The Way Back

Words 1862
Her teenage daughter’s bedroom door slammed. Clara felt as if the sound was a final punctuation on her day, on her life. It seemed as if one by one doors were being slammed in her face.

What had it been this time? Evie had been angry because her mother had forgotten to pick her up from netball.

For God’s sake, kid, someone brought you home, didn’t they?

Clara opened the fridge and scanned the shelves. Relieved, she saw an unopened bottle of wine. She unscrewed the lid, poured herself a large glass and took both bottle and glass into the living room. There, sprawled on the sofa, she methodically finished off the bottle, telling herself it was the only thing which made her feel better.

Her thoughts fuelled her anger. Who cares if I drink too much? I’ve every reason to drink. Brian left me for that bitch at work. My job sucks and Evie only thinks about herself. She should go and live with her father.
‘

Mum. Mum! Wake up, it’s time to go.’

Clara opened her eyes. The bright light forced her to cover her face with a cushion.

‘Mum!’

The urgency in her daughter’s voice stirred Clara into action and reluctantly she hauled herself off the sofa.

Evie’s attention focused in on the empty wine bottles on the floor. Her mother saw them, and her heart sank. Two bottles?Oh God, please don’t tell me I went out for more.

‘Are you sober enough to drive?’ The disgust in Evie’s voice sent a chill through her.

‘Don’t be so silly, of course I am. I must have dropped off watching TV. I’m fine. Come on, let’s go if you’re ready. Have you had breakfast?’ Evie didn’t answer and left her mother to follow her out to the car.

Each time she woke up after a night of heavy drinking, her stomach would sink as she tried to remember. Most of the time it would be a complete blank. It would be at those times she’d promise herself it was the last time.



Clara’s work began to suffer, call in sick, plead migraines. The previous week she had gone to the rest room where two colleagues abruptly stopped their conversation. She’d suspected they’d been complaining about her missing too much work but hadn’t realised their whispered conversation had been the beginning of the end for Clara.

‘I can smell it on her.”
‘I know, me too. And she was slurring her words while speaking to a client yesterday.’
‘I’m going to have to report her to the boss, Sophie. Clara’s a liability.’


The next time Clara called in to work with yet another excuse as to why she needed the morning off, she was asked by the manager to come in for a talk.


Several weeks passed, which she barely remembered, after being told to take as much time as she needed to sort herself out. The manager had told her she was too good a social worker to lose, but until she got her act together, she couldn’t allow her to see clients. As for Evie, she no longer expected anything from her mother and spent more time at friends’ houses than at home.


‘This letter says the car registration has elapsed, Mum.’ Evie had brought in the stack of mail which had been accumulating in the mailbox. ‘Mum I’m talking to you!’ Evie yelled loudly at Clara who was asleep under a blanket on the sofa.

‘What? I can hear you, there’s no need to shout.’

‘I just wanted to know if you were dead, or just dead drunk!’

‘I’m not well, Evie, I’ve told you that.’

Evie grabbed her school bag and as she passed the sofa, threw the letter on to her mother’s prone body. ‘It says you have ten days to pay the car registration, or you’ll need to relinquish the plates.’ There was no reaction from her mother. ‘I’m going to school now.’ Evie stood and for a few moments looked in disgust at her drunken, dishevelled mother and scrubbed away a tear of frustration. ‘Remember, if you drive an unregistered vehicle then you’re not insured.’ She seemed to reflect on the one-sided conversation before she said, ‘I won’t be home tonight, Mum, I’m going to stay at dad’s house for a while.’

Clara heard the front door slam.


Things eventually reached a crisis point. The bailiffs had been to the house. Clara had stood back helpless as they seized goods to repay creditors. The finance company repossessed the car and the bank threatened foreclosure. Her only friend became alcohol. It alone soothed away her anxiety, enabled her to think straight, and best of all allowed her to escape into long hours of sleep.

Unable to find a solution to her dilemma she decided to relinquish her beautiful home to the bank. A third floor, pokey flat with no elevator was the best she could afford.

At her lowest ebb she went to the railway station where her intention was to throw herself under a train. The dimly lit train station gave little comfort on that cold winter’s night and Clara thought it a suitable setting for her last moments on earth as she descended the flight of steps leading down to the platform.

There were few people waiting for the midnight train to the city, they seemed oblivious of her presence; a middle-aged woman huddled into a shabby blue coat. There was nothing which would have predicted what she was about to do.

The distant rumble of an approaching train stirred the small group of passengers. A thin mist hung in the air and seemed to swirl in anticipation. Clara joined the others and edged forward. She held her breath and waited, her eyes glued to the shiny rails below which reflected the oncoming lights. She stepped into mid-air, but a strong force pulled her back just as the train roared past.

She gasped and stumbled into the arms of the man who had prevented her ending her life. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Clara screamed at the man.

‘I wasn’t going to stand by and watch you do something so stupid!’

‘Why do you care? You can’t even begin to know…’ then Clara fell to her knees, adrenaline coursed through her body. She could scarcely believe she was still alive and sobbed with disappointment.

‘How about you tell me then. Let’s go for a coffee,’ he said kindly. She became aware of being assisted to stand and gently guided towards the exit.


The steamy atmosphere of the all-night café began to relax her tense muscles. Clara looked around at her surroundings as the man, who had told her his name was Ben, ordered coffee at the counter. There were few customers quietly warming their hands around thick, white mugs of steaming liquid. She wondered about their stories. Were they struggling with life too, using the café as a place to escape from homelessness?

Clara took a deep breath when Ben sat down in the chair opposite to her. She felt too embarrassed to lift her face and take a good look at this stranger who had prevented her doing what she knew was not only the best, but the only possible solution that remained to her. She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of his voice, not really listening to the words. She’d heard the same words from others, but that was all they were, just words, platitudes, of no real help. But soon she heard her own voice begin to tell him everything. How she was an alcoholic who had lost her daughter, friends, her home, her car, and her self-esteem.

‘You should have let me jump.’

‘It’s never the answer,’ Ben replied softly.

‘Why should you care, anyway?’

‘Because I’ve been where you are, and someone helped me to see killing myself wasn’t fair on the ones who love me.’

‘But that’s it! No one loves me.’ Clara began to sob.

‘That’s not true. You’ve made mistakes, Clara, but that doesn’t have to be the end. You can learn by those mistakes, show your daughter how strong you can be. She needs you. Please don’t do that to her and leave her feeling guilty for the rest of her life thinking she should have done something to help.’

The words seeped into her brain, until she let out a deep breath to release her tension. ‘Oh, God! I must look a sight.’ She ran her fingers through the unkempt hair, sniffed hard and blew her nose.

‘That’s much better.’ Ben’s voice held a hint of amusement. Clara realised the irony of caring about her appearance after the events of the previous few hours and gave a tentative smile.


With the support of her newfound friend, Ben, Clara began the difficult journey to turn her life around. Finding courage she contacted work and managed to convince the manager she was doing everything possible to get well. Told her she’d seen her family GP and asked for help.

At her appointment the doctor had listened to Clara’s story without speaking, before she’d said, ‘I’m pleased you’ve been honest with me, Clara. I can prescribe antidepressants, but I want you to consider counselling?’

‘I can’t afford counselling, doctor.’

‘You can’t afford not to. I’ll give you a care plan. You’ll get ten sessions, use them wisely.’

Clara attended the weekly counselling sessions and at the psychologist’s suggestion she took up something she loved. Sketching had been something she’d always been good at but had forgotten how much it took her mind away from alcohol.
Much to her surprise she enjoyed attending meetings at Alcoholics Anonymous. The relief she felt of having someone to call when desperate for a drink was invaluable.
Her relationship with Evie was still tenuous, but she signs her daughter’s resentful attitude towards her was slowly thawing.

Four month after the attempt to end her life, she returned to work on probation. In the evenings she took evening classes in the hope that with all the trauma she’d experienced, she might one day be able to help others.


Some years later.

‘Hi, Clara.’

‘Good morning, Tracy. How have you been since your last appointment?’

‘It’s been a really tough week.’ The young woman sitting across from her began to cry.

Clara handed her the box of tissues that always sat on her desk. ‘Why don’t you tell me about it?’

‘I feel such a failure, Clara.’ Tracy sobbed. ‘I don’t expect you to understand. How could you? You’ve made such a success of your life while I feel as if I’ve reached rock bottom. I can’t see how I can possibly get out of this hole I’ve dug for myself.’

‘We’ll work on that together, Tracy. I’ll give you strategies to help you day to day, and remember, if as you think that I am successful it’s only because of my failures, and believe me there have been many.[/size}


September prompt: ’It's fine to celebrate success but it is more important to heed the lessons of failure. written for Quotation Inspiration.