Chapter 6

It always amazes me, how different two siblings can be. Same parents, same upbringing, two polar-different attitudes to life.

I was the little workhorse—always wanting to be occupied in some productive capacity, always making lists and laying out little stepping stones to get from A to B. I would have made an excellent scout because I was Always Prepared.

Jess was a sleepier individual, more the type to wait for things to come to her. Somehow harmless daydreaming morphed into a sense of entitlement and she would become utterly indignant when she didn’t get her way. “How could Mark Allen ask Claire out instead of me! I’d already picked out the dress I was going to wear on our first date!” This in turn became a sense of deprivation—everyone else had it easier than her; she was the one who had to struggle against a cruel world. Her misfortunes had nothing to do with the choices she made (or the lack of effort on her behalf); she was an innocent bystander, randomly cursed and often beginning her sentences, “It’s all right for you . . .”

Mum used to say that Dad leaving had affected her younger daughter in a profound way. She thought that was the trigger for the sense of lack. But he left when we were nippers and elected never to see us again. I hardly think him sticking around would have been a bonus. As far as I was concerned we were extremely lucky to have a mother who was so devoted, so encouraging, such fun—how ungrateful would it be to focus on a disappeared dad? Shouldn’t we be glad for the good things?

Instead Jess seemed hell-bent on finding a way to make us suffer as deeply as she supposedly was. She needed to bring us down to her level. At least, that’s how I saw it.

Of course you can look at the drugs as a cry for help or a means of escape. And we certainly tried to put an empathetic spin on it when we first found out. Our initial instinct was to help her through this, to get her back on track. My mother and I even went to a “family skills for drug abuse prevention” workshop. But I must confess I struggled with their insistence that we had to let go of any judgment.

I wanted to thrust my hand up and say: if addiction is a disease, how do you first catch it? I mean, if you’ve never tried a single sodding drug in the first place, how could you become addicted? You couldn’t. It wouldn’t be possible. You are making a choice that first time. You are volunteering for the addiction. You know it’s wrong and self-destructive but you do it anyway.

Alcoholics I understand better. Alcohol is everywhere. Alcohol is foisted on you at every turn in every walk of life. Even in church communion.

I don’t mean to be deliberately controversial. This stuff just gets me riled up. I think more than anything it’s the waste—the waste of life. Of your life. Of other people’s. The toll it takes is so far-reaching. So insidious.

“Why did you do it?” I wanted to ask Jess, over and over and over. “Why did you even begin? You knew no good could come of it and you did it anyway. You wreaked havoc on all of us. And you don’t even seem sorry.”

I feel the emotions flare within me again. I mustn’t let this overwhelm me. I mustn’t let frustration take hold because when I do it throws off everything in my life. And I need the next few days to flow smoothly.

That being said, if Ravenna thinks I’m going to look the other way while she depletes and dishonors her mother, she’s mistaken. I don’t have my mother to defend anymore. I didn’t do a good enough job of protecting her.

I heave a sigh.

It’s one of those situations you replay in your mind, trying to force history down a different path, to a different outcome.

It should have been the other way round.

I can’t get this thought out of my head—it should have been my sister the drug addict who died, not the mother who loved her too much to ever give up on her.

I’m mad at Ravenna for bringing up these feelings in me but, to be honest, it doesn’t take much. I have no idea how to lay this to rest. I’ve become quite skilled at squishing down the tears and the raging sense of injustice out of necessity. But I can’t seem to make peace with my mum being gone. How can I? There’s no “everything happens for a reason” platitude that can make sense of this.

Once in a while, Jess will try to get in contact. But I’m not convinced her motive is remorse. I just think she’s coming for me next and I need to stay away. Right now I cannot even contemplate being in her presence. Ever again.

Okay. Enough. I just have to block her out and focus on where I am now. She can’t get me here. I’m safe, nestled amid the skyscrapers—she finds them intimidating and threatening. To me, they are like bodyguards.