Daughter still in rehab, had celebrated her thirtieth birthday there.
Husband and I were busy preparing Bella’s house, for her return. I was at home, husband was painting walls for Bella, at her new house. He returned home with this story for concern.
‘Hey one of the neighbours at Bella’s house, just collared me, said, did I know about the girl next door?’
‘Know what?’ I asked. A little pebble fell in my stomach.
‘She’d gone at the guy who lives opposite, with a baseball bat. Said we should be wary of her.’
‘Great! But maybe he’s exaggerating?’
‘Don’t think so, said, she went to court for the attack.’
‘Bloody hell.’ Too late now, the house was purchased, the jobs were all but done. ‘We’ll have to warn Bella, tell her to stay away from the girl next door.’
My poor, repaired, tragic, fragile daughter, would rip it up large, with the baseball bat swinger – but, that’s further down the line.
Bella could now come home for weekend stays – I would collect her, from rehab, early Saturday morning, take her back late Sunday evening. We went for walks, ate confectionery, watched movies, had family times, with our extended family too.
Sunday morning, on one such weekend visit, we went to her house, which Bella was thrilled with, to tackle the garden. Bella was tired, wanted to go back to my house, lie down in the conservatory. Poor girl – and silly mother took her, left her there alone, to show we trusted her – back I went to join husband, ripping out weeds and planting shrubs.
What a pair of mugs.