Page 145 of Where Do We Go From Here?
‘Really? Is that an actual thing?’
‘Apparently so,’ Prue says, speaking through smoke. ‘Some people with Parkinson’s even self-medicate with cigarettes and patches and what-have-you. Some find it helps a lot. I tried to convince Michael to try a patch. But his doctor said it was all rubbish even though he’s got nothing else to offer. You know what they can be like.’
‘Yes, I do. Anything that doesn’t fit into their worldview…’
‘Exactly. Even though there have been clinical trials in Europe and what-have-you. Anyway…’
‘So how do you cope?’ Wendy asks.
‘Why? Does it look like I’m coping?’
‘Yeah. It kind of does,’ Wendy says, nodding gently.
‘Well, good. That’s definitely the impression I’m striving to impart.’
‘But it doesn’t feel like that? Like you’re coping?’
Prue shrugs. ‘I suppose I am, most of the time,’ she says. She clears her throat and takes a hit from her cigarette before continuing, ‘I feel so bloody angry all the time. That’s the thing.’
They have escaped.
Todd and Amanda have been driven away, cans clattering, and though the party is continuing nevertheless, Wendy has convinced Harry and Fiona to leave.
Harry, in the front passenger seat, falls asleep almost immediately. It’s not even ten o’clock.
So Wendy finds herself struggling to chat to Fiona inthe back seat, speaking loudly over the noise of the engine. ‘Did you enjoy yourself?’ she asks. ‘You looked like you did.’
‘Sure,’ Fiona says, looking up from her phone. ‘It was fine.’
Wendy, who saw her daughter dancing frenetically at various points during the evening, laughs. ‘You youngsters are so stingy with your compliments. Would it strangle you to admit you had fun?’
‘Fine,’ Fiona says, feigning strangling herself. ‘Yes, Mum. It was great.’
‘I had fun, too,’ Harry chips in, in a rare, sudden moment of wakefulness.
‘Huh!’ Wendy laughs. ‘We noticed.’
They drive in silence until the M25 whereupon a loud snuffle and a snore from Harry prompts a fresh round of conversation.
‘He reallydidhave fun,’ Fiona says just loud enough for Wendy to hear. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that drunk.’
‘No,’ Wendy agrees, checking the mirrors and indicating before moving into the middle lane.
‘Is that a reaction to you stopping?’
‘No, I don’t think so. More to the fact that we haven’t been to a party in years.’
‘But you don’t mind?’
‘Your dad drinking? No, of course not!’
‘It doesn’t make it harder for you?’
‘No. I mean… it is quite difficult being surrounded by drunk people when you’re sober. So there’s that… But not your father, specifically. I was glad to see him having fun.’
‘He’s a terrible dancer.’
‘D’you think so? I’ve always liked the way he dances.’
