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Extended Work
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| Lorraine | |
| By amy456 | ||||||||||||
| 29 June 2006 | ||||||||||||
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This is the prologue to a novel about a depressed mother trying to help her depressed daughter. The bulk of the novel will consist of the daughter's diaries, however the work opens with the mother's viewpoint. Lorraine There comes a point in every woman’s life, I think, when she wonders where all the years have gone and what exactly she has done with them. The fact is that I am nearly forty years old and work part-time for an estate agent, a job which I have held for far longer than I had initially envisaged. When I was at school I had wanted to be an actress and have a glamorous job working in different countries making films, in which I would star opposite a different gorgeous man each time. My role model, unsurprisingly, was Sophia Loren, though of course she was greatly before my time. However, I have been told, many years ago now, that I bear some resemblance to her in her heyday. Obviously it’s all gone now. When I look at photographs of me in my early twenties, I barely even recognise myself. What happened was that I got pregnant. I was twenty-one, and I’m not ashamed to admit that it was one of the stupidest events of my life. Even though it resulted in the birth of my oldest daughter Megan, now eighteen, I regret it bitterly. I wasn’t married to Megan’s father at the time; that came afterwards, along with my other daughters, Kirsty, who’s fourteen, and Emma, seven. If I’m being brutally honest, I don’t think I would have married Steven had it not been for Megan. Damn it, had it not been for her, we probably wouldn’t even have lasted a year. It’s not that he’s a bad husband. Not exactly. As far as I know he has never had an affair. He is neither an alcoholic, nor an addictive gambler; he is not controlling or violent. He loves our children dearly and has always kept a job and, consequently, a roof over our heads. The problem is that, except at the beginning, there has never been any love and I begin to despair now of there ever been any. I suppose I made the choice fair and square: I was young and scared, and I choose Steven, security and a loveless marriage over facing the world alone. Apparently a woman should be able to find complete fulfilment in her children. It makes me feel worthless that I don’t. I have put on weight and have strechmarks. Since having Kirsty, I can’t bear to look in the mirror. Steven is very sweet about it, but I think secretly it bothers him too. Not that he has any right to complain – he has not exactly aged well himself, and is literally twice the man he used to be. However, I can’t just blame this all on Steven and my own insecurities about my looks. To speak truth, it’s Megan. I just don’t know what’s wrong with her any more. In some ways I’m beginning to hate her. Steven says we should make allowances for her age, but that is something I fail to understand. Why shouldn’t we also make allowances for fourteen and seven? And I hope you will realise I am nothing if not fair. Megan thinks the whole world revolves around her. She doesn’t realise that I have to make time for her sisters as well, and what a hard life I have. She doesn’t appreciate me, or her father, and she doesn’t go out any more, but stays in her room the whole time listening to the most appalling music. Occasionally she does venture out to town on the pretence of ‘meeting a friend’ and I often wonder if she’s lying – I’ve never met any of her ‘friends’. I have tried to help her, but she doesn’t help herself. She makes me feel like a bad mother. Sometimes when she looks at me I can see that expression in her eyes, saying, ‘You don’t even know how I feel and what I’m going through’. Well, how can I? Why does she expect me to pick up the pieces? Steven’s of no use whatsoever. He can’t even understand me, so how could he possibly understand his daughter? Maybe he’s given up on her as well. A typical exchange between us goes something along the lines of: ME: I’m worried about Megan. She’s been in her room for two days. STEVEN: Give her time, she’ll come round. It’s incredibly irritating. I feel like screaming at him, “Don’t you care?” But I’m always afraid to do it. There’s always the chance he’ll turn around and say, “As a matter of fact I don’t. I’m past caring.” Then what should happen if Megan were to overhear? Even I myself, at the end of my tether, would hate for Megan to be confronted with her father’s declared indifference towards her. The problem is she pushes everyone to the very edge of their limits, the other children included. I think a lot of what goes on passes over Emma’s head, but Kirsty is an angel. I just hope she doesn’t go the same way as me, or her sister. At least the exams are over now, but God knows what Megan will do at university. Will she bother to study? Make any friends? Sometimes the future is too terrifying to contemplate. I do my best to make sure that at least Megan gets out of bed each day. “Megan, would you please get dressed? It’s gone twelve-thirty.” “Leave me alooooone,” she moaned through her bedroom door. “No self-respecting person stays in their pyjamas all day. I need some milk and bread from the supermarket. Will you please get some for me? And if there’s anything you want, chocolate, ice-cream, you can pick some up too.” “Just go away,” was the rather disheartening reply. “Don’t you want any lunch? We were planning on having toasted soldiers – only that’s rather impractical without the bread.” “I’m not hungry.” “But you haven’t had any breakfast. What would you like for lunch?” I asked jovially. No response. I gave up with a sigh. It’s difficult once they get to eighteen – how can you force an adult to do something they don’t want to do? On the other hand, looking after Megan was more laborious than looking after any small child.
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