1. The Wish : Chasing Dreams

I don't care what anyone says. Fantasy does matter. I mean, life can be so tedious and mundane and all you really need is a bit of excitement and the chance to do the things you want to do. Let's face it - there are tons of things we'll never do in life and at least if we can do some of them by imagination - well, it's something. I'm writing this because I want to share with you what happened four years ago when I was eleven. Well - to be frank, it's still happening to me - the way I said that it was like past tense. I feel all excited when I think how it might even happen tonight, when I'm done writing. See - this thing is weird. It often happens just before I go to sleep, so you're like wondering if you did dream it or if it actually happened. It is so real. The first time it happened was in early December. It was very cold that day so I was indoors tidying my room. Everything was so normal - that day was like any other. I remember how I felt though - I'd had an argument with my little brother Gary. He was eight and we did get on pretty well, we still do. But I was the elder sister so I guess he thought me bossy and domineering at times. He wanted to borrow a sweater I'd bought. It was gorgeous - red and very soft, but it would have swamped him. I wouldn't let him borrow it and he stomped off to his room. So I carried on tidying up, in a pretty foul mood. Then, by my bookcase, I discovered the ring. This ring I found was the most exquisite thing I'd ever seen - and I'd certainly never seen it before! At the centre was a single silver diamond, with gold stones all around it. The band was gold, but not a single gold strip - there were two strips, crossed over each other that made it even more gorgeous. I longed to try it on, but figured it looked too small. But I was wrong - it fitted snugly on the fourth finger of my left hand. Something about the sheer beauty of the ring and of the moment made me close my eyes and make a wish. So I did. I wished I was going to a Ball.

2. The Ball

When I opened my eyes, there was a red carpet in the middle of a huge expanse of white. I realised it must be snow, but while I could see snow falling on either side of the carpet, on the middle strip of carpet where I was standing there was just white light. I wasn't cold. I was intrigued - I walked along the carpet. Come to think of it - there was nothing else to do! I got to the end of the line of carpet, and stood waiting. Within a few seconds, a coach came up! A real coach came out of nowhere, and it was beautiful. It was gold and in a beautiful shape with the red cushioned seats inside - just like the fairytales. Four white horses were pulling it, and as it came towards me I saw a coachman with a top hat. When the coach stopped, he got down and smiled at me, and opened the coach door.

For the first time I looked down, and saw I was wearing a beautiful dress. It was pure gold, with lovely frills and bows at the bottom, and a huge bow at the back. I also had a gold necklace and silver slippers. I got in the coach and sat down, and then gave a start when I noticed a gentleman sitting opposite me! I just stared, and my mouth dropped open. He was my complete ideal man. Handsome and tall, with blue eyes and jet black hair. His eyes literally sparkled at me, and when he smiled I had to fight back tears. For some reason I knew that I loved this man more than I'd loved anyone in my life, and yet he was just a fantasy. Wasn't he? Would he speak to me? I didn't know. It didn't seem to matter. What happened next made my heart jump. He reached out for my hand and clasped it in both of his. I felt his hands. It wasn't a dream - I could feel him. I could hear and see everything like it was happening. This was real to me - no doubt. He spoke then.

'My name's Tom.' His voice was perfect. Warm and tender and somehow deeply honest.

'I'm Lizzie,' I said. I still felt choked up with happiness.

'I've loved you forever', he said. He paused. 'Do you know where we're going?'

'Yes'. I squeezed his hand. We were going to Heaven.

We arrived at a huge Castle. There were turrets reaching to the stars, and fireworks filled the black night with colour. Nothing seemed odd - it was all just perfect. He looked at me. I looked back right into his eyes and they seemed to radiate his entire soul. His deep blue eyes glowed with all the grief and the joy of his life, and his willingness to put all that aside for this one night with me. I was so happy I couldn't speak or even think clearly. I just wanted to hold on to him.

The carriage door was opened by an usher, and my man got out and held out his hand to help me down. I looked down at the carpet and smiled, unfazed. We swept into the grand Castle and within what seemed like seconds, we entered a huge ballroom where music and dancing enveloped us. He again turned to gaze at me, and smiled that warm heavenly smile of his, and said:

'Would you do me the honour?'

I took his arm, holding it tightly and feeling like a Queen. I didn't need to speak to him - my eyes were saying volumes.

And here I was, dancing with the man of my dreams. Moving, swaying and drowning in it all - this sea of notes that rose and fell like his breathing. I don't know if time passed at all - I had no awareness of it. The music played on into the night, and we were one with it. I can't remember how long we danced. Yet even if I wrote every detail, something of the magic of that time would be lost. You have to be in it. You have to know what it's like to leave reality for a while and be so exquisitely happy that for a time it's like life could be like that. Once you've let go, you're not in the World. You're in Heaven.

We danced on, and on. He never stopped gazing at me. And when the music stopped, he held my shoulders and moved forward to kiss me. Then he held me a long time, and I in turn clung to him like it was the last time I'd ever see him. The music still played, the fireworks still cracked and sprayed above our heads, and the people danced on. All this was oblivious to me. I could only hold him.

After that, I can only remember waking up in my bed, my face drenched in my own tears. The worst misery seemed in the fact that, in waking up, how could I be sure it wasn't all just a dream, when it had seemed so very, very real?

3. Finding the ring

Nothing happened for a long time after that, though I thought of that 'experience' (I won't call it a dream) almost all the time. My family thought me absent minded, and head-in-the-clouds. I didn't care. I longed for it to happen to me again, and looked everywhere for that ring. I hoped it wasn't lost. I knew it held the key to it all.

It was about five months later when Gary decided to play at dressing up. I saw him in the garden in the early summer sunshine, with a red towel tucked into the back of his trousers and a silver cardboard crown on his head. He was pretending to be a King, and suddenly held a sword up high. Then I saw a flash as something caught the light, but I couldn't make out what it was. I ran out to him.

'Hey, Gary. What're you doing?'

'I'm being a King. Play with me? You could be my Queen!'

I laughed. 'No, thanks. I'm busy. But let me see your sword'. For some reason he used the situation as an excuse to show off, and started waving the sword madly and slashing it near me. But after my annoyance passed I spotted my ring - wedged high up his thumb so it wouldn't slip. I didn't bother with questions - I just grabbed that ring off him and ran off, leaving Gary shouting at me indignantly. In the safety of my room I put it on and closed my eyes. I'd been reading a lot of fantasy novels, and knew what I wanted to wish for next.

I was on the back of a massive white seagull. Its wing-span was absolutely huge, and the force of its wings beating up and down caused great pounding noises while I rose and fell with its back. But the noises and the seagulls' wings didn't hold my attention too long - it was the view that transfixed me. There were fields and lush green valleys that we swooped and glided across. Rivers ran snake-like under us and forests so dense and thick. Before long a herd of wild deer began running underneath us and I tingled with excitement. The thrill of it - their speed and togetherness as they raced on. The seagull dropped a little lower and we flew just over them, almost at the same speed. Then we climbed higher as mountains appeared on the horizon, and to my delight as we approached them I spotted a magnificent waterfall, crashing down to the rocks and streams below. A rainbow curved down onto it, of such breath-taking beauty I gasped, and as we headed closer we soared right into it, making me feel like I'd been showered with a multitude of rainbow-coloured stars. I don't know about the 'pot of gold', but the next moment we were flying towards the sun and I felt blinded by its golden light, and shut my eyes. When I opened them, I could still feel the sunshine, and realised in a moment that it was coming in through my bedroom window and the dream was over. I felt very sad, as I often did after my fantasies. But I'd enjoyed this one a lot.

When I opened them, I could still feel the sunshine. I realised in a moment it was coming in through my bedroom window and the dream was over. I felt very sad, as I often did after my fantasies, But I'd enjoyed this one a lot.

4. Desert Island

Sometimes I'd go to the ring with some idea of where I wanted to go or what I wanted to be. Other times I'd touch the ring, close my eyes and it would come to me. Always I knew that it was my fantasy and not just something thrust upon me. But more often than not, I'd long for one after something had really upset or annoyed me. It was just that kind of escapism that you feel can solve all your problems, or at least take them away for a while. Now - I quite liked School and I had a circle of good friends, but I also got picked on quite a lot. I wasn't that bright, but I did wear such a dreamy expression while thinking of my fantasies ( of course I never told of those) that people would think I was scheming things against them or hatching nasty plots. I had so many fantasies during those School years, but I can only vividly recall the most significant ones. One time when I was about thirteen I had a particularly bad time at School. I'd been taught to just ignore teasing or bullying of any sort, so as not to antagonise the situation. But let me tell you - even ignoring it, it can still go on and on and on. When you get older you realise all sorts of things. How you hadn't learnt the social skills of self confidence with people, and self defense. But I guess all these things you can only learn by experience. That's why the teenage years can be such a rough ride! But back to my story. I was thirteen, and having a very bad day. I'd done poorly in a Maths test (Maths was never my strong point) and had a whole load of homework for Geography. Then at lunch time, a particularly nasty group of girls decided to pick a fight. We were out in the courtyard, and they were lighting up cigarettes. At first they were huddled together, to avoid being spotted by dinnerladies, but then one of them (there's always a show-off) threw her head back and exhaled a huge cloud of smoke. Tina Hewitt - the most dominant of the group, who made most decisions. Her mates were Jazz and Vicky, and both were capable of being just as vicious and spiteful as Tina. Anyway - Tina caught my eye, and I'd just been daydreaming - I'd hardly been aware of their presence until Tina lifted her head, and then I'd just put my head down and hoped not to be noticed. But when I looked up again, she was glaring at me. 'Girls - look at Elizabeth!' she said loudly across the courtyard. Everyone else called me Liz, but not Tina's group. 'Look at how insolent she looks! She'll be hatching plots against us!' I began to look round for a friendly face - anyone who might stick up for me. My eyes spotted Katie in the far corner, a good friend of mine. But she was chatting away, and though she did look round once at ne when Tina spoke, she turned back to chatting. My stomach sank and I felt betrayed. Tina took it as a sign she was getting at me, and promptly slapped me round the face! I longed to run away, but stood rooted to the spot wondering what was coming next. Isn't it better to stand your ground and take it rather than run off, showing your cowardice to crowds of people? But Tina decided I wasn't worth any more, and she strode off with her gang to find some other victim. And what came next seemed to hurt even more than what Tina had done. As I rubbed my stinging cheek, not one person came to offer me any sympathy. Not even my friends Sue and Janet who'd gone to join Katie. A double betrayal, it seemed to me. And as I slunk home that day, shoulders hunched and staring at the ground, I wanted to get away - to go far away. I kept repeating that plea until I was holding the ring and actually wishing it. A matter of seconds later, I was on a beach. The view was so incredible I just gasped at it for some moments. The sea stretched outwards, a deep blue which filled the horizon, finished off with fringes of white foam that fanned inwards towards the shore. This shore upon which I sat was made up of fine white sand, as soft as my cheek, and its shape was that of a great oval. Near to the shore, the water was completely translucent, as if it were glass, and as the eye travelled further it would turn into a deep electric ultramarine. I had to shield my eyes from the bright sparks of light that danced off each wave to the sun. This was my island. The best thing was the warmth. It wasn't of that intolerable heat which oppresses so much you're at lengths to get away from it, but the kind of heat that relaxes and brings peace to the mind. The rhythmic swell of the waves lulled my brain, and I rested. I can't remember anything in particular happening, but this fantasy was so peaceful and relaxing, with the warmth adding to it, that I just fell asleep.

5. Disney Dreams

Do you like Disney films? I do - always have done. If I needed any inspiration for any fantasy, I'd often watch one. I liked Pocahontas when she goes sailing off down the river in search of her dream. Sometimes I'd think of searching for mine - it's so hard to know what direction to take. I hadn't had many sailing fantasies, so one time I decided I'd head off on a craft and see where the river flowed. I put the ring on and stared at the glinting stones until they turned into a vision of water with the sun glinting off it. I felt like I was gliding over sunshine and stars. I was on some sort of canoe, and the lulling 'bobbing' motion of the water had such an effect that I could easily have slept. But I wasn't the least inclined. When I looked up, a feast of colour lay on either shore. Exotic flowers of red, yellow and orange were bedded beneath lush trees of willow and elder, their boughs dragged along in the endless blue water. I was soon joined by a family of ducks, with little ducklings all trailing the mother, and as a shadow appeared on the water in front of my boat I looked up to see a gull hovering just above me, and it circled me several times as if to keep up with the speed I was going. As I gazed at the gull up above, I told myself there's nothing more beautiful than the flight of a bird, and with that thought a whole flock came to join it in the sky. They formed into a formation and flew a little ahead of my canoe, and I had the strange feeling they were pulling me, though no threads could be seen or anything to link my canoe to them. Nonetheless, as we rounded a couple of bends, I noticed them swerving along with my canoe until I could no longer doubt it with certainty. A little while later, we were approaching a really sharp bend in the river. I felt no fear, for these experiences were always pleasurable and this was no exception. But as the canoe began to tune, it did so sharply that I was thrown off, and there was no splash or soaking as I simply woke up!

6. The Nightmare

These fantasies were really what kept me going emotionally. A refuge? Certainly, and means of escaping reality if it got mundane or frightening, but ultimately something which I would long for. However, I can clearly remember the time when all this changed for good and spoilt my whole conception of fantasy. It was perhaps the most dramatic fantasy I had . But nothing of any significance had happened beforehand, simply coming about through my idly watching a skiing programme and thinking I would 'have a go' with that fantasy. Once again, the scenery was breath-taking. The sun was glaring through the iced-top pine trees, which stretched up and up the steep alpine mountains, and bar below I stood in a valley of frosted ice and snow. The snow lay thick and deep, and would have crunched underfoot had I not been clad in skis. I also had poles of course, and all the relevant padded clothes. I had watched skiers often enough - I imagined oushing off with the poles and gliding down, while snowflakes fell lightly on me. The silence was one thing that impressed me, as if all the noise in the world lay six feet deep under a bed of ice. Under the trees, the snow lay in shadow, a mirror green and blue colour, with silver and white light,though at times I felt it looked like a deep purple haze. I 'd noticed there were other skiers, and watched them , fascinated. They had intimate skill, and speeded down those slopes before me, rocking their knees this way and that with seemingly little effort. With my attention thus distracted, I could not have seen the skier behind me. He was headed straight at me, but I only felt a big collision into my back which knocked me over. I'd fallen the safest way - onto my hands and knees - and the snow lay so soft I knew I was unhurt. A kind male voice asked anxiously: 'Are you hurt? I'm really sorry - I wasn't looking' I looked up at him, but couldn't see his face well - his ski jacket had a hood, and underneath that were big goggles so his eyes weren't visible. I would have been angry with him, knocking me over like that! But his voice was so kind and anxious I convinced myself it had been an accident. 'I'm OK', I said. 'Will you help me up?' He reached down and pulled me up. I still felt unsteady on the skis (I hadn't moved on them yet) and he noticed this. 'You know', he smiled, 'you really shouldn't be here if you're a beginner'. I wanted to giggle. As if I'd had any choice! But I thought 'I'll show him', and pushed myself off, moving my skis. It felt so simple. He almost had to rush to catch up. 'Hey!' he called, 'you're deceptive! what's your name?' I indulged him. 'Elizabeth', I called over my shoulder. 'Mine's Vlad,' , he answered back. We were skiing side by side now and it was fun. I liked the rush of wind at my face and swishing of my skis on the snow. Speed was exciting - I was no longer afraid of it. We skiied for what seemed like an age, the mountain slope going forever down and down, and the scenery changing all the while. I flirted outrageously with Vlad. 'Don't people call you Liz?' he'd asked. 'Only ones I like', I smiled back. It felt fun, but then I'd grown anxious. The mountains were getting bigger, and the snow falling thicker. There was a faint rumble sound, and I couldn't figure out where it was coming from. I looked over at . He just turned to me and smiled. And then it hit us. At first, I couldn't run or react as I couldn't tear my eyes off the beauty of it. On the mountain in front, a huge expanse of snow had loosened itself and was slipping down. It seemed to be slow motion or something, and then the speed of it registered somewhere in my brain. It crashed into the forest of trees higher up the mountain, and huge splashes of snow rose up like giant tidal waves, so that even the tops of the trees were covered. At that point, panic came over me and I looked at for help. He was only a few metres away, but he was staring at it like I had been, and it seemed he couldn't move. I called to him. No reaction. I shouted his name, and again he didn't respond. I began to wonder whether I'd dreamed him up. But that didn't matter, because I'd already lost valuable time in those few seconds. I now didn't have time to turn and 'run'. The snow had come, and it covered us both. I remember it all so vividly. I was completely covered up, and as you do underwater I was reaching my hands up to try to get to the surface. But snow is thicker than water, and it was a real struggle to move my arms at all. I realised I'd been holding my breath, so with a huge effort I brought my arm towards my face and tried to dig an air hole with my hand. It was hopeless. For whatever reason, I wasn't breathing.

7. The Reaction

What I remember next still causes pain. I was gasping for breath and coughing, and my eyes were wide with fear. My heart thumped in my chest and I also felt dizzy. But I wasn't under snow any more - I was in my own bed but, I realised, completely alone. I knew that because either Mum or Gary would certainly have rushed to my bedside - I'd certainly made enough noise, and the house was silent. If I'd have gone downstairs I would have seen the note from Mum telling me she'd taken Gary to a friend's house and was shopping after, but I wasn't to know that. So, having had a very nasty panic attack, nightmare or whatever you want to call it, I made my way downstairs to the lounge, still shaking. I knew that Mum kept brandy in the drinks cabinet in there, and though I'd never before had alcohol I poured myself a large glass of the stuff. Did I reflect it was wrong? I think so, but I'd heard brandy was good for shock and was shaking so much I really didn't care - I would've tried anything. It tasted horrible. Probably because I gulped it down - it didn't occur to me to sip it. It was like swallowing cough mixture. I'd say 'ugh!' and 'yuk!' all the time, and when I'd finished the glass I felt quite sick. I also felt sleepy, so I went back upstairs to lie down. As I lay there, staring at the ceiling, I began to worry. What if Mum noticed all that brandy was gone? But I remembered it had been a dark coloured glass bottle, and not easy to see the level unless you held it to the light. I just hoped she wouldn't notice, and fell asleep. I wasn't found out for a long while. When Mum had got back, she'd made a dinner and though I felt nauseous, I tried to eat it so she wouldn't get suspicious. I'd then been sick, and Mum had just put it down to a tummy bug. To my shame, I further backed this theory by complaining about the School food. But the episode didn't end there. Far from being a wonderful form of escapism and pleasure, my fantasies became fearful to me. So afraid that they would turn into nightmares, I began to dring more regularly to ward off my hideous experience, and especially to drink before going to sleep. I'm deeply ashamed now that I did indeed spend a lot of time wishing I had a father who liked drinking, for Mum didn't have very much in the house. The brandy, and a few bottles of sherry ( I hated the taste) and one bottle of vodka. I'd hated vodka too, but since it was clear it had been easy to drink little amounts and top the bottle up with water. I began to think alcohol was the answer. I'd drink it before going to sleep, sleep very deeply and dreamlessly, and wake up feeling terrible but at least without remembering nightmares. But of course my life began to suffer - I spent my time in School and out just racking my brains for ways to get alcohol, and my concentration suffered. I prayed my suspicious teachers wouldn't go ringing up my mother or otherwise letting her know somehow. The there was Gary. He was ten and not of an age or inclination to go blabbing to Mum, but he knew something was wrong and became increasingly resentful of me. I don't blame him - he hated the smell and sight of me when I was drunk, the fact I wouldn't play with him - the fact I wouldn't talk to him. But I just let him fester in his own indignation, and left him alone. School was a different matter. Teachers may not notice a lot, but friends are different and often notice more than you think. I've already mentioned the episode where I'd been teased in the playground and Katie had turned away first. This I found very hard to forgive or overlook, and so our friendship cooled. My other friends Sue and Janet also hadn't helped, but our bond was closer and we had done a lot of growing up together. They'd known me since I was five, and as Janet was rather the kinder of the two, I began getting a lot of concerned looks from her. I'd changed, and I hadn't even noticed it. My face wore a look of almost a scowl, and I always looked worried because I'd be thinking of alcohol all the time - how to get it, how to disguise the effects of it, and how to keep it secret from my family and friends. Within my group of friends, I no longer had an interest in what we talked about - it was mundane, unimportant. So I guess it would have been blindingly obvious to most that something was up. My friends didn't understand my attitude, and resented me. But Janet was concerned for me. One morning I was standing outside our tutorial classroom, waiting for School to start. The corridor was full of people - girls laughing, boys running and the general din of noisy teenagers ensued. But I was slightly away from the rest, standing on my own and thinking as usual about how to get alcohol. In between drinking bouts, I'd given this a lot of thought. I'd quickly dismissed the idea of breaking into shops, or stealing stuff while in there - the very idea of risking Police intervention and, inevitably, my mother's, was loathsome to me. Yet I couldn't survive on the little we had at home - Mum only drank very rarely, but I didn't know when she might detect the watered down vodka or sherry. I couldn't risk putting much more water into those bottles or it would lead to just water! No - there had to be a way that was closer to home. But I was a girl, and thirteen years old. Which of the older boys would even contemplate inviting me to the raucous parties they so often bragged about? No - it was a better plan to get stuff from my friends' houses. While I was thinking about all this, I didn't notice Janet come up.

'Liz', she said, 'while you're on your own, can we talk?'

I looked up. 'Yeah what's up?'

'You! What's wrong with you lately?' She looked indignant, and her eyes told me she wanted answers.

'Over the last few weeks, you've been different', she went on. 'You don't listen to us, you don't laugh and joke and you look real worried all the time. Why won't you talk to us? Why won't you talk to me, I'm practically you're best friend..'

'Look, I'm fine', I argued. 'I've just been getting a few headaches, that's all'. I looked her in the eye. 'Honestly', I said. She seemed to believe me. Headaches were a good ploy. But she wasn't going to let it drop entirely, and she left me with the parting shot of:

'Well, if you've been getting headaches you should get them checked out'.

As she walked off, I realised quickly that I couldn't isolate my friends. My best option lay in keeping friendly with them so I could gain invites to their houses and just maybe lay my hands on some alcohol. Accordingly, later that day I made my peace with Janet and secured an invite to her house after School. I decided I'd nip home first on the pretext of letting Mum know where I'd be going. What I really wanted was to grab a half-empty rucksack with some empty squash bottles and try to get myself some drink for later, as I really couldn't risk getting much more from home. I decided I'd take two squash bottles, and part-filled them with Coke. This was for Janet's benefit - she'd ask questions if she wanted to know what was in my bag and found empty bottles. By then I had a fairly good idea what to do. When I got to Janet's, she took me upstairs to her room and put on some music. She gave me a look as I sat down that quite plainly said 'I'm going to get whatever your secret is out of you'.

'I've got some Coke in my bag', I said. 'Shall we share it?'

'OK'. She paused.' I can get some glasses - I'll just pop downstairs'. I smiled. Perfect. While she was gone, I nipped into her mother's room. She had an ensuite bathroom, and I knew she kept aspirin there. I remembered years ago Mrs. Springer had a headache and gone up to her room. I quickly opened the cabinet and, oh joy! The aspirin were right at the front. I took the bottle out and rushed back to Janet's room, thinking at least I hadn't heard her come back yet. But I heard her footsteps on the stairs as I thrust the aspirin into my bag. Janet came in moments later holding two tumblers.

'Where's the Coke, then?' I unzipped my bag and took out a squash bottle, but she could clearly see two.

'You've got enough, haven't you? Are we having Coke all night?'

'I didn't know how much we'd drink', I lied. She just laughed, and took the bottle from me. She poured out two glasses and handed me mine, and I just downed it in a few seconds. Partly because I was thirsty, and partly to avoid conversation. Then I held my head in my hand and said: 'Oh, boy...'

'What's the matter?'

'Headache. It's just come on'.

'Well you probably drank too quickly. Do you want some aspirin or something? My Mum's got some, just hang on a minute..', and with that she rushed to the medicine cabinet. She was gone a few moments, and soon called out 'I can't find it..'

'Keep looking', I shouted back. 'It's really bad'. A few more minutes. Then she came in, her face crestfallen.

'Look - I can't find it, I'm sorry. Shall I go out for some?' I nodded weakly.

'Mum's not in and Dad's not back till 6.30. Will you be OK on your own?' I nodded again. But Janet was uneasy.

'Are you sure, I don't like leaving..'

'Look, I'll be fine!', I snapped. 'I'm sorry', I added more piteously. She finally went. And she'd given me proof I was all alone. I took the coke-filled squash bottle downstairs to the kitchen and emptied it down the sink. Then I headed for their pantry and looked for alcohol. There, in a cupboard I found bottles of sherry, wine, spritzers and other such bottles. These were too mild. My eyes scanned the shelves. I was intrigued by a white bottle saying 'Malibu' and 'white rum'. Rum sounded strong stuff - I took it outside the back door and filled up my bottle. I'd kicked myself for chucking the Coke when I might have re-filled any bottle I used, but this bottle wouldn't show the level. I could fill it up with water. This I did. I hadn't been able to fill up both bottles, for Janet would certainly have got suspicious and asked over the Coke. I could just say this bottle contained water, not Coke, and I needed to take it home. I took the squash bottle back upstairs and waited. And waited. And waited. When I could wait no more, my will power collapsed and I took a swig from the bottle. The taste made me gasp and I coughed for a while. I felt like the backs of my eyes were hurting and my head did begin to ache. I took another swig anyway. And another. And another. When my head began spinning I lay down for a while. Suddenly Janet was back.

'I got you some aspirin', she said. 'God, you look awful - do you feel worse?'

'Much worse', I groaned.

'Liz - you should get yourself checked out'. She stared at me. 'I'm really worried', she said.

'Look - I'll be fine. I just need some aspirin'. I sat up and she handed me the packet.

'Do you have any water?'

She took the tumbler and went to the bathroom. While she was gone I quickly took the squash bottle (which thankfully she hadn't noticed) and the Coke bottle and put them in my bag. I zipped it up as she came in.

'Look - I really should go. I'm sorry'.

'Well - take an aspirin first, now I've got them!' She looked hurt. I took one, put it in my mouth and took a gulp of water from the glass she'd handed me. I hadn't swallowed the pill. When I was outside, I spat it into the bushes and headed home.

Mum was in the kitchen, peeling potatoes. 'Did you have a nice time?' she asked. She turned round to look at me quickly. I gave a weak smile.

'Not really. I've got a headache - I'll just go to bed. I don't want any tea'. As I headed upstairs, she called up: 'Do you want some aspirin?' I smiled. 'No', I shouted. 'I'll be fine'. 'With the Malibu', I added, under my breath.

8. A Dramatic Change

I don't remember how much I drank. I remember parts of the nightmare I was having. It was absolutely horrible, and I remember these hands shaking me. I thought I was under the snow again, and I was fighting for breath. All along was the shaking, shaking. I could almost feel my bones rattle, and the blackness of my mind filled with terror and screeching noises I didn't know if I made or my dream did. Finally, something whipped me across the face, and reality began to merge with my alcohol-fogged brain. I could make out my brother's voice, and after that it began to dawn that the hysterical screeching came from him. I tried to fathom why he was hysterical when I was having the nightmare. Then, two words screamed out at me that shattered the fog. 'Mum's DEAD!' 'What?' My brain wouldn't take it in. I could only stare at Gary, as he whimpered and shook before me, his eyes clouding over. 'She's not breathing', he snivelled. 'You've got to come'. With that, he grabbed my arm to pull me up, and then blind with panic I pinned his arms to his chest so he had to look at me, and demanded 'Where is she?', almost fiercely. 'Outside. She fell'. In a few seconds I was out the door and downstairs, oddly enough only thinking at that time how much my head was pounding and how I hoped I wouldn't pass out before I got to Mum. In the garden, my eyes tore round like crazy looking for some sign of her. Then, by the rockery in the far right corner by the flowerbeds I caught sight of her lying on the grass. When I got to her, her eyes peered up with a look of pain in them, and her hand rested on her chest. In one agonizing moment I knew Gary was right - she was dead. She wasn't breathing; her eyes were set. I could think of nothing to do but collapse on top of her and sob. We'd never known our father. Our Mum had talked so little of him I rather doubted she even knew who he was. Were we now to be deprived of a mother now, and thus become orphans? Cruel, cruel fate. The disbelief was the biggest emotion I remember. Of course, we couldn't just collapse all over the place. Neighbours were found; the Police rung. We had a whole bunch of Police cars and official people and nosey neighbours or passers by hanging around our place for ages, and of course much was discussed about what was to be done about us. Neighbours offered help, if only to take us for a while, and Police desperately looked up our relatives. Social Services got involved and we got a visit - they seemed kind enough, but talk of putting Gary and I into care made us both hysterical. Strangely enough, when either him or I got dazed with the confusion and momentum of it all, we'd rush out to the garden and sit at the place where Mum died. It wasn't sheer morbidity - simply the fact we felt closest to her there. She'd died in that spot, and we hoped and prayed she'd suddenly materialise and tell us what to do. Childish? Yes. But that's just the thing - OK, Gary was young and he was allowed to 'go to pieces'. I knew people expected me to be mature, but any maturity I'd shown at all in the past just vanished when Mum died. I became a simpering, whimpering little kid. When the friendly, caring Social Services man had looked at me and asked me questions, I'd simply burst into tears. I was still in shock, and couldn't deal with the tragedy of it all. It came to a point when I didn't even seem to care what happened to me and Gary, so long as we could get away from the blackness of it all. Like being in a tunnel, we yearned for the light. Many times since it happened, I would sit on my bedroom floor and try to think. It was hard to think clearly - such a mess of thoughts would come tumbling through my mind. Occasionally I would even try to have my fantasies again, just for a distraction, and I would hopelessly sit there, twisting the ring around my finger while my head slowly emptied (rather than filled up) of thoughts and dreams. And then, I drank. I was helpless and hopeless, with no light at the end of the tunnel, and even dreams wouldn't come to me. So my eyes would fill up, and I would drink anything I could find. When the day came when all was gone, I used a pathetic lie on Janet to get more alcohol. I told her Gary had been emptying all the bottles of Mum's sherry, and that it just didn't feel right 'without Mum's sherry on the sideboard'. I also threw in some graphic details about how horrid it had been for us, and some emotional blackmail in that getting the sherry would make me happier. How she might not even see me again if Social Services stepped in, and how I didn't want to drink the stuff - just have it around. Somehow Janet bought all this, and amazingly came up with three bottles of sherry for me a few days later. I found out Janet's parents were having a party in a week's time, and they'd got so many bottles Janet didn't even think they'd notice. When Janet handed the bottles over, I thanked her profusely and ended up whimpering tearfully 'I just want things to be normal'. At which point she started crying herself, hugged me for a minute or two, and then left abrubtly. People were, of course, kind and sympathetic. We were two young children whose mother had died suddenly, and people did want to help. I was staunch in my refusal of staying anywhere else, though. Even for a little while. Mainly, because I knew my alcohol problem would be found out, but also because it would upset Gary. He needed familiarity right now. We got checked on all the time. But in this horrible period of grief, only once did I actually seek somebody's help. One time, as I sat in my room trying to think, it struck me that Gary's Birthday was just three days away. It had been almost a week since Mum's death. This fact of Gary's Birthday kept pressing itself on my brain, and when the full horror of it struck me, I began to drink, to stem the flood of questions I was asking myself. 'How could Gary have a Birthday? Now? What would it be like? How on Earth would we cope?' It's not like I could wave a magic wand and make Mum materialise so she could sing him 'Happy Birthday'. So she could make him the usual special Birthday tea. So she could give him presents to make him smile. At this thought, I reached for the magic ring and flung it across the room. 'DAMN you!', I shouted at it. 'Damn you, you fantasies! So this is real life, eh? This is what I've got without you! You made me believe in something better - you made me believe I could escape!' I was crying now, but my anger kept building up, and found a new direction. How could you do this to me, God?', I yelled. 'How could you take my mother away? How could you make this damn alcohol the only thing I have to stem the pain?' I reached out for the sherry bottle and smashed it across my bedside table, and then I went round my room throwing my furniture around and hearing books etc. crash to the floor. I felt so angry and I half-knew I was out of control. Then I turned round and saw him. Gary was standing in the doorway, white-faced. He looked at me, his eyes wide with fear. He had his blue pyjamas on, and was clutching his teddy-bear so tightly his knuckles were white. I'd never seen him look so scared, or pathetic. I just ran over to him, hugged him and wept. We both wept uncontrollably, until finally I looked at him and said something appalling. 'I wish we'd died too'. And I meant it. 'Me too'.

9. Gary's Birthday

My Biology teacher at School was called Mrs. Pamm. She was a very kind lady, and loads of kids at School went to her when they had problems. Like a few other teachers, and the Headmaster, she'd written us a card expressing her sympathy and adding a home telephone number 'just in case either of you needs to talk, or needs help'. It was Friday, and Gary would be eleven on Sunday. It was clear I had to do something, so I rang her in the evening.

'Hello?'

'Hi - Mrs. Pamm? It's Liz Thoms'. I felt nervous.

'No - I'm John. I'll just get Mum for you, hang on...' He put the phone down with a clatter and I kicked myself for jumping the gun a bit. Soon the familiar voice came on.

'Lizzie? It's Mrs. Pamm - I'm glad you rang. How are you both coping?'

'OK,I guess. Well..', I felt sheepish, 'as well as we can, I guess. Thankyou for your note - it was very kind'.

'Oh, that's OK. We're all concerned about you at School, you know. Your friends have really been missing you. Listen - is there anything I can do to help? Or would you like to talk? I know it must be difficult. I could pop over now if you like'. I felt reassured by her sympathetic tone, but the thought of her coming made me start for a minute, as I realised the house (especially my room) was in a dreadful mess.

'Well', I stammered, 'I'd like to talk, but the house is a bit of a state'

'Gracious me, that doesn't matter!' she said, 'really - when I think what you've been through - you mustn't give it a second thought. Would you like me to come, then?'

'Please', I answered,weakly.

'I'll see you in 5 minutes, then. OK?' I nodded at the phone. 'Bye'. Despite Mrs. Pamm's reassurance, I felt bad about the kitchen. I cleared the clutter on the table to one side, and then had to sort Gary out who'd come in with muddy shoes from the garden. By the time I'd got the dustpan and brush out and done my best with the carpet, the doorbell rang. Gary ran to answer it, I could hear him say: 'Hi, Mrs. Pamm?', he sounded shocked. 'What are you doing here?' It was rather a rude question, but I knew she was smiling at him when she answered:

'It's OK, Gary - I'm here to see Liz'. I hurried to the door and showed her to the kitchen, again excusing the mess. We sat down at the kitchen table, her facing me.

'Can I shut the door?', I asked, apologetically. 'It's about Gary'.

'Oh!', she sounded surprised. 'I thought it might be about..' She paused, and looked at her hands, embarrassed. '..about the funeral'. She hated to say it. Then I felt embarrassed, and said quickly, 'No - Gary's Birthday. It's Sunday. He's eleven'. With the word 'eleven', my voice cracked, and I hated it for doing so. And I hated my eyes for filling up against my will. How could I possibly explain? This was a bad idea - an awful idea. I should have just left it with me and Gary, sorting our own problems. But, sensing my pain she took my hand and looked at me without speaking. And I wanted to carry even more, as often it's not the source of a problem that makes you cry, but the fact someone looks at you like that. One sincere concerned look can break down barriers you fought hard to erect. Before you know it, you're not covering yourself up any more. You're saying 'this is me. I'm in pain'. You're exposed. You're vulnerable. It feels terrible, and a relief at the same time. With more understanding than I'd given her credit for, she knew this and tried to make me see it.

'If you want to cry, it's OK. I don't mind - it doesn't upset me. You've lost your mother - you're entitled. Bottling it up won't help'. Her words seemed to make sense and in the end I just gave up trying to hold it all back and had a good cry. I was acutely aware the whole time that if Gary could hear me (and no doubt he was probably listening at the door) he would be wide-eyed with amazement at how his big sister could so open up before the highly respected and much esteemed Mrs. Pamm. He was still in Primary School, but had met her a few times at School Family Days and other times. He knew all about her, and what students thought of her. Through my broken sobs I tried to explain about Gary's Birthday and what I could do for him - 'what was I to do?', I asked, hopelessly. She looked at me and said in a level voice: 'How would you like it to be?' I half-smiled, as that was a good question, and I hadn't thought of it. I thought for a while before answering.

'Mum's gone'. I couldn't say 'dead'. 'So - it can't be the same. We can't be..too happy, or it'll be upsetting'.

'Well - try to remember it's Gary's Birthday. Shouldn't you be 'allowed' to both be happy on it? I'm sure your Mum wouldn't want you both to be miserable on it. But..can I make a suggestion?'

'Sure'

'Why don't we ask Gary what he wants? There may be a special treat he'd like, or something special he'd like to do. He shouldn't be made to suffer on his Birthday, Liz. Think how you'd feel in his shoes'. I knew she was making sense, so I opened the door to call Gary in. Except he was standing right outside! I should have guessed.

'What are you doing?' I snapped. To be caught eavesdropping on Mrs. Pamm!

'I'm sorry', he stammered, staring at us 'I was worried'. Mrs. Pamm was really good about it, inviting him in and trying to make me see he shouldn't be left out of any important discussions. We didn't talk of his Birthday at first. She spent a while asking how he was coping and if there was anything he felt they needed help with. At that question, his eyes went round the room and settled on two sherry bottles on the kitchen shelf. He turned away after a few moments, but I'd seen his look and went cold. One bottle was full, the other nearly empty. Mrs. Pamm would be bound to think they were Mum's, but perhaps wonder what they were doing in the kitchen, as if in use. I could have made excuses - I could say I'd offered it to a visitor and she'd believe me. But the fact that Gary had turned away, gone red and mumbled there was nothing we needed help with would be just enough to convince Mrs. Pamm of the opposite. I hurriedly explained: 'For visitors', and then regretted saying it. Mrs. Pamm didn't enquire further, and simply discussed Gary's Birthday till we found out there was nothing he wanted (or would admit to) and we reluctantly agreed when she offered to at least come round and cook a special meal for Gary. What the Hell, I thought - it would be pretty poor if we did nothing. I wouldn't think of my own fourteenth Birthday in 3 months' time. She asked if I'd had any thoughts about the funeral. I shook my head and she said she'd call me about it and speak to me further on Sunday. She didn't question me about her suspicions (if she had any) about the sherry bottles, though I half expected her to bring it up or suddenly try to speak to me alone. Instead, on getting up to leave she gave me an unexpected hug. I didn't react to it - I'd had my cry before. But when she reached down to hug Gary he just collapsed in tears, and as she looked up at me while holding his quaking body, her eyes were full of pain for us and I knew I couldn't bear any more. That picture of Gary's twisted face and clinging arms round Mrs. Pamm while he retched sobs all over her will be forever in my memory, bringing for years a sense of heartrending sorrow and embarrassment. My eyes were stunned as I looked back at her, and I muttered 'I'm sorry', and left the room, not even bothering to stick around to show her out. But I knew if I stayed in that room I couldn't handle it. I just couldn't handle it. Even when I was wrecking my room up and he'd wept then, he hadn't been like that. Maybe it was because she was a grown up, and more like Mum. I half felt I'd let Gary down. He had so much grief in him. Why had she hugged us anyway? I thought fiercely. And why did weeping embarrass me so much? I yearned for some alcohol, but the bottles were downstairs with Gary and Mrs. Pamm. No way. I shut my door against them. I hadn't a clue what to do next. I wanted to sleep, but I wanted to cry more than I wanted to sleep. Trying to shut out Mrs. Pamm's sympathy and the pain of Gary and I, I compromised and cried myself to sleep. Saturday passed with Gary and I feeling mutual embarrassment. We felt how you do when you've shown a stranger too much of yourself and you wish you could put the clock back - act maturely and sensibly. Have people marvel at your self-control. Oh - look at Liz and Gary Thoms. Look how well they're coping over their mother's death. How brave they are! But we weren't brave. We were just kids. Reality set in again. We'd barleys spoken all day, our thoughts and feelings reeling over the actions of yesterday. I could sense Gary hadn't meant to go to pieces like that, and he seemed almost angry with me for getting her involved. Even at ten, image was a lot. I made an effort to speak to him in the evening, before his Birthday. Gary was in his room, playing with a train set set and making an effort to look engrossed in it. He looked at me, then looked down immediately.

'I'm sorry', I started. He merely nodded, and pushed his train. I knew he wanted to speak. Finally, he swallowed and said: 'I don't want her to come tomorrow'. I looked down at my socks and folded my arms. 'Yeah. I guess I don't either'.

'Then....why don't you ring and cancel?' I looked away, and my voice cracked as I said: 'I can't'.

'Why not?' he insisted.

'Because...it's your Birthday!' I stared at him, trying to make him understand. We couldn't just spend the day in misery and despair.

'I don't want a Birthday!' he yelled, tears blurring his eyes. 'Do you think I want to be happy, and get presents and stuff, and be made a fuss of, now?' Grief and despair racked his face, and he added miserably 'I can't take her'. We both thought of Friday evening. 'Nor can I', I finally admitted.

'Then ring her and cancel!', he demanded. 'That's all I ask, Lizzie - that's all I want for my Birthday. Just you and me'. I couldn't refuse him that. I felt the same anyway - I dreaded us both breaking down again, especially if other people might be around. I hadn't the least idea what to say to Mrs. Pamm, especially after her kindness to us. And I'd been almost rude, rushing upstairs like that, though I also felt sure she'd understand. When I rang up and cancelled, she didn't sound in the least offended. She even added:'You know, if either of you feel the least awkward about Friday, you really shouldn't. I wasn't in the least embarrassed or put out, and you know I wouldn't tell anyone what happened. I do understand, Lizzie. Like I understand you and Gary needing to be alone tomorrow, though I'd like to drop by a present, if I may..'

'No, really - ', I started. 'Please', she intercepted, 'if only to cheer up Gary a bit'.

'He doesn't need cheering up', I said coldly, and put down the phone.

I immediately regretted saying it. She was only being kind, but we didn't want that. I thought of ringing her back to apologise, but I couldn't face it. I never guessed that Mrs. Pamm was feeling just as bad, kicking herself for not putting it a better way. Sunday. An unexpected Birthday. When Gary was up I gave him a hug and he gave me a half-smile back. The absence of Mum was so acute it seemed to shout at us. We thought we'd be on our own all day, but it turned out we had calls from relatives - Aunt Claire and Uncle Tony, and our grandmother, and various people from School. We had neighbours call in with cards and some presents, which Gary would dutifully open and smile at even though we both knew he'd never have what he really wanted. His mother. The wounds were still deep and our faces set in a grief-stricken frown when people mentioned Mum, but often they'd sense the pain and change the subject. However, our neighbours from next door went on and on about it till Gary left the room, and I merely thanked them (coldly) for their card and scowled at them till they left. Near tea time I got rid of our visitors (more neighbours) and made us both a rather dismal tea. It wasn't dismal because of the food - we had burgers (Gary's favourite) and trifle. Also Pringles and little sandwiches, and cherry 7-up to drink. but we were both trying to be cheerful, and that made it dismal. Even when I got the Surprise Birthday cake a neighbour had got for Gary in the shape of a train, with eleven candles, I could tell his wide smile was fixed and his eyes didn't mask his sadness. Not one thing in the whole day had made him really smile, and I felt so bad as I hadn't had time to get him a thing. The worst thing about the tea was the fact he never even made a wish when he blew out the candles. I think it reminded him too much of Mum. I wasn't about to say 'make a wish' either, and whether he made one silently I'll never know. What did happen was, shortly after we'd cut the cake and got 2 plates out, the doorbell rang. And it was Mrs. Pamm.

10. Mrs. Pamm knows the secret

Gary had opened the door, still wishing in his heart of hearts that it would be Mum. When he saw Mrs. Pamm, he couldn't help his face falling, and a look of embarrassment flit across it.

'Hello, Gary', she said. 'Happy Birthday'. She handed him a present. It was a big box, quite heavy, with colourful red and blue wrapping paper. As he mumbled his thanks and started unwrapping it, I noticed she had another object in a plastic bag, and this she handed to me, saying with a low tone of voice: 'For you. Open it later', and she smiled. I didn't have time to examine it as Gary had unwrapped his gift and was looking rapturously at an expensive electric train set.

'Wow - Mrs. Pamm, we can't accept this!', I said. 'It's way too expensive'. I must've looked aghast, for Mrs. Pamm was quick with her defense.

'No - you misunderstand me', she said. 'All your friends at School chipped in, and your friend Mark said you were nuts about trains'.

'Wow', Gary said. 'Will you thank them?' Then he turned to me. 'May I really keep it, Lizzie?'

I still felt reluctant and embarrassed at this costly gift, but I'd seen a spark of happiness in Gary's eyes and I knew that was worth any cost. I quickly asked Mrs. Pamm to stay and have some cake, anxious about putting the phone down on her before. She refused the cake, knowing we didn't want company, but I made her take some away before she left. When she'd gone, Gary turned to me and asked 'What did she give you? Why didn't you open it?' But when she'd handed me the bag, I'd got the feeling it was a bottle of something, and maybe Gary shouldn't see. So I told him to eat his cake and took the plastic bag upstairs, saying I was going to the loo. 'With your present?' he asked, guessing my secrecy. 'Go on, then'. But he sulkily pushed away his plate and gave a sigh. Feeling guilty, I went to my bedroom and sure enough, in the bag was a bottle-shaped object wrapped up. The card on it read: 'To Liz, In case you need any more for visitors. H.P.' Feeling suddenly sick to my stomach, I opened the present in green tissue paper and felt stunned when I gazed at a bottle of Scotch whiskey underneath. What was she playing at? If she'd guessed my alcohol problem, it wasn't very sensible (especially for a teacher like Mrs. Pamm!) to get me more of the stuff, especially strong alcohol like that. Or maybe she realised I couldn't cope unless I drank, and it was my only friend at the moment. No - it couldn't possibly be that. Maybe she really thought I kept the stuff in the kitchen for visitors. But for an intelligent teacher like her, I doubted that. I was so stunned I didn't even notice Gary had come in, his curiosity getting to him. When he saw the bottle, he looked as amazed as I did.

'Is that from her?', he asked. I nodded.

'I don't get it', he said. 'You've got a problem, Liz. Why's she making it worse?' He looked all sulky, and snarled 'I hate it when you drink!' 'Yeah - well it's the only thing that keeps me going!', I snapped back. I found Gary in his room later, crying over his new electric train set, still in its box.

'I can't keep it', he snivelled, when I came in.

'Why ever not?'

'You know why'. And I did, really. I cursed Mrs. Pamm for coming at all - it would've been better to give us no gifts. Things were one hundred times worse, now. 'Happy Birthday, Gary', I thought, bitterly.

11. The Funeral

My mother's sister, Aunt Claire, and her husband (Uncle Tony) came to stay with us for a few days after Gary's Birthday, to make preparations for Mum's funeral. I'd found out that the Police and Social Services had spoken to them a lot, trying to suss out if they were willing to take us. The themselves had two boys who were away at University (there was only a year between them) - Thomas was 19 and Anthony - 20. Our cousins had always seemed so mature and grown-up to us that it was like they were from another world, and we'd rarely seen them. Aunt Claire was a nice lady - kind and generous, and I didn't shudder at the prospect of her taking over. But I didn't feel comfortable either - she wasn't Mum. She was thinner, taller and more serious than Mum, and her hair was longer and darker. She was a hairdresser, and good at it, too - when she was staying she'd often cut mine and Gary's hair. Uncle Tony wasn't similar to his wife at all. He was quite moody and bad-tempered at times, but he was sincere and had more of a sense of humour. He was a Postman. When I thought of him I also remembered Mum saying he was a 'recovering alcoholic' and had been 'clean' for ten years. He was fifty. Claire was forty-two, but the age gap never worried her. When they came to stay, the place erupted with the stuff they'd brought, and confrontations, and whimpered conversations after dark about what should be done with us and 'the house'. I didn't want anything to be done with our house. I certainly didn't want to move, and go to live in their cramped semi-detached in Yorkshire. When I heard these conversations I'd get worried, but wouldn't want to tell Gary for fear he'd totally go to pieces. I know he worried a lot about what would happen to us, and that was bad enough. I worried a lot about the alcohol problem, and carefully hid my bottles away in my room. In a way I was lucky - Aunt Claire didn't insist on having no alcohol in the house. Indeed, Tony would insist they have bottles around, not being able to bear it if his wife felt restricted. I hoped they'd buy more stuff - I know Aunt Claire liked wine. But I knew I now had to be on my guard all the time. It would be like when Mum was here. Disguising it; covering it up.

 Copyright: Jane Windsor: Last updated 6/1/2003