Someone Like You (65 page)

She stuck their radio on and found some uplifting music before pulling out each twin bed and ripping the covers off. Mel’s bed was soon freshly made with the hot pink cover she loved. It didn’t go with the pale coral stripey wallpaper, but the girls didn’t appear to mind. Leonie turned to Abby’s bed. As she leaned over to tuck in the pale pink sheet close to the wall, she found them: a large red pack of laxatives.

Leonie stared uncomprehendingly at the packet for a moment as if the lettering on the front was Swahili instead of English. Laxatives. Whatever did Abby need them for?

The answer came to her in a blinding flash - Abby didn’t need them.

Neither did any of the thousands of schoolgirls who bought them, and consumed far more laxatives than was safe. They did it in order to be thin. Laxatives in teenage girls’ bedrooms meant eating disorders.

Leonie sank abruptly on to the bed as if someone had just taken her ability to stand away. She opened the pack to find that half the laxatives were gone. Half of a pack of twenty-four. God alone knew how many more packs Abby had already gone through. God knew how many were hidden under the bed even now, emptied and waiting to be dumped when Leonie wasn’t looking.

She fell to her knees on the floor, pulled up the duvet and stared under the bed. Old magazines, a couple of tennis balls and a shiny blue doll’s suitcase stared out at her. Balls of fluff and scrunched-up tissue paper reproached her for not hoovering there often enough. For once, Leonie didn’t feel upset at signs of dust. She used a tennis racquet to poke around under the bed, discovering an old cuddly rabbit, some pens and an odd blue sock. Nothing else. Then she dragged out the doll’s suitcase. It had come with a travelling doll, an ugly black-haired witch of a thing that Abby had unaccountably loved when she was seven. Leonie remembered Mel teasing her twin about her secret hiding place and knew without doubt that the suitcase was it. A perfect place to hide things from prying eyes.

Opening it was like reading your children’s diaries or bugging their telephone calls or something awful, Leonie was sure. Child psychologists would have a field day telling her what she was doing was totally wrong and would be betraying her daughter’s trust. But right now, Leonie didn’t give a damn about child psychologists and their version of child-parent relationships. What did they know? They hadn’t just been presented with the evidence that their fifteen-year-old daughter had an eating disorder. They weren’t the parent who felt guilt creeping up on her because she’d never noticed what had been going on.

Leonie wrenched the suitcase open. Inside lay a hideous treasure trove of Abby’s goodies: empty sweet and chocolate wrappers, a half-eaten packet of chocolate biscuits, several bags of crisps and at least eight more bright red laxative packets, all empty. She touched them lightly, running her fingers over the scrunched-up foil wrappers the tablets had come in. Poor, poor Abby. She had visions of her daughter doubled up with pain in the bathroom, trying to cope with horrific cramps from taking an unhealthy amount of laxatives.

Guilt hit her painfully. How could she not have known?

What sort of a mother was she when she hadn’t noticed what was going on? Her mind flew over the events of the past few months, desperately trying to piece together evidence of Abby’s problem, evidence that seemed painfully obvious now but imperceptible then.

She remembered Abby losing weight and becoming picky about her food. She thought of the fuss and bother when Abby insisted on eating only vegetarian products, and how happy she’d been that Abby was growing prettier and slimmer, convinced her daughter wouldn’t have to cope with the pain of being large and dull the way she’d had to. Now those happy thoughts turned sour in retrospect Abby had been getting thin because she was taking laxatives and … Leonie paled at the thought of what the ‘and …’ might be.

If only taking these things was the extent of her problem, if only she wasn’t developing anorexia or bulimia.

The phone rang and she let it ring out. Leonie sat on the floor of the twins’ bedroom and stared blankly at the posters of the boy bands on the walls, not seeing their bronzed and toned torsos; seeing instead sweet little Abby coping with this awful thing on her own. Leonie cursed herself for not noticing. She’d been so obsessed with her own problems, worrying about the effect Fliss would have on their lives, getting caught up in her romance with Hugh, that she’d completely missed all the signs.

Leonie had felt a lot of emotions in her life but never had she felt like a bad mother. She did now. Schoolgirls who didn’t look much like schoolgirls made their way out of the big silver gates of St Perpetua’s at four that afternoon.

Trailing schoolbags and sports bags, sleek, grownup looking girls wandered out, regulation navy coats unbuttoned, royal blue A-line skirts hitched up as soon as they’d passed the watchful eyes of the nuns. The older ones all looked far too old to be in secondary school, Leonie thought, as she sat in the car and watched for Mel and Abby. Some lit up forbidden cigarettes as they walked towards the bus stop, others applied mascara and lipstick as they waited for lifts, chattering nineteen to the dozen, delighted to be free for the weekend.

The bus to Bray had come and gone before Mel and Abby appeared in the middle of a group of other transition years, laughing like drains at some magazine they were all craning their necks to read.

Mel saw their mother’s car first and hurried over to it.

She looked startled to see her mother for they usually got the bus home from school.

‘Mum! What’s wrong? Is it Gran or Danny? What is it?’

‘Nothing like that,’ Leonie replied.

‘But you never pick us up any more …’ began Mel.

‘I need to talk to you both,’ said Leonie grimly.

‘Oh.’ Gloomily, Mel got into the front seat and fastened her seat belt. ‘What have we done now?’ she asked.

‘What’s up?’ Abby asked blithely, opening the back door. She threw her bags into the back seat and fell in.

‘I’m knackered, Mum. This is a nice treat. Did you have a good day off?’

Leonie looked intensely at her daughter through the rearview mirror, searching Abby’s face for some sign of illness or bulimia, as if it would be written on her forehead.

‘Er yes, I did,’ she stuttered.

‘We’re in trouble, Abby,’ announced Mel. ‘What have we done now, Mum?’

Leonie drove down the hill in a quandary. At the bottom, she braked a little too late and had to jam her foot to the floor to bring the car to a halt at the stop sign.

How did she say it? Should she wait until they were at home, or should she only say it to Abby?

‘Spill the beans, Mum,’ said Mel, exasperated and keen to find out if whatever misdemeanour would result in her not being allowed out all weekend.

‘I found some laxatives in your room today, beside Abby’s bed.’ Bluntly was the only way to say it. Leonie looked at Abby again in the mirror.

Abby’s face closed over. She said nothing.

‘I wasn’t snooping,’ Leonie said. ‘I was changing the sheets and I found a pack beside your bed, Abby.’

‘So?’ Abby said sullenly.

‘I know I shouldn’t have, but I looked in your blue case and I found all the others,’ Leonie added.

‘You what! You had no right to look in my private things!’ screeched Abby. ‘How would you like it if someone did that to you? They’re my things and I’m entitled to my privacy.’

‘I know, love,’ said Leonie, trying to placate her, ‘but I’m worried about you. I wasn’t looking for diaries or anything. I needed to see if you’d taken more of those awful things. They’re so bad for you,’ she protested.

it’s my business if they are or not!’ yelled Abby. ‘I hope you didn’t read my diary.’

‘Of course I didn’t, I didn’t even see a diary. But you’re my business, Abby,’ said her mother heatedly, ‘that makes it my business. I have a right to know what you’re doing because I’m your mother and I want to look after you.

Taking laxatives is bad for you, it’s stupid. You’re lovely, darling, you don’t need to change how you look. There are other ways to be slim, if that’s what you want,’ she said pleadingly.

‘Oh yeah, and you’d know about that, would you?’

snarled Abby with vicious accuracy.

Even Mel, who liked rows and was never fazed by rudeness, gasped.

Leonie found herself mouthing helplessly like a goldfish out of water.

‘She didn’t mean that, Mum,’ Mel said.

‘I did!’ howled Abby.

It was Leonie’s turn to howl. ‘How could you say something so nasty?’ she asked, is that what you really think of me?’

Abby didn’t answer.

They turned into the drive and as soon as the car had stopped, Abby leapt out and rushed into the cottage. Mel ran after her. Feeling weary, Leonie got out and followed them.

‘Abby, we have to talk,’ she said loudly, standing outside the girls’ bedroom. There were scuffling noises and whispering.

Leonie didn’t want to barge in but it looked as though she might have to. ‘Abby!’ she called again. ‘We have to talk.’

Cheeks flushed and eyes suspiciously bright, Abby emerged after a moment, looking less upset. No doubt she’s been checking to see that her diary was there, unopened.

Leonie had never even noticed a diary when she’d been looking earlier. She’d been too obsessed to notice anything but the laxative packets. Abby appeared to have calmed down a little bit.

‘Tell me how long this has been going on, Abby. Be honest,’ Leonie commanded her.

Abby didn’t meet her eyes. Shuffling from foot to foot, she stood outside her bedroom door still in her school uniform. ‘Not long,’ she said, ‘I read about them but they didn’t work, so there! Those were old packets you saw.’

‘Please tell me that you won’t do it again,’ Leonie begged, if you want, we could get counselling for you. I know there are eating-disorder groups…’

‘I don’t have an eating disorder!’ snapped Abby. ‘I was just experimenting, right. I don’t have to explain everything to you, you know. I’m not a child,’ she said, her tone scathing.

‘I know, love,’ Leonie said weakly. She tried to touch Abby but the girl jerked away from her. ‘Don’t be angry with me, Abby. I don’t want to treat you like a child, but what you’ve been doing is dangerous and I’m your mother.

It’s my job to take care of you. I can’t stand by and watch you destroy yourself. I need to know that you won’t take laxatives again, and I need to know if you’ve done anything else …’ Her voice failed her briefly. ‘… If you’ve been making yourself sick.’

‘I haven’t done anything else,’ Abby answered sullenly.

‘Don’t you believe me?’ she hissed.

Leonie stared at her for a long time. ‘If you promise you’re telling me the truth, then yes, I believe you. But if you have, we can get over it, together, as a family.’ Her eyes were wet with tears. She wanted to hug Abby, the way she’d done when the twins were toddlers. Abby had been so affectionate, a scrap of a thing who loved cuddles and kisses. ‘I can get the number of the eating-disorder group and we can deal with this problem together.’

Abby’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’ve got the answer,’ she snapped. ‘Listen, Mom, I don’t want to be here, I could go and live with Fliss and Dad. They’d love to have me, and I bet I wouldn’t be so much of a problem for them,’

she said, eyes like knives.

Leonie stared at her, hurting so bad she could barely think straight. Abby was speaking as if she was already in America. Calling her ‘Mom’ instead of Mum the way she’d always said it. And she hadn’t said she’d go to her father and Fliss - it had been the other way round. Fliss first, then Ray. He wasn’t the lure that drew her to America, it was the slim, elegant, charming Fliss. Leonie had never cared that the beautiful American woman had married her ex-husband. They’d been apart for so long, Fliss was welcome to him. But she would die if Fliss took her children away.

‘You’re not a problem, Abby,’ she said brokenly. ‘I love you, I couldn’t bear it if you went to live somewhere else.

I just want what’s best for you, don’t you understand?’

‘Leave me alone,’ Abby said. ‘That’s what’s best for me.’

She whirled round and went back into her room, slamming the door so hard that the surrounds shook.

Leonie prepared dinner on automatic pilot, her mind in turmoil as she figured out what to do. She felt too shattered to phone her mother or Ray, even though she knew she needed moral support. She wanted some time alone to think about Abby’s behaviour.

Abby emerged from the room that evening, white-faced and red-eyed. Leonie knew instinctively that she was sorry for all the things she’d said. Leaving the vegetables she’d been straining, she crossed the kitchen and pulled her daughter into her arms.

‘Oh, Mum,’ sobbed Abby, crumpling against her mother’s body, ‘I’m so sorry. I hate myself for what I said to you. I love you so much, I was upset. Please believe me.’

‘Hush, hush,’ said Leonie softly, stroking Abby’s hair.

‘I love you too, Abby. I want to help you. Will you let me?

Please don’t push me away.’ She held Abby’s face in her hands and looked at her questioningly. ‘Will you promise me not to touch laxatives again, please?’

Abby nodded mutely, her eyes brimming. ‘I’m sorry, Mum.’

Leonie hugged her again. ‘It’s all right, darling, we’ll get through it together. It’s all right.’

Of course, it wasn’t all right. At every meal, Leonie tried her best to keep her eyes away from Abby’s plate but she was inexorably drawn to it, watching anxiously as every mouthful was forked up, and straining her ears each time Abby went near the bathroom, listening for signs of vomiting.

‘Stop watching me,’ hissed Abby on Saturday evening as she picked at her dinner.

Tension loomed over the entire weekend. Amazingly, Danny, who was working flat-out on a project, didn’t seem to notice. Abby consistently avoided her mother so that Leonie was forced to engineer a moment alone to ask how she was feeling.

‘Fine,’ exploded Abby. ‘I told you I’m not doing it any more, so can’t you just accept that?’

On Monday morning, the twins left for school and Leonie rang the surgery to say she’d be in late. She had a phone call to make.