Traffic whizzed by, as Bella and I stood in the street.

‘What’s up?’ I asked. The resident stone, dropped in my stomach.

‘I just nipped out in my car, and a lorry that couldn’t get past, has damaged my car.’

‘Did you get his name and number?’

‘Er, no.’ Said she had moved past him, she had caused the damage.

‘Where’s your car now?’

‘Courtyard.’

I followed Bella to her parked car, to see the damage. The front pillar of the car was  gouged. ‘Well, that needs repair,’ I said, and added, ‘Why have just been out in the car?’

‘Needed milk.’

I wished I had looked at her car before I knocked on her door. This bizarre story did not ring true.

There was no use interrogating her–lies–would be all all I would get. I knew this now.

I took the car to the garage, included another scrape onto the repair. How this damage occurred I did not know. I collected a courtesy car, parked it in the nurse’s car park for Bella, I walked home.

There were many jobs I did for her. She was on her own, I thought she needed my support, needed my help, and she did, when it suited her.

When my presence, my company was a hinderance to her drinking, a hinderance to her lifestyle, I was dropped. I was ignored. But for now, I always came back. I always helped.

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I am the mother of two adult daughters, both much loved and cared for. The eldest thought she could handle social drinking and party drugs, she could not. There is a journey addicts relate to - their journey. As a mother I have healed through the written word. This is my journey.

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