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Extended Work
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| Lorraine Part 7 | |
| By amy456 | ||||||||||||
| 05 July 2006 | ||||||||||||
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Here's another one. Lorraine It’s a miracle. Megan actually seems OK this morning. Maybe she is getting better! Well, maybe that’s a bit optimistic. Four hours of normality is no basis for permanent success. But it is so good, especially after last night, that she is happily pottering around in her room, reading and writing and listening to this weird band called Blackmore’s Night, whom neither I nor anyone else I’ve spoken to, have ever heard of. You realise that normally at this time, she is still in bed, and my attempts to get her up usually result in tears, screaming, sulks and tantrums. God bless her for being OK this morning! However, the only bad side about this, is that I feel at a bit of a loss. I’m so used to having ‘issues’ with Megan in the morning that it is sort of weird to have nothing else to do but take Emma to school and then sit around watching Trisha. It gets one thinking about things. Like Steven. I’m sorry to keep going on. I feel really mean to think these things about him after we really bonded together over Megan the other day. He is a good man, really he is. I know he is. But the fact remains that I don’t love him. I wrote off to a magazine problem page about it once, and my letter actually got published. It must have been oh, seven or eight months ago by now. The response was of the ‘like it or lump it’ variety. I could leave, or stick with it. The only positive thing about the arguments with Megan is that they deflect attention from the problems in my marriage. Megan has been unstable for years. If we hadn’t concentrated on her so that we literally had no time to think about ourselves, perhaps it would have all ended long ago. I realise that it’s sort of selfish. There’s no reason for me to leave, as the magazine pointed out. Apparently, I have a duty to ‘work at your marriage for the sake of your daughters’. I should have made out that Steven was violent or had had an affair, then the advice would have been the opposite. And it’s not like there’s anyone else. If I left, then I’d be on my own. At least with Steven, there’s companionship. As ridiculous as it sounds, coming from a married, working mother-of-three, sometimes I feel so lonely I could scream. You know I have no friends. Maybe that’s why Megan’s so reclusive. She gets it from me, I know she does. Ours was never the bustling household with friends and relatives always dropping in. Instead, there’s an obligatory visit from my mother every three months, and I can honestly say that she’s no company at all. She hasn’t exactly been very sympathetic to my plight either, or Megan’s. I can’t blame her though; she was brought up in a different generation, where depression was even more taboo than it is today, and people just didn’t walk out of their marriages. As a matter of fact, my mother, Rose, really likes Steven. I think she’d make him a better wife than me. I fail in everything! I don’t mean for you to start getting out the violins, but things really weren’t supposed to be like this. I wanted to be a film star! I never even wanted children. I don’t like children. As soon as I had Megan, it was like I didn’t matter any more. Everyone feels the same: the children are the most important thing. Your life as a woman is officially over. I don’t believe I’m a particularly selfish person. I just want my life and my freedom back. What’s the point of making all those sacrifices – and over the years there have been many – if nothing even works out anyway? Like Megan, for example. Is she a healthy, confident, well-balanced individual? My heart breaks as I say it, but no she is not. If it’s not my fault, then whose is it? If it is her fault, then how come nobody’s allowed to blame her? Why are all the fingers pointing at me? Kirsty is the only thing that makes me feel better. With her, I feel like I have done a good job. She is an angel. She does well at school, keeps a tidy room and has plenty of friends. And she didn’t gloat over her sister either, when I told her that Megan would let her have the top. “Oh no, mum, I couldn’t,” she said. “I only wanted to borrow it. I didn’t think she’d mind. Of course I wouldn’t take the top from her.” “But Megan doesn’t like it,” I assured her. “She told me last night. There’s no point it going completely to waste.” “What – she definitely doesn’t like it? But it’s lovely!” Kirsty cried indignantly. “I know, sweetheart, I think so too, but everyone has their own taste. Anyway, she assured me in no uncertain terms that she wouldn’t be seen dead in it. So you may have it with a clean conscience.” “Couldn’t you take it back and exchange it for something she does like?” “I don’t think they’d take it. There’s nothing wrong with the top, and it’s been longer than 28 days. So I really want you to have it. It fits, and it wasn’t cheap either, so I’m not taking it down to Oxfam. You looked lovely in it.” “Oh, thanks mum,” she said, throwing her arms around me. “Thanks very much! And I won’t wear it around Megan, either.” “I don’t see why she’d mind, but perhaps it would be wise. You’re an angel, Kirsty.” I mean it. Kirsty is only fourteen, but she’s practically my only source of rational conversation. And all the time we’ve been traipsing round to different counsellors and therapists for Megan, she’s never resented her or complained. I would go so far as to say that were it not for Kirsty – if, say, there’d been two Megans – I would probably not be here today.
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