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.’ Said she had moved her car past his lorry, she had caused the damage.

‘Where’s your car now?’


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.

Addict Child by Lesley Sefton buy on amazon

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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