‘Former child actress and star of Marigold! Stella Wiseman was rushed to Lewisham Hospital late on Friday night following a suspected barbiturate overdose. Paramedics were called to a South London address in the early hours of Saturday morning after an alarm was raised about the welfare of a woman. The actress (35) starred in the long-running sitcom from 1985 to 1993 before disappearing from public view.’
Oh God. A drink. I just need something to take the edge off. I walk into the kitchen and look in the fridge, but there is no wine, no beer. We have vodka in the freezer, and I take a slug of it standing in my pyjamas. There is a clutter of dirty washing-up in the sink, crumbs and stains on the worktop. I can hear my phone ringing and I wander down the hallway carefully, taking the vodka with me cradled beneath one arm.
‘Hi, Jackie.’
‘Hello, love. Are you all right?’
Since Jackie divorced and remarried her tennis coach she has joined a gym and given up smoking. This means she incessantly chews gum even when working out. Her mouth is in constant motion. I can hear it now, a soft churning sound. She is holding the phone too close to her mouth.
‘Why didn’t you tell me, Stella? For God’s sake. I could have helped you.’
‘You’ve seen the news? It’s crap, Jackie, totally out of proportion. Some idiot has sold that story – that non-story, I should remind you – for a few quid.’
‘I didn’t know it made the news. Marco called me.’
There is a muffled noise, static blown into the mouthpiece. She is sighing.
‘I wish he’d called me sooner – I could have been down there in three hours. Honey, don’t you know how precious you are? How important? Your parents wouldn’t have wanted this.’
I can’t take this in. I sit down slowly on the bed.
‘Is it drugs? Is that it, honey? God knows what you’re taking these days. You don’t know what they’re putting in it, Stell. They’re ruthless, these people.’
‘What people?’
‘Drug dealers. We had a problem with them here a while ago, hanging round schools and giving it to kiddies. And of course the police aren’t doing anything. It’s a joke.’
‘I’m not on drugs, Jackie.’
‘Well, I hardly think you overdosed on Lemsip, did you? Marco is extremely worried about you, we all are.’
‘He had no right to call you.’
‘Stella, he did the right thing. I’m your family now. I’m all you’ve got. I couldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you too.’
‘I’m fine. I’m really, really, really fine.’
‘Marco knows a private doctor with his own surgery near Holland Park. We talked about it, and I think you should go and see him. He might be able to help you.’
‘Help me with what? There’s nothing wrong!’
Silence. I know she’s still there though. I can hear her chewing.
‘Denial is the first sign of a problem, Stella. You of all people should know that. Your father was the same. Could never admit it.’
‘Jackie, I have to go.’
‘I’m here. We’re all here. Let us help you.’
I hang up and put my head in my hands. Am I losing my mind? Is this how it happens? Slowly, destroying everything, like the descent of lava.
Chapter 9
It is the day of Carmel’s party, and the flat is a mess – she is packing for her move to Paris, drinking tea, filling out forms, walking back and forth across the sitting room with her phone tucked beneath her chin.
‘Stella, did you hear what I said?’
I look up. I’m reading a book but I’m struggling to concentrate, reading the same line over and over: There’s a large dog loose in the wood.
‘I said will you come and visit me in Paris? You’ll have your own room with all your special things in there like a kid with divorced parents. And there is a patisserie just next door so we can get nice and fat on croissants.’
I fold the book onto my lap and look up at Carmel. She is so beautiful – luminous – that I wonder how we can bear it, the glare of her. I know people think I’m jealous. I know that. But I’m not. I could never be. She’s never made me feel that way, despite what Marco says.
‘Of course I will. I can’t wait.’
Carmel looks out of the window. ‘My taxi’s here. I’ve got to go the wine merchant with Tia and sort out the boxes of champagne. Will you be okay?’
‘Yes. I’m not going to try and hang myself, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
I laugh, but she doesn’t smile. I suppose it wasn’t that funny. Tia is Carmel’s sister; she arrived last night from New York. We’ve hired a field just outside London and a huge marquee will be strung with fairy lights and glittering chandeliers. There’s going to be a roulette table and a cocktail bar and huge displays of cherry blossom and ferns. I am looking forward to it. And I love Carmel’s sister. The last time I saw her, Carmel and I were off our heads the morning after a night out in New York about ten years ago. Her apartment on the East Side had been full of vegetation; mosses and ferns and tiny Tillandsia plants hanging above her bed.
‘Stella?’
‘Huh?’
‘I said maybe you could talk to Tia about work. She knows some great galleries in New York. Could be a big thing for you.’
‘Sure, okay.’
She narrows her eyes. ‘You won’t, will you?’
‘I can’t move to New York, Carmel.’
‘Why not?’
I hesitate and she nods knowingly.
‘Marco can’t fund you forever. You lost your job over two weeks ago. I move at the end of the month. I just think you should feel—’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know. Urgency? You seem to be ignoring everything; it’s not healthy. How will you pay the rent when I’m gone? Where will you live? What will you do for money?’
‘I’ll manage.’
I can’t tell her I haven’t thought about it, any of it. It’s there the same way all my thoughts are these days: at the back of my skull, muddy and as slow-moving as treacle. Every time I try to focus it slides through my fingers.
‘You going to do something with your hair?’
‘What do you mean?’
Carmel looks at me flatly. Ever since I came back from the hairdresser earlier this week she’s been pecking at me: What did you do that for? That blonde is ageing on you. Those extensions make you look like bloody Rapunzel. I stare back at her, too tired to argue. Eventually she sighs.
‘I saw a girl in Brighton last weekend with a jet-black Vidal Sassoon bob that would look amazing on you. Right now you look like you’re about to enter an American beauty pageant. I mean that in a bad way.’
‘Are you done?’
‘You’re still coming, right? You’ll be okay for the party?’
‘Yes. I’ve already said all this. Just go. Go on. I’m going to have a bath and a sleep.’
She looks me over, not bothering to mask her concern. I want to tell her that she is mistaken, that she has it wrong, she and Marco both have it wrong. I am not my mother. I am braver than her. More resilient. The thought makes tears spring to my eyes, and I lift the book to my face so Carmel does not see.