Waiting for Wednesday

first. There are things we need
to discuss.’
    ‘Like me being a crap mother, you
mean.’
    ‘No.’
    They went into the kitchen together, which
was as bad as Frieda had ever seen it. It was a bit like the disorder Chloë had created
in Frieda’s kitchen, with glasses and bottles everywhere, rubbish spilling out of
bin bags on to the sticky tiles, puddles of wax over the table, a sour smell in the air.
Frieda started stacking things in the sink to create a space.
    ‘She ran away from me, you
know,’ Olivia said, who seemed not to notice the state of the room. ‘She
might have told you I threw her out, but I didn’t. She said terrible things to me
and then ran off.’
    ‘She says you hit her with a
hairbrush.’
    ‘If I did, it was only a soft-bristled
one. My mother used to hit me with a wooden spoon.’
    Frieda dropped teabags into the pot and
picked two mugs out of the sink to wash. ‘Things have got a bit out of control
here,’ Frieda said. ‘You need to sort them out before Chloë comes
back.’
    ‘We’re not all like you.
Everything in its proper place. That doesn’t mean I’m not coping.’
    ‘You look ill. You’ve spent the
afternoon in bed. The house is in a dreadful state. Chloë’s left. I gather
Kieran’s left too.’
    ‘He’s a fool. I told him to get
out but I didn’t think he’d take me literally.’
    ‘How much are you drinking?’
    ‘You can’t tell me how to live
my life, you know.’
    ‘Chloë’s in my house and we need
to talk about how long she’s going to be there, and when you’ll be ready for
her to come home. She can’t come home at the moment, can she?’
    ‘I don’t see why not.’
    ‘Olivia, she’s still a child. She
needs boundaries and she needs order.’
    ‘I knew you were going to tell me I
was a crap mother.’
    ‘I’m saying that Chloë needs to
be woken in the morning, talked to in the evening. She needs a clean kitchen and food in
the fridge, a room where she can do her schoolwork, a sense of stability.’
    ‘What about me? What about what I
need?’
    For a few minutes, there was silence. Olivia
sipped her tea and Frieda made piles of dishes and pans and put bin bags out into the
hall. After a while, Oliva said in a small voice: ‘Does she hate me?’
    ‘No. But she feels angry and
neglected.’
    ‘I didn’t mean to hit her. I
didn’t mean to tell Kieran to get lost. I wasn’t thinking straight. I just
felt wretched.’
    ‘And maybe you’d had too much to
drink.’
    ‘You’re like a stuck
record.’
    Frieda didn’t say anything to that,
and a few moments later, Olivia spoke again: ‘I can hear myself saying these
terrible things. I can hear my voice screeching obscenities. I can’t seem to stop
myself, though. I know I’ll regret it later.’
    Frieda attacked the pans with a scouring
pad. She felt terribly tired, defeated by the disorder of Olivia’s days.
‘You need to take control of your own life,’ she said.
    ‘That’s all very well to say.
Where do I start?’
    ‘Take one thing at a time. Clear up
the house from top to bottom. Drink a little less. Or nothing at all. You might feel
better just by doing that. Wash your hair, weed the garden.’
    ‘Is that what you tell your patients?
Wash your hair and weed the bloody garden?’
    ‘Sometimes.’
    ‘This wasn’t how I imagined my
life would turn out, you know.’
    ‘No, but I think –’ Frieda
began.
    ‘It’s like the man said, we all
need to be loved.’
    ‘What man?’
    ‘Oh, just a man.’ Olivia was
beginning to cheer up. ‘It was a bit embarrassing, actually. I met him last night
when I was a tiny bit the worse for wear. I was so upset by everything and I went to
that nice wine bar and had a few drinks, and it was when I was going home that I bumped
into him.’ She gave a small yelp of laughter – a mixture of shame and exultation.
‘The kindness of strangers, you know what they say.’
    ‘What happened?’
    ‘Happened? Nothing like that, Frieda.
Don’t give me one of your looks. I tripped over on the street and there he was. My
Good Samaritan. He helped me up and dusted me down, then said he’d make sure I got
home safely.’
    ‘That was kind of him,’ said
Frieda, drily. ‘Did he want to come in?’
    ‘I couldn’t just turn him away.
We had another glass together. And then after a bit he went.’
    ‘Good.’
    ‘He seemed to know you.’
    ‘Me?’
    ‘Yes. I think he sent his regards. Or
his love.’
    ‘What was his name?’
    ‘I