Free Saving Grace by Jane Green Page A

turned away, busying herself sorting through the pile on her bed. ‘Like my bottle?’ she said, brandishing the Coke bottle with sudden delight. ‘It’s my water bottle. I fill it whenever I find a tap. Or a half-empty beer bottle. Beer. You don’t have any beer, do you?’ She looked at Grace hopefully, who shook her head wearily. ‘Vodka’s my favourite,’ she said, almost to herself. ‘But not much chance of getting hold of vodka these days. That’s my treat. That’s the thing I really look forward to.’
    Grace desperately tried to distract her, even knowing what a futile exercise that had always been when her mother was . . . like this. What is it they say about the definition of insanity? she remembered thinking. Ah, yes. The definition of insanity is doing what you’ve always done and expecting different results. ‘What about food?’ she offered. ‘Can I at least buy you something to eat for lunch?’
    ‘They feed me here,’ said Sally. ‘Are you staying for lunch? Soup. It’s good. You should stay for lunch. Dinner’s usually leftovers, or something pretending to be different to lunch, but it all tastes much the same to me.’
    ‘Would you like to go out for lunch?’ Grace ventured. ‘We could go to a restaurant. You always used to like fish and chips. Maybe we could find fish and chips nearby?’
    But her mother wasn’t listening, was busy pulling things frantically out of the pile, organizing them, messing them up again, then starting all over again, all the while muttering to herself.
    ‘Mum?’ Grace said, leaning forward. ‘Mum? Do you want me to stay?’
    ‘No!’ Sally said. ‘I didn’t want you here in the first place. Why are you here? What do you want from me? Do you want to take my stuff?’ She snatched the tiara from her head and cradled it against her chest. ‘Is that it? You think you can come here and help yourself to my precious jewels? Get out of here! I can’t stand you, Grace. I never could. Always whining, whining, whining. Why are you here? What do you want from me? You always want so much from me, you always make me crazy. Get out.’ Her voice rose to a shout. ‘Go on, you stupid bitch! Get out of here!’
    Grace stood, fumbling for words that might appease her mother, but there weren’t any, or if there were, she didn’t know them. She left the room, went back downstairs and rounded the corner, almost walking straight into Margaret, barely seeing her, her eyes misty with tears.
    ‘Oh dear.’ Margaret took her by the arm and led her back into the room they were in before. ‘Sit down, love. Do you want a cup of tea?’
    ‘No. I just . . . I didn’t expect her to be so hostile.’
    ‘That’s the illness, my dear. You never know what you’re going to get. She may not be registering happiness today, but she will be happy you came. She talks about you a lot, you know. My daughter, Grace, in America!’
    Grace attempted a smile. ‘Isn’t there something I can do? Can’t I pay to put her in a treatment programme? Or send her somewhere to get help? Hire a nurse? I don’t know . . . something!’
    ‘You could do all of those things,’ said Margaret, ‘and none of them would help. She has to get to a point where she wants to help herself. Until then throwing money or programmes or pills at her won’t do anything. She’ll leave, flush the pills down the toilet, end up back on the streets. There isn’t anything you can do, except maybe visit her. It doesn’t look like it makes a difference, but I believe it does.’
    Grace nodded, unsurprised by what Margaret had said. Margaret left, and although Grace knew Patrick was outside in the car, waiting, she didn’t go out straightaway. She thought of her mother, her volatility; the glitter in her eye that could lead to fun or anger or any other emotion that was stretched to its limit.
    I can’t change her, Grace thought again, only this time the thought floated through her body and settled in her bones. I am