Worried that Laura had not answered Husband’s phone messages the evening before, we were restless. We drank tea, then more tea to occupy our minds. Where was she?
Was she safe? Was she alone? Had our attitude to her forced a crack in her obvious breaking heart? Would she do something stupid? Dark shadows of night departed when daylight filled our bedroom.
A knock landed on the front door. On jellied legs I rushed to let the outside in, not knowing what I would find. There Laura stood, our beautiful daughter, shivering with the booze she had left behind.
I made hot drinks, steered her to the sitting room.
The three of us shared a pow-wow. Laura’s behaviour was dissected. The need for her to change her life was discussed. ‘Start fresh. Come away from that arsehole.’ The damaging Mr Big I Am.
We advised withdrawal of her name on Mr Big I Am’s house, instructed withdrawal of her funds.
We offered money, alongside hers, to buy a place of her own. A place to live and be independent. For her to be proud of, to make her house a home.
The morning slipped into afternoon, hung over and exhausted, Laura needed her bed. No such luxury for Husband and me – the daily grind had waited our late start.