Liz Nugent - Lying in Wait

In Rome, Karen had told me she was moving out of her da’s place. I’d been impressed by her ambition to live freely and independently. It was time I did the same thing. I was surprised that Karen hadn’t rung me since she got the letter, but I was busy making plans for our future, hers and mine.

That evening, I told Mum that I was moving out to the cottage at the end of the week. I didn’t dance around the issue. I was quite matter-of-fact and told her that I needed to live as an independent adult and that she would soon see that it would be good for her too. I explained that I would still cover all her bills and expenses and that I would call to see her at least once a week. She would be free to entertain Malcolm whenever she wanted. I was sure that he would be more comfortable in the house if I wasn’t there.

Mum cried and begged me to stay, but I didn’t rush to comfort her. I felt awful, but I couldn’t give in to her again. I needed to be allowed to grow up. She went to her room and remained there for the evening.

About 11 p.m., I knocked on her door to say goodnight. There was no response. I pushed the door open. She was sprawled across the bed, fully clothed.

‘Mum?’ And then I saw the two empty pill bottles.

I shouted at her, pulled her head up. She was breathing but the breaths were uneven and shallow.

‘Jesus! Mum! What –’ But I knew exactly what she had done, and I knew why.

‘Leave me alone,’ she mumbled, ‘I just want to sleep.’ I dragged her out to the bathroom, opened all the windows and positioned her on the floor. I held her jaw open with one hand and used a toothbrush to poke at the back of her throat until she began to retch. I pulled her over to the toilet as she started to vomit.

‘Mum, I have to call an ambulance.’

Between retches she screamed, ‘You can’t, you can’t! They’ll send me back there!’

I knew she meant St John of God’s, and I knew she was right. I left her there throwing up, and belted downstairs and dialled.

‘Hello?’

‘Helen, it’s me, Laurence.’

‘Well, what the fuck time—’

‘Can you come to my house? Right now? It’s an emergency.’

‘Why, what’s happened?’

‘Can you come? Please. My mother has taken some pills, a lot of pills!’

She finally got the urgency of my tone. ‘Is she conscious?’

‘Yes, she’s throwing up now.’

‘Good, that’s good. OK, yeah, I’ll be there in ten minutes.’

Helen was fantastic. Once I explained what my mother had done, Helen took over. She ignored my mother’s protestations and eventually put her to bed, not before removing all of the medications from the bedroom and bathroom. We stayed with my mother until she fell asleep, then we went downstairs.

‘Don’t worry, she won’t try anything else tonight, she’ll be out cold for at least twelve hours. Why did she do it?’

‘I told her I was moving out.’

Helen looked at me with genuine sympathy.

‘You should have called an ambulance.’

‘They’ll only take her back to St John of God’s.’

‘Well, maybe that’s where she needs to be.’

I couldn’t help it then: the tears came to my eyes and I began to sob. I don’t cry gracefully. I heave my shoulders and it’s noisy and ugly. Helen went to the drinks cabinet and poured me a large whiskey.

I took it gratefully and drank half of it in one go, feeling the welcome heat coursing through me.

‘I promised her she wouldn’t have to go back there.’

‘For fuck’s sake, Laurence, that is a promise you can’t keep.’

‘I have to.’

‘You don’t.’

‘Helen, you don’t understand. She doesn’t have anybody else. It’s my duty to look after her.’

‘And what about your duty to yourself? What about living your own life? Are you going to live at home for the rest of your life to stop your mother from topping herself?’

‘I didn’t think she’d take it so badly. I knew she was upset, but I thought she’d see in the end that it was for the best. She’s been quite stable for a few years now. She has a boyfriend—’

‘Will he look after her? Is he kind to her? Like, will he marry her and move in? Is it even a possibility?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know him. He’s a psychiatrist.’

Helen began to laugh, and in the emotion and horror of what had just happened, I began to laugh too. And it was like loosening an air-pressure valve. The hilarity subsided.

‘What am I going to do?’

Helen was thoughtful for a minute or two.

‘You definitely don’t want her to go back into psychiatric care?’

‘No. Besides, we can’t afford it.’

‘Can you afford to hire me?’

‘You? What do you mean? You have a job in St Vincent’s… don’t you?’

‘Not any more. They fired me last week. They found out I’d nicked a load of Valium.’

Why was I not surprised?

‘Helen! Why?’

‘I don’t know. It was stupid really. I should have nicked amphetamines or something that gives you a bit of a buzz. Fuck’s sake. Valium are just downers. I was at a party a month ago and everyone was asking for them, but the fucking eejits got greedy and took them like Smarties. Nearly everyone fell asleep. Disaster!’

‘So what are you going to do?’

‘I don’t know. I was lucky they didn’t take me off the register. I was going to apply for some nursing-home jobs, but I could work here, couldn’t I?’

‘What?’

‘Just for a few weeks, until she stabilizes, like. I still have the Valium. That’s probably all she’ll need for a while, and I could monitor the dosage—’

‘Helen, my mother doesn’t even like you very much.’

‘Yeah, well, she likes me a lot better than she used to. And what option does she have? Are you going to give up work and nurse her, watch her?’

It seemed like a drastic solution but Helen was right. I didn’t have a lot of choices.

‘You’re not moving in. Just watch her while I’m at work.’

‘Fine.’

We sat up till 3 a.m. We negotiated a fee. She actually charged a lot less than I expected. ‘Mates’ rates. For cash, like,’ she said.

I told her about work. We talked about our disastrous relationship in the past, and she admitted that she had been unnecessarily cruel to me. I admitted that I hadn’t been attracted to her.

‘Wanker,’ she said. She told me about the nine different boyfriends she’d had over the previous six years. ‘You weren’t the only gobshite I dated.’ She complimented my weight loss. I let my guard down and told her about my break-up with Bridget and the non-proposal. As expected, Helen thought this was hilarious. Helen convinced me that I must move out, that I had to live independently.

‘It will be good for you. And her. Get the Malcolm fella on board.’

I was incredibly grateful to Helen for her company that night.

I stayed off work the next day and carefully explained to Mum that Helen was going to mind her for the next few weeks and reassured her that I would not move out until she was more stable. She was tearful and ashamed. She apologized over and over.

‘I’m so, so sorry. Why am I so useless? Why am I like this?’

‘You’re not useless, Mum, far from it. You’re just not ready for me to move away yet. I should have let you get used to the idea for a while.’

‘Please don’t go!’

‘We’ll talk about it again when you’re stronger. Would you like me to ring Malcolm?’

‘No! Don’t tell him. He’d just – don’t tell him.’

‘OK, I won’t. But, Mum, why are you… Is he married, is that it?’

She was taken aback. ‘No, of course not.’

‘You never talk about him. You never have him around to the house when I’m here… but when you’re better, I’d like to meet him properly, OK?’