The Girl Behind the Painted Smile

The first chapter is written by Catherine's thirteen-year-old daughter...

Then the story goes to the beginning as they discover how they found themselves in such a dark place...

Chapter 1

Ruby’s Story (age 13)

My earliest memory was back when I was about three or four years old.

My mum really shouted at me for taking milk from the fridge and dropping it all over the floor. She looked really strange and wobbly. What I did must have been annoying but her shouting was so loud that it frightened the life out of me. She cuddled me afterwards and said sorry but I just stood rigid in shock.

Even though I was really young, I was still aware of the things around me. I knew that sometimes when my mum was asleep I could take advantage. I knew that she could be ‘drunk’. When she was I remember doing things like pinching her chewing gums and eating the lot or trying to swing on the washing line and other kinds of mischief.

I got used to my dad coming home from work and being really annoyed the times she drank. My older sister would sometimes hide the evidence. I knew even then that it wasn’t normal. I knew my mum wasn’t really looking after us properly during the times she drank but I somehow knew she wasn’t very well either.

As I grew older I became more and more aware. My brother was lucky because a lot of it went over his head because he was so little. I must admit it wasn’t nice at all. She was unhappy at times and my dad always seemed to be so angry with her especially when she was drunk.

When we lived in Spain my dad ran a company and would make visits to England for about a week at a time. My dad would tell us of these trips usually around a week before he left. He would kiss us goodbye and off he would go.

From that second onward I knew what might happen. There would be so many things running through my mind after he’d gone. I worried that it may be one of the times she would start drinking. She didn’t always get drunk when he went away but I suppose it would have been easier for her to get away with it or so she thought.

To be honest I don’t think she actually drank that much. She must have had low tolerance and it did her no good at all. Even the smallest bottle would make her ill. I would sometimes wake up in the night and hear her being sick. She must have been so crazy to do that to herself.

Once I was half asleep and suddenly was woken up completely by the sound of the front door being slammed shut. I hoped that she hadn’t gone out and left us on our own. I sat there for a bit praying she was still in the house but there was no sound. So after a couple of minutes I got up and quietly tiptoed to the living room where I opened the curtains just a bit. Then I saw her walking up the steps outside our apartment block. It was around midnight and I wondered where she was going.

That was when I decided to follow her. I walked out of my house and looked around the corner trying to spot her in the darkness. I waited there for a good fifteen minutes until I caught sight of her coming back. I didn’t want her to spot me so I quickly ran back to the house and I went in, shut the door and pretended to be asleep.

The next morning I asked her if she had left us alone the night before. She told me she had gone to buy her cousin a bottle of wine for her birthday and had only been gone five minutes but obviously I didn’t believe her. When we walked to school, she looked so unwell and was very shaky. Later that day, I asked her about it again and she seemed to remember her story and stuck to it.

“Yes darling,” she said. “I had to get Sarah some wine because I didn’t have time to do it this morning.”

I really hoped that it was true but I’m sure it was another lie. Perhaps she thought I had spotted the bottle and that was why she mentioned the wine. She was clever like that. I’m pretty certain that she had bought it for herself. She even seemed a bit drunk walking to school and she would probably be drunk later.

Sometimes, I feel bad about the way I questioned my mum when she was in that state. As I said, I knew a lot of things, even before I had been told or overheard the arguments. So I often tried to gather information out of her, but she would lie to me time and time again. I think she thought she was protecting me as well as herself.

She didn’t make much sense when she was drunk and would make up the most unbelievable lies. If I ever caught her with a bottle of vodka, she would say it was bleach and she was cleaning with it. She must have thought I was stupid. I’m still not actually sure where she went to that night but I am one hundred percent certain it was just to buy some drink for herself.

She did things like this quite regularly and I would usually follow her half way up the street. There was a bar and a shop minutes from the house where she might go, but I don’t think she would even remember much of what she did. All the bars stayed open late in Spain, sometimes until the early hours of the morning, so she had probably done it millions of times and I hadn’t even known.

After a while, I began to dread my dad’s trips away. I knew Mum might get drunk and we would be neglected. I also dreaded my dad’s return because there would always be a lot of shouting and screaming if he found out she’d been drinking. I felt it was my job to stop any of this happening. Dad would shout and Mum would cry and I couldn’t stand the noise. Even though I knew something wasn’t quite right from a young age, the arguments over Mum’s drinking were how I really found out. Sometimes their arguments would be so horrible. Often I’m sure they had forgotten we were there.

Sometimes, when Mum was asleep, sick or looked really drunk, I would do things like make my brother little sandwiches with cheese slices and tidy up around the house a bit. I couldn’t cook, so I just had to make-do with what I could find in the fridge. A few times, I wasn’t even able to play out, because I would have to try and make things look normal and tidy for my dad’s return. It was really scary.

One time, when my dad was away, I was almost finished getting rid of all the evidence and Dad was due home any minute. My brother was happy not to tell Dad about Mum being drunk. The house was tidy and mum was half-asleep. Now, all I had to do was to get rid of the half-empty bottles. I needed to go into our garden and climb onto our balcony, where my mum couldn’t see me if she woke up suddenly. Then I would pour the bottles into a plant. She would definitely have seen me if I’d tried to pour it down the sink. But after that, I still had the bottles, so I needed to take them outside to the big bin. As I got to the bin, I saw my dad’s lorry pull into the car park. I tried to rush back to the apartment, but it was raining hard and I thought I might slip, so I couldn’t run. Dad had parked his lorry and spotted me trying to walk fast in the rain. He caught up with me and held my shoulders in his hands.

“Ruby, what are you doing out in this weather?” he asked.

“I needed to take the rubbish out, the bin in the kitchen was full,” I fibbed.

He looked so angry and his voice got louder. “Has Mummy been drinking again?” I felt so helpless and just started crying.

Sometimes, when she was waiting for us outside school, I could tell she had been drinking. It was just the way she stood, the way she talked and the revolting smell of alcohol. Other people often didn’t notice, but I could always tell. She would try to hide the smell of it by chewing gum or eating mints. I could still tell if she had been drinking, you can’t really hide it and the minty smell didn’t fool me for a second. I hated it when she lied to me and every time she did, I felt really let down. Looking back gives me a strange feeling, especially when I remember things like trying to take her alcohol and hide it or throw it down the sink. It was a waste of time really, because she would only go out and buy some more. Although I was very young, I felt that I had to do something, or at least try. I always tried to stick up for Mum however, and help her hide her secret. I knew she was an addict, but all I ever wanted was us to be normal. There was only a few times when I actually succeeded with my attempts to cover things up. She nearly always got found out but maybe that’s a good thing? Maybe if she hadn’t, she would never have tried to get better, although I think she always wanted to.

When I think of how things were, it seems like a lifetime ago, and I’m actually quite surprised at how I coped with it. I suppose it became just a routine and something I was used to.

There are so many other incidents I could tell you. But sometimes it’s easier not to think about the past too much. I may write a book myself one day, who knows? It’s good therapy to write about things that trouble you and I imagine it can help others too.

My memories from all those years ago are often sad, but sometimes actually funny in a way. I remember one incident when my mum’s friends and cousin came round to help when she was drunk. My brother and I had a great time because their children had all come along too. We

all played in my brother’s room until very late because the adults were busy seeing to Mum. We all played on my brother’s games consul, and I remember being really pleased, reaching such a high level in the game.

Even now, if I ever see or hear that game being played, it takes me straight back to that time. Those are the sort of silly little things that remind me of my mum’s drinking. It’s really strange.

Up until a few years ago, I would still be afraid when my dad went away, or when Mum was eating anything minty. Whenever she had promised to stop before, she would for a while, but usually went back to drink when things became difficult. I always believed, or hoped, she was telling the truth and wouldn’t drink again, but she’d let me down so many times. So when she stopped, I was wary at first. But after a while, I could trust her and it felt like a great weight had been lifted off my shoulders. She had stopped at last and this time it was forever. My childhood was a good one some of the time and we got to live in another country and learn their language. Anyway, all that has happened taught me ‘what doesn't kill you.