Traffic whizzed by when Laura and I faced each other on 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, well… it’s damaged my car.’
‘Did you get his name and number?’
‘Er, no.’ She had moved her car past his lorry, she had caused.
I followed Laura 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, because all I would receive would be lies. 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 Laura. I walked home.
There were many jobs I did for her. Laura lived 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. For now, I always came back. I always helped.
addictchild 