It is Saturday night. I am at home, looking after K, as C and J have gone out. I wanted to go with them, but K is anxious and it isn’t possible for me to join them. I feel a bit deflated, and watch catch up TV. L is at a friends house, celebrating her friend’s recent discharge. After ten she calls me. She is clearly drunk but she lists all the food she has eaten. There is no mention of the vodka until she confesses under questioning.
But I’m not interested in the food or the vodka. She tells me I am her favourite person in the whole world. That I picked her up when she thought it was over. She sounds like a tired little girl, and I wish I could tuck her up in bed. She continues to tell me how much she loves me and how I have rescued her and that she is so sorry for being ill and she promises to get better. It makes me smile and it makes me cry. I hope she’s not sick, but I am so, so glad she is happy. Drunk, yes, but happy.