She returned to bed and sat for a moment staring at the wall. Maybe Rosie was right, she should try to contact them again. She would like to explain to Sally and Julia, perhaps even ask for their forgiveness. Yes, her life was worth bothering about, even if it was just to make peace with her children and Mike. Feeling calmer, she turned off the lamp, snuggled down and was asleep within moments.
This was the first time she had dealt with a section of her past without getting the shakes. She had talked it over in her mind and remained calm. Forced herself to hold on, remain distant from it. She reckoned it was another step forward in rehabilitation.
But she had spoken to Rosie about her past as if she was talking about another person, another Lorraine. She hadn’t cried or, to Rosie, appeared to feel remorse or guilt. Instead there was a cold confidence, a control, that seemed to be getting stronger around her, as if she was divorcing herself from the past. What she was not doing, Rosie had surmised, was facing the full reality.
Rosie knew how harsh that reality was. Unlike Lorraine, she couldn’t sleep. Instead, she was mulling over what she had been told. At some stage in her own recovery Rosie, like Lorraine, had asked herself if remaining sober, facing what she was and what she had lost, was worth all the trouble and the pain. Sober, she felt, she had nothing to live for. It had been Jake who had said her life was worth fighting for, for the sake of her son. She had tried to contact Joey, and she had felt really positive — but it had been a disaster. Rosie had been, and was still, unable to cope with the emotional strain of seeing Joey, of knowing there was another woman her son called Mother. She could not cope with talking to her ex-husband, or seeing the new home he had made for himself and their boy. As it all swept over her once more, she began to feel guilty about opening up the same terrible emotional road for Lorraine.
She crept out of bed. If Lorraine was awake she would tell her that she should take more time before she tried to confront her lost family. She was wrong to push her, she wasn’t experienced enough, and maybe this wall of control Lorraine was building around herself was good, and safer for her than allowing anybody like Rosie or Jake to break it down. But Lorraine was sleeping, one hand tucked under her chin, only the strange, jagged scar running from her eye to her cheek marring her look of innocence. She seemed peaceful, a half-smile on her lips.
Rosie made a vow. She would not ask Lorraine to leave the apartment: it was important for her to have a sense of security. Lorraine was her friend. That setded, Rosie went back to bed, swiped at her pillow and, within seconds, passed into a deep sleep.
Chapter 5
The following week Lorraine got a job in a florist’s shop. It was only short term, replacing an assistant who was on holiday. She also did four nights at Art’s gallery, as he remained open until ten in the evening. He was rarely there, and she was often alone waiting for the odd customer. A number of paintings had been sold, but business was not flourishing. Art was out looking for new pictures, but whenever he saw her, he greeted Lorraine with affection.
The week was good because she was occupied, and with the little money she earned she bought two more outfits from a garage sale. Nula and Didi dropped in for chats, and always brought some home-made banana cake with them. Didi was still limping but she refused to see a doctor. The two transsexuals admired Lorraine’s taste in clothes and discussed second-hand bargains they’d bought. Because of their size they often found it difficult to get really stylish clothes, and especially shoes. Lorraine was looking better and feeling stronger every day. The sweatings were less frequent and she had put on weight.
Rosie had started doing clerical work at home and had hired a computer and printer so she was always in. They began a routine of sharing the cleaning and laundry. Lorraine contributed towards the rent and groceries. It meant that at the end of the week, after she had bought her cigarettes and clothes, she had little left. But what was left, she saved.
When the florist job finished, Lorraine asked Art if he could use her for a few more hours. As more paintings had been sold, and he had discovered a new artist, he took her on for two full days a week, plus the four evenings. There were few customers, and she didn’t know how the gallery paid for itself let alone paid her salary. On her way to and from work she had to pass Fit As A Fiddle, now called Fit ’N’ Fast, and decided to join one of their classes. She only managed the first ten minutes of the step aerobic session before she felt her energy give way. However, she began to practise in the empty gallery with a stack of telephone directories and slowly built up her strength, stepping up and down until her legs felt like jelly.
Lorraine used Art’s telephone daily to try and trace her ex-husband. She called a number of Mike Pages but so far she had been unsuccessful. He had disappeared. Rosie surprised her by suggesting that she call the Bar Association: if he was still practising, they would know his address.
Mike Page was living in Santa Monica. Lorraine had not spoken to him directly, but to a secretary, who confirmed that he had two daughters, Julia and Sally. Before she could ask any further questions, Lorraine hung up. Then she stacked up the telephone books and stepped until she was exhausted.
It was a Friday evening, two weeks since Lorraine had found Mike’s office number. She had put off getting in touch, always making the excuse that she didn’t have enough money to get the bus to Santa Monica — and she was still in need of better clothes. She arrived home with a banana cake made by Didi and some fresh fruit. She was flushed from walking. It had been a full day of exercise: she had done a light workout with Hector, the owner of Fit ’N’ Fast, who had put together a beginner’s programme, starting with small weights, to build up the atrophied muscles in her arms and legs.
Rosie peered up from a mountain of brown envelopes and watched as Lorraine removed from her bag boxes and boxes of vitamins. Hector had taken to giving them to her free because most were samples. He suggested she took vitamins E, C, D and B12, and with her past record of alcohol abuse, he said, zinc. They all knew about Lorraine’s drinking problem — Nula had told them — but Lorraine didn’t mind. It was easier that everyone knew, and besides, as none of them drank she was never tempted.
‘I see we’ve been to the hairdresser’s — or did Hector turn his muscular body to that, too?’ Rosie smirked.
‘No, I had it done at the local.’ She still had the short cropped cut, but she’d had new streaks put in.
Rosie licked a few more envelopes, slapping them down. She didn’t say how good Lorraine looked because she was jealous. Lorraine was changing before her eyes. She was lightly tanned from all her walking back and forth to the gallery and whereas before she had seemed to shuffle, head bent forward, shoulders rounded, now she was straight-backed and looking fit.
Lorraine counted her money, putting some aside for Rosie. Then she went into the bedroom and opened the crammed closet. She took out her shoes, and stuffed the money inside with the rest of her savings. She sniffed gingerly: Rosie’s clothes stank of body odour. She wished she had her own closet.
‘You comin’ to a meeting with me tonight?’ Rosie asked, lolling at the door. ‘Only I got to deliver these so I thought I’d maybe go straight on.’