10, December 2012
THE MOM:
My emotions are all over the place at the moment.
It’s DK’s opening night in London so racing around up here getting cards made and a gift for the director and and ironing shirts and collecting from dry cleaners and sheets changed and food made for Uncle Mike who’ll be dog sitting while we’re gone plus trying on everything I own in every possible stupid combination to see what I can get away with and this is finally it, I can’t walk or breathe or sit in any of it but that’s life:
Cheap black legging trousers from Lowestoft; cheap black very high heels from Lowestoft; low cut black silk leotard top from Marks & Spencer; grey silk short jacket I’ve just had made incorporating amazing silvery lace sleeves covered with bunches of pearls, like grapes, removed from Great Aunt Elise’s ugly 1950s Fred Astaire Dance Studio dress; chunky fake statement pearl necklace stolen from mother; Great Aunt Elise’s £10,000 pearl and diamond drop earrings I never wear because too scared to but going for it so fuck it; hand bag made out of red seatbelts from Australia.
Sorted. But then yesterday, while doing the bed change over from King Size to Twins in Alex’s room to accommodate Uncle Mike and shoveling stuff off the floor and into dirty clothes, the waste bin, and so on, I discovered a wadded up tissue that I was just about to pitch but then opened since I felt something in it, and there was a little metal pan, like a teaspoon measurer and a crumpled piece of blue cling film. My legs just about gave way. I knew what it was.
The question is/was: how long has it been under the bed or behind the bed or under the bureau or the notebook on the floor? Alex was using for the first two days when he came up almost three months ago, I knew that, but we had done a full “clean” of his bag, bookcase, closet, drawers, after that.
I cannot swear, however, that I went under the bed, or behind it, or under the bureau, or mattress, and although I’ve had the cleaning lady vacuum in there on occasion, such as when you could actually see the floor, she’s not particularly thorough.
Alex, when confronted, held me and looked into my eyes and swore on his life, and mine, because I said this would kill me if this were all for nought—that it is definitely old gear that got lost in the shuffle, that’s all.
I believe him. 99.9%. It doesn’t make sense not to: he could not still be taking the Subutex if he were using, besides which he has no money now to buy drugs.
Still, there is that point one percent that makes me want to throw up. On DK’s opening night.
!!!!!