Laura’s friend was aghast to witness Laura’s parents bursting into the room looking for signs of alcohol, after Laura had promised to moderate her intake. The Friend frowned at the way I treated my daughter. ‘We were only having drinks and a take-away,’ The Friend tried to add.
I could not say to her, The Friend, ‘My daughter’s life will go down the toilet if she doesn’t moderate her consumption of alcohol.’ I could not say that. Laura’s drinking was a family secret. Our pow-wows kept in house. Laura was bemused by our interaction, the alcohol had made her so.
Husband and I stormed out of Laura’s house. We went home and had a chat. I felt bad for my daughter. My poor girl was enjoying an evening with her friend. Wasn’t that what I wanted? For Laura to have decent company. For Laura to have fun.
I let a few hours slip by, then got in my car to go back to see Laura. Unsurprisingly, her friend had left. Laura had cleared away the debris of the evening. She had cleared away the makeup from her face.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘for behaving that way. I am just so desperately worried for you.’ I was deeply concerned she chose drink to put a smile on her face. ‘Come home,’ I offered.
‘This is my home,’ she said.
I left her. Back home I told Husband how sick I felt inside. He pulled the duvet over his shoulder – get to sleep – he implied.