Time unknown to Becky, Thursday, October 26
I’ve shouted at Layla. I’m so pissed I’m shouting at her even though I’m on my own. I’ve googled all sorts of things to try to help her.
I’ll just go to bed. I’ll just go to bed and maybe all of this will go away. Since Marc left—he said he could stay, but I didn’t want to subject him to the crying; I want to be with him properly, alone—all I’ve done is drink.
I bring my arm up to look at my watch, but I misjudge, and my wrist hits me in my face. I can’t see the time anyway. Everything is blurred. The room moves with my gaze, like when I had bad flu one Christmas. I shake my head, which makes it worse.
Bed, anyway. And then tomorrow Martha will be home and I will have one hell of a hangover for sure. But just bed, bed, bed, now, and I can forget everything.
I sit on the sofa. Not moving.
The noise of it.