Laura celebrated her thirtieth birthday in rehab.
Husband and I were busy preparing Laura’s house for her return. I was at home, Husband was painting internal walls at Laura’s new house. He returned home with this story of concern:
‘Hey one of the neighbours at Laura’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, the house was purchased, the jobs were all but done. ‘We’ll have to warn Laura, tell her to stay away from the girl next door.’
My poor repaired tragic fragile daughter would come to rip it up large with the baseball bat swinger.
Laura now came home from rehab 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.
Sunday morning on one such weekend we went to her house, which Laura was thrilled with, to tackle the garden. Laura 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. I returned to join Husband, ripping out weeds and planting shrubs.
What a pair of mugs.