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?’
‘Courtyard.’
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 