Escape From Evil - Cathy Wilson [119]
When I picked Daniel up that evening, I took him straight to Peter’s. I forget what line I spun – maybe it was the power-cut excuse Mum used to use – but he said he could have Daniel for the weekend. That was the main thing. I kissed my boy and drove away, but I didn’t go straight home. First I stopped at a local shop and bought 150 paracetamol tablets. Tonight I would make my problems disappear forever.
Any second thoughts I was having about my plan disappeared the moment I turned the key in the lock at Campbell Road and felt the cold, dark air envelop me. That was what my life had come to. Fumbling around in the dark, I poured a pint of water, then went and sat in the lounge. The street lamp outside gave some valuable light, but I didn’t need it for what I was about to do.
I remember being really uncomfortable lying on our two-seater sofa, which is weird when you consider the pain I was planning to inflict on my body any moment. But I’ve always liked things just so. From smoking Dunhill instead of Rothmans to rushing Daniel into private education when I couldn’t even afford to eat, that’s how I think. At that moment it seemed important to be comfy.
I’ll be honest, I didn’t want to go through with it, but in no way was it a cry for help. I wasn’t doing it for attention or sympathy, like Peter had with his overdose and slashed wrists. I had no phone, Daniel was away for two nights and hardly anyone knew my address anyway. When you moved as often as I did, friends fell by the wayside. Killing myself was the last thing I wanted to do, but I’d tried everything else. I couldn’t see another way out of my situation. I’d worked my fingers to the bone and it hadn’t been enough. I didn’t deserve to have a beautiful son if I couldn’t look after him.
Thinking of Daniel led me to my mother. Where was she when I needed her?
‘Help me, Mum,’ I heard myself call out. ‘Tell me what to do!’ I stared at the ceiling, waiting.
And she didn’t answer.
I so wanted her to. I really thought she would. Then I thought, You’re no fucking good to me either, are you? and I started to take the pills.
I didn’t tip them in. I just had one, took a sip of water and swallowed. When that was gone, I did it again. But there was no hurry. I wanted to do it right, but I also wanted to give my mother every chance to step in, to make me put them down. If she could just do one thing for me, now was her chance.
I was probably taking one tablet a minute and by now I’d had ten. It was a nice round number, but there were still plenty to go. I’d read that as few as thirty tablets could be lethal. I had five times that in my box and I intended to take every one. I reached once more for the bottle and then I stopped. There was a noise from the back of the house. Someone was knocking.
Wiping the tears from my face, I made my way through the darkness towards the half-light of the door. When I opened it, I could not believe my eyes.
‘Andy? What are you doing here?’
Steve’s old friend laughed. ‘It’s a long story, Cathy. Can I come in?’
I nearly turned him away, but he looked so happy to see me, I thought, I can finish this later. I’ve got all night.
Then Andy told me his ‘long story’ and I knew I wouldn’t be going back to my pills. Apparently, Steve had only recently told him where I’d moved to. Even then, he’d just said ‘Campbell Road’, no number. So tonight, of all nights, Andy had decided to start at one end of the street and knock on every door. He’d got to number 32 and nearly walked past, but something made him check round the side. He saw my door and that was that.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It was so random. There was only one explanation.
‘Thank you, Mum,’ I whispered.