Page 66 of Where Do We Go From Here?
Electricity: Gone.
Alcohol: None.
Cat sightings: 0.
The sun has returned, but I don’t care because I’m dying. I barely slept at all last night and when I eventually did it was for an hour or something and then I woke up soaked in sweat with a splitting headache.
I ventured outside briefly to empty the ashesfrom the wood stove (it left a horrible stain in the pristine snow) and it’s like an ice rink. It’s absolutely bloody lethal and there’s no way whatsoever I could make it to the main road, let alone the bakery.
Luckily I still have rice, two eggs and a tin of mushrooms, so I’m going to attempt egg-fried rice.
I’m so over this all now. I’ve been thinking I need to phone Harry, because I really, really want to go home as soon as I can get out of this damned place.
Day Seven
Inches of Ice: 1.
Food remaining: Scraps.
Electricity: Yes, it’s back!
Alcohol: Zero.
Cat sightings: 5!
God, I’m so ill. I woke up feeling sick and sweaty again, and very, very anxious. My heart was racing so fast that for a while I worried I was having a heart attack.
I wish I’d kept a bit of that gin back for emergencies because it was the only thing that made me feel better. Today I’m dosing on paracetamol, but it’s not doing anything at all.
I wasn’t going to write this down – because it somehow makes it even more real to do so – but whatever: I saw my mother this morning. I woke up and she was sitting on the end of the bed. Not transparent or ghostly or anything – totally solid and there. I could even feel her weight through the covers.
She wasn’t doing anything, just sitting there quietly in that placid way she had with her hands crossed on her lap.
I think I cried out, then felt surprised that it wasn’t enoughto wake me up. I mean, I was obviously dreaming but it didn’t feel like a dream after that.
Mum smiled at me and said, ‘Calm down, silly. I’m just checking in on you, but you’ll be fine.’ And then she added, ‘Then again, I’m dead, so what do I know?’ Typical Mum humour there.
I got the shakes then, and kept closing my eyes, sort of blinking really hard, but every time I opened them, she was still there.
I went through a whole range of emotions in less than a minute. At first I was shocked, and then I was scared, and then kind of happy for a bit – I came over all emotional, and had a cry. And then I got scared because I decided that I really was going mad and hid my head under the quilt instead. Eventually I must have fallen asleep (or more likely, I was asleep the whole time) and when I woke up, she was gone. And now I feel sad and a bit angry with myself for not making the most of the moment. There are so many things I should have asked her. Now, every time I look around the room I’m excited but terrified in case she’s back.
The snow has almost melted, so I’m going to be brave and try to walk to the bakery. I need bread and cheese and butter, at least. And I could really do with a drink.
But, honestly, I feel so ill. I think I must have got Covid all over again. Not sure if I’m going to make it.
Update: I suddenly remembered Erik’s kind offer so I phoned him. He answered, but he’s in Stockholm for Christmas. Damn! He said to ask Madame Blanchard for help, so I’ve sent her a message but for once she’s not answering. Perhaps her internet is down. Hell, I tell you, is right here, right now.
I made it halfway to the bakery but it was so slippery, and I was so wobbly on my feet, that I was about to give up and comehome when Manon pulled up in her yellow post van. She told me that the bakery isn’t opening until tomorrow and then drove me back home. She didn’t mention our previous discussion, and I was feeling so rough I didn’t broach the subject either. She kindly offered to get me some shopping if I need it but I can manage fine until tomorrow. I’ve lost my appetite anyway. The only exception is that I would really, really like a bottle of something, but of course that’s the one thing I can’t ask her to bring.
I’ve been thinking about the drink thing, and I suppose the truth of the matter is that I don’t only want a drink because I’m bored. It goes deeper than that. There’s some surgical alcohol in the bathroom cabinet and I even found myself considering that.
OK, look, cards on the table time. I didn’t just consider it, I actually tasted it. I thought it might taste like vodka, but it was disgusting – even with tonic. But that can’t be normal, can it? Tasting random bathroom products in the hope they taste like vodka?
On the good news side of things, the electricity has returned and Mittens has been back five times today. Five times! On his last visit I managed to get him to eat indoors on the doormat. His fur is all matted and dirty and I’m gagging to get a brush to him. It’s probably a bit pathetic, but when he’s here I don’t feel quite so alone.
ELEVEN
A SURPRISE
