespresso for my own delight. I k ept my back turned as I did it. If she thought coffee was unspiritual, I didn’t need to know about it. Rachel’s door was closed, no sound from within. I tapped gently. ‘Is she here?’ she eventually shouted. I opened the door. She was wearing a pair of Nick’s pyjamas, which she’d pretty much had on since she’d arrived. They must have been fetid by now, stiff with sweat. Looking at her there, hunched over her phone, you’d never know she was a thirty-something woman with a civil service job others would have killed for. I couldn’t let the pain in. I snapped at her instead. ‘Rachel... you knew she was coming at eleven. Get some clothes on. We’re paying for this.’ Amber’s words rung in my ears. Heal faster. I wondered if she had children. If she understood how hard it was to smile beatifically when they gave every indication that they simultaneously hated you and loved the soft cushion of your indulgence. ‘I know,’ she snapped back. Her eyes looked puffy. Had she been crying, or was it a byproduct of peering incessantly at all those screens? ‘I’ll be five minutes.’ I wanted to tell her that I was doing this because I cared. We cared. That we didn’t want her to plunge even further down a rabbit hole that we’d soon have no hope of freeing her from. That I wished more than anything that she was still tiny and there was no peril big enough to defeat my maternal might. But I didn’t. Perhaps I thought I’d outsourced human kindness to Amber. Perhaps I couldn’t risk too much analysis of what it was that had sent her underground. ‘Make it ten,’ I snapped. ‘Have a shower.’ She punished me for that. The minutes ticked past, Amber and I perched at opposite ends of the oatmeal linen sofa in the living room like it was a seesaw. Amber put her mug down on the occasional table, a Bridgewater one that Josh had given me when his twins were born. ‘Most Marvellous Granny,’ it said, in curly script, hearts painted all around it. I wished I hadn’t used it today: it made me feel ancient at the best of times. ‘So these are the grandchildren?’ she said, pointing at the mug and examining the jumble of family pictures on the table. There were silver-framed portraits of the boys when they were newly born and a recent shot of a toothless, grinning Nancy, a bow on her bare head. ‘She looks like a real live wire.’ It seemed like an odd description for an infant too young to even take a st ep unaided, but I seized the chance to distract from Rachel’s mortifying refusal to emerge from her bedroom. ‘She’s adorable. First granddaughter, and my son Josh’s pride and joy.’ Amber studied the photo for a beat longer than felt necessary, but didn’t say anything more. ‘And that’s your wedding, is it?’ Nick and I, in a dusty leather frame. There were plenty of other pictures she could have zeroed in on. School photos of all three of them, six-year-old Rachel wearing a stripy Dennis the Menace–style jumper she used to love. It was a hand-me-down from an older cousin which I hated back then, but now she looked nothing but adorable in it, all gap-toothed and innocent. ‘You look fabulous!’ said Amber, summoning me back. ‘So retro.’
I laughed, not entirely naturally. My hair cascaded in lacquered waves down my shoulders in that picture, my dress a creamy satin bell. Nick’s hand clasped mine tightly, the ancient doors of the Ealing church framing us both, grinning as confetti came at us from all directions. We were only twenty-two, teenage sweethearts who k ept a promise. ‘Trust me, considering it was only two years after Diana and Charles’s ridiculous affair, I was the picture of restraint.’ Now it was my turn to conduct an examination. Amber’s skin was smooth, but there was no hiding the lines that fanned out from her eyes like sun rays. There were no greys p eppering her dark hair, but that proved nothing, a fact I could attest to. Her hands were a giveaway – they had the kind of sun damage that could only have been caused by decades of beach holidays. She had to have been at least a teenager when our wedding photograph was taken, however much she was choosing to behave as if it was a fascinating artefact. My sneaky studying was stopped by Rachel’s appearance, her bare feet rendering her as quiet as a cat. Her wet hair was slicked back, her pale face left bare. Amber smoothly stood up, cocking her head to take her in. She smiled a smile that looked as if it contained the warmth and wisdom of the ages, and my spiky inner dialogue melted into ambient noise. ‘Rachel,’ she said, extending both hands just far enough that they welcomed my sullen child, without demanding a response. ‘I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you.’ ‘Have you?’ said Rachel, her voice like a knife. Normally she liked to drop the odd T and scuff her vowels, making sure the expensive education she’d endured would go unnoticed. It drove me mad, myself the product of a grammar school followed by an unfeasible amount of hard work. ‘It was an instinct,’ said Amber, unruffled. ‘I like to help. If I can.’ ‘Right.’ I looked between them, my whole body thrumming with tension. I had too much riding on this. It was a dangerous place to be. ‘Darling, why don’t you sit down?’ I said, both of us hearing the honey I’d injected into my tone. ‘I can make some more coffee.’ She looked at me, unsmiling, but at least she backed into the armchair near the television. It seemed to swallow her up whole. ‘Thanks. Can I have the strong one?’ ‘Of course. Anything more for you?’ I asked Amber, but she demurred, still smiling her buddha smile in Rachel’s direction. I took a last look between them before backing out of the room, relief engulfing me as soon as I hit the kitchen. Would it be so wrong to just stay here, flicking through Vanity Fair and imagining my life was entirely different? I could hear both their voices as I walked slowly back down the hallway, each st ep an individual act. My pace became glacial. Rachel was – was she laughing? Amber was still on the sofa, but she’d scooted down to the other end, breaching the gap between the two of them. Rachel was sitting properly now, her back straight and her body angled forward, no longer using the leather armchair as her personal cave. I stood there a second, the silver tray in my hands. For a brief second I felt like a nervy waitress at a posh function, paid by the hour to shut up and smile. ‘Coffee is served!’ I trilled, and suddenly the air felt heavy again. I wished I’d stayed where I was, looking at pictures of a sad-eyed Angelina Jolie and speculating about how much her artfully photographed LA mansion was actually worth. ‘Thanks, Mum, you’re amazing!’ said Rachel, with a brief smile that was pathetically gratifying. ‘Are you sure I can’t get you anything?’ I asked Amber, lowering myself into the armchair opposite Rachel’s.
With Amber holding court on the sofa, we already formed a perfect triangle: it would take time for the sacred geometry she’d created to cut me to the quick. She slowly turned her head towards me, her large eyes like a sad lemur in a cage at the zoo. ‘Just sit. Join us. Rachel’s been giving me a little bit of background about the past few months.’ ‘Right!’ I said. My heart was racing again, even though this was exactly what I’d asked for. I searched for a continuation of my sentence, but it felt as though my windpipe was knotted. Rachel leant forward, her hands gripping the arms of the chair. ‘Mum, I’m so sorry I’ve been such a mess the past couple of years.’ It was longer than that, but I k ept my careful accounting to myself. ‘It looks like I’m so much worse than I am, though. I don’t want you to worry. There’s still all the thirtieths going on, and now the weddings have started up. The fact is, most of the time during the week I’m just on my own at home after work watching Netflix in my tracksuit bottoms.’ I didn’t know which half of that description was more sad. My eyes in voluntarily flicked to the side table – the cluster of frames, the smiles of goals being achieved and love being cemented. I glanced back towards Amber, gratified to read in her face that she wasn’t buying Rachel’s PR spin on what normality looked like either. ‘Landmark moments can be hard, can’t they?’ she said. Rachel gave a half smile of assent, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth from the inside. I knew that expression of old. She’d have it when we stopped her pocket money or refused to let her go to a teenage party where there were no parents to supervise. Amber continued, her voice a soft caress. ‘Life has seasons, even if we don’t want to admit it. There’s something they talk about in astrology, the Saturn return, which comes in when you’re twenty- nine. It’s a big time of transition, on every level. You’ll still be living in the aftershock.’ I fought down a wave of irritation – if I’d wanted to hire a tinpot astrologer I’d have googled one – but then I looked at Rachel. Her shoulders had dropped, her eyes had softened. ‘I know it’s ridiculous, but being past thirty feels – when I was twenty-one, thirty-year-olds felt ancient,’ she said. ‘It felt like a lifetime away.’ ‘I understand that,’ said Amber. ‘It’s the decade for babies and husbands and...’ she wriggled her thin shoulders. ‘But it’s not as simple as that, is it?’ Isn’t it? I thought meanly. I was barely an adult when I got married – it had been far from perfect, but it was a decision. Sometimes in life you just needed to make a decision. Rachel was shaking her head as if she couldn’t trust herself to speak. ‘No,’ she said eventually. ‘Nothing makes much sense to me, really. I don’t know why I feel like this all the time.’ She looked down into her coffee like I might have piped the answer into the froth, her face desolate. I looked at her, willing her to look back at me, but she seemed to have forgotten that I was even there. ‘It’s okay not to know why you feel this way,’ said Amber after a pause. ‘I think it’s okay to just know that right now it’s confusing. And that you’re finding the confusion painful.’ And then Rachel began to sob – big, honking sobs that blindsided me. It was so loud and messy – it was almost as if she was exploding. I stood, grabbing for a box of tissues, but she waved me away without even looking at me, a single hand emerging from the chaos of her tears. She wiped at her wet face with a sleeve, her sobs reaching a crescendo. I looked down at my child, her face still hidden in the bunched-up sweatshirt fabric, and felt a sense of utter uselessness. I thought about ignoring her or marching across the room and wrapping my arms around her shaking body, but I didn’t know if she’d throw me off or shout at me.
I couldn’t risk the humiliation. I sank backwards, reluctantly grateful for Amber’s air of studied calm. She leaned across the sofa, took the tissues from me, touching my hand for a second as she did so, a tiny caress. My breathing slowed, my aloneness less total. Almost simultaneously, Rachel’s sobs started to lessen. Amber moved further down the sofa towards her. ‘Would you like one of these?’ she asked her gently. Rachel gave a barely perc eptible nod. Amber pulled out a handful from the box, putting them directly into her wet grasp, and laid a hand on her forearm. ‘Is it okay that I’m touching you?’ she said. ‘I thought you might need a bit of contact to help bring you back into the room.’ Rachel nodded again, mopping at her raw face. ‘Darling...’ I said, but then I ran aground. ‘I’m okay, Mum,’ she muttered. ‘Yes, you are!’ said Amber. ‘You’re in touch with your emotions. You’re not numb, or dead inside. Your feelings are close to the surface, longing for permission to express themselves. And you just did that. You just gave them that permission. You should be really proud of yourself.’ I felt a flood of relief: was that what it was – not a breakdown, but a catharsis? Was that all she needed? Rachel looked up and gave her a shy, watery smile. ‘Thanks, Amber,’ she said. ‘You’re very welcome,’ said Amber, beaming back at her. Relief and irritation duked it out again. She’s not a radiator, I thought. You can’t just sit there congratulating yourself on how well you bled her. It was jealousy too; my surly daughter already seemed like putty in her hands. ‘You’re starting the journey. You’re saying yes.’ I cut in. My voice sounded nasal and harsh to my own ears. ‘So, you’re thinking a series of sessions?’ I said. ‘A few weeks?’ Amber slowly rotated her body away from Rachel’s, turning that intense gaze of hers onto me. ‘Good question,’ she said. I was caught in her headlights. ‘What do you want, darling?’ I asked Rachel, nervously. ‘Not to feel so horrendously shit,’ said Rachel, smiling an actual smile for what felt like the first time in living memory. ‘Good answer!’ said Amber, almost playful. She paused, and the room stilled with her. ‘But maybe we should turn that question around. What would you like, Lily?’ I froze. ‘The same thing, obviously,’ I said. ‘For my daughter to be happy and healthy.’ ‘But that wasn’t the whole question. What would you like, for you? For Lily? It’s important. You’re not just Rachel’s mum.’ Or Nick’s wife, I thought. I tried to formulate a response, but Amber’s soft voice had started up again. ‘I can see how hard you’re working too,’ she started. ‘Even if you can’t answer it now, just stay with the question over the next few days. See what emerges for you.’ ‘Okay,’ I said, as monosyllabic as Rachel had been for the past few days. The question vibrated inside of me, like a wasp trapped in a hot summer car. ‘Shall we leave it there for today?’ said Amber. We both nodded our assent. Rachel looked different, there was no denying it. Now her tears were dry, you could see the brightness in her hazel eyes, a new alertness in her expression. Still, I didn’t want to get my hopes up. ‘And can I just say, I think you’ve both been incredible. Strong and vulnerable all at once. Warriors for truth. I’m really looking forward to our work together.’ Rachel gave her a look of pure gratitude. ‘Thanks for coming.’ ‘You’re very welcome. What I would ask is, as we take the first few st eps on the path, you try to make a commitment to yourself. Do you think you can agree to no alcohol or drugs until we see each other again?’ I cut in. ‘That’s a given. The doctor’s been very clear that Rachel can’t drink
for at least three weeks. Her stomach was pumped, and as for drugs...’ They weren’t even listening. They were looking at each other, the same half smile on each of their faces. ‘It’s hard though, isn’t it?’ said Amber. ‘When alcohol’s been ke eping you feeling safe. Taking away your nerves, bonding you with your friends.’ Rachel’s look to her was uncertain at first, but then it became determined. ‘I won’t go near it.’ She screwed up her face and as I watched it contort, I thought about how in capable she’d always been of perceiving how pretty it was. How lovable she was when she wasn’t being deliberately unbearable. ‘To be honest, the thought of it makes me feel ill right now.’ ‘Great! And are there any trigger points you can think of now that we should talk about? More parties? Social events you might need to think about skipping?’ ‘Well there’s the christening,’ I said. ‘Josh’s new baby. Rachel’s a godmother. But we’ll all be there to ke ep an eye.’ Rachel looked blank suddenly, that vacancy returning. ‘Sorry, darling – I mean, we’ll look after you.’ Amber’s eyes flicked quickly between us, reading our silent exchange. I tried and failed not to mind. ‘Do whatever you need to do to be pr epared for it – that’s inevitably going to be a big deal. And let’s not leave too long a gap between appointments. Next week would be perfect timing.’ ‘Thank you,’ said Rachel, her voice small. She didn’t stand, just gave a half- smile from the safety of the chair. ‘It’s time to take yourself seriously,’ said Amber, eyes lingering on her. ‘You deserve your own compassion, Rachel.’ I stood myself, breaking the moment. My legs were shaking as I walked her to the door. ‘We really appreciate you coming,’ I said, aware I sounded a little like she’d cleaned the windows, not somehow exorcised my child. ‘You’re welcome,’ she said, her eyes lingering on me now. ‘You take care of yourself too, Lily. I’ll be holding you both in my thoughts. Sending compassion to you.’ She sailed off down the path, without a backward glance. I know that for sure, because I left the door wide open, watching her progress until she disappeared from my eyeline.