Saving Grace (21 page)

‘Fuck ’em,’ Ingrid says sternly. ‘You’re still you on the inside and frankly, half the women in that room have no idea whatsoever what it’s like to be middle-aged and have your hormones go crazy on you, and find your waistline went AWOL with your memory.’

Graces laughs, this time genuinely.

‘Truly, Grace. I am not kidding. You are still beautiful, and you will always be beautiful. A few extra pounds does not change that. Quite apart from your exquisite features, your beauty shines from the inside. Your beauty is from all the people you help, and the service you give, and your wide-open heart . . .’ She looks at Grace, steadying her, making sure Grace hears. ‘And the problem with open-hearted people is that they are liable to get hurt, but that doesn’t mean they must close themselves off. You touch too many people, Grace. You have made too much of a difference in too many people’s lives to shut yourself away, however you feel about your physical self. I promise you, you are still beautiful. Annette? We adore her, but please,’ Ingrid leans forward to whisper, ‘you don’t get to be her size without a serious eating disorder. She didn’t mean to be cruel, but I had to resist the temptation to squash her minus-zero body with my size-eight shoe.’

Grace laughs.

‘Better?’ She links an arm through Grace’s, instructing her to take a deep breath before turning to go into the main room. ‘You’re beautiful and brave and strong,’ she whispers. ‘Keep telling yourself that. That’s your mantra, and it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks.’

Grace tells herself that, over and over, but when her name is called, and she threads her way through the tables, making her way to the podium to a round of applause, she is aware of the shocked looks, the furtive whispers. She knows what people are thinking, knows exactly what they are whispering.

When she reaches the stage, she scans the room until her eyes settle on Ingrid, who blows her a kiss and lays her hands over her heart. Grace starts to speak, realizing after her first laugh from the crowd that Ingrid was right: it really doesn’t matter much at all.

I
t is six o’clock by the time Grace gets home. She spent the afternoon with Ingrid, and although she didn’t feel anything like her old self, getting out of bed, getting out of the prison her house has become, made her feel almost human again. Valued. Worthwhile.

The house is quiet. Grace does what she always does now, a Pavlovian response to entering her kitchen: she puts her bag down on the table and immediately opens the fridge, reaching a hand in before she even decides what she is going to eat, before she even thinks that they will shortly be eating dinner, that given the amount she has already eaten today, she cannot possibly be hungry. She reaches for the cheese and slices off a wedge, then another and another, before closing the door and going upstairs to change, her skirt cutting into her waist.

The day in the city has exhausted her. Climbing onto her bed, she clicks on the television and turns to the news, giving her iPhone a cursory check. Three missed calls from Sybil. The last thing Grace wants to do is speak to anyone, but what if this is an emergency? Why else would Sybil have tried her three times?

‘Thank God!’ Sybil bursts out as soon as she answers the phone. ‘I’ve been trying you all day!’

‘I’m sorry. I was in the city. Is everything okay?’

‘No! It’s not. Oh, Grace. I don’t even know how to tell you this, but they called an emergency board meeting today at Harmont House.’

‘What? Why didn’t anyone let me know?’

Sybil takes a deep breath. ‘Because it was about you. Grace, I’m telling you this because I am appalled, and I said so, but I wanted to prepare you, I wanted you to hear this from me. Beth was invited along to the meeting.’

‘What?’ Grace’s voice is an anguished shout.

‘She was asked to describe your mental state, which she said was extremely unstable, and it was decided that it was no longer healthy for you to be on the board.’

‘I don’t understand. How can they even make this kind of decision without me?’

‘Beth talked about you as if you were going mad. And they believed her.’

‘Didn’t you say anything? Didn’t you tell them she’s lying?’

‘I tried, Grace. I kept saying this wasn’t true, that I saw you almost every day and you were fine, just a little depressed, but nothing that would get in the way of your work at Harmont House. But they voted. And they voted that Beth would replace you on the board.’

And Grace, in a moment of anger she later regrets, throws her phone against the marble fireplace in their bedroom, where it shatters as it falls to the floor.

‘T
ed?’ No answer. Running downstairs in bare feet, the kitchen lights are still off, the house deserted. Her mind is whirling, it is taking all the energy she has not to burst into floods of tears.

Forcing herself to slow down, she thinks for a moment, but doesn’t recall anything in the diary for tonight. As far as she knows, Ted is supposed to be home, although she is the first to concede the unreliability of her memory, which has grown even worse of late.

Through the window she sees the barn lights are on. Please let him be there. Please let him make this better, let him explain to the board that she hasn’t changed, this is a huge mistake; she isn’t crazy; they cannot take this away from her.

She can’t just go down there with no excuse. Throwing a cheese platter together, she puts a bottle of wine on it, two glasses, pretending everything is as normal.

The glasses shake as she makes her way down the path, attempting to take deep breaths to calm herself. Through the door of the barn, Grace stands, frowning at the empty room.

Music is playing, which is not unusual, but then, unexpectedly, a moan.

Or is it a groan? Her heart stops.

Oh
God
.

Visions of Ted lying on the floor fill her head – a heart attack, a stroke. Three more steps and she is no longer staring at the high back of the sofa, but at her husband and Beth, wrapped around each other on the other side, Beth’s shirt undone, her husband’s hair tousled, neither of them hearing her as Debussy sweeps through the speakers.

Frozen, she watches as if she is watching a movie. She sees Beth’s tongue dart into her husband’s mouth as he attempts to swallow her whole, moaning in pleasure. The way he used to moan with her.

Beth’s eyes open and look at him, before moving to take in Grace, standing there, eyes wide with shock, as she drops the tray, glasses smashing, her hands flying up to her mouth.

‘W
hat’s going on?’ Clemmie bursts through the doors of the hospital, into the waiting room where Ted sits, leaning forward, elbows planted on his knees, wringing his hands.

‘Clemmie!’ He stands, putting his arms around his daughter, attempting to reassure her, attempting to reassure himself for his life is spinning out of control and he has no idea what to do.

‘Where’s Mum? What’s going on? Is she okay?’ Clemmie turns at the sound of footsteps to see Beth walking into the room, two cups of coffee from the machine in each hand. ‘Beth? What are you doing here? What happened?’ She notices Beth’s face is swollen, a faint bruise forming on her cheek.

‘Beth was with me when it happened,’ says Ted. ‘She’s the reason your mother had to be brought here. Oh, Clemmie, I didn’t want you to know anything, but your mother’s been unwell for a while. Tonight was some sort of psychotic break, but she’s been heading this way for a few months.’

‘What do you mean, “unwell”?’ Clemmie says, her voice catching in her throat, the word ‘cancer’ lingering on the outskirts of her mind. ‘What kind of unwell? What do you mean?’

‘She has bipolar disorder,’ Ted says softly. ‘She is medicated, but something snapped tonight.’

‘What? Whoa. What are you
talking
about? Mum is bipolar? That’s
impossible.
There’s no way. Bipolar means crazy. That’s not Mum. What the hell?’ Clemmie runs her fingers through her hair. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Clemm, I know it’s difficult, but it’s true. I know this is hard for you, but your mother has had her struggles with depression.’

‘But depression isn’t bipolar,’ blurts Clemmie. ‘She isn’t manic. She isn’t crazy.’

Ted and Beth exchange a look. ‘She hasn’t been,’ says Ted. ‘Until recently. Her mania has been in the form of anger. She has struggled with these rages to the point where we all decided she had to go and see someone, and he was the one who diagnosed her with the disorder.’

‘But why is she here? What happened?’

This time, Ted avoids looking at Beth. ‘I was working late and Beth was helping me. We were sitting on the sofa and your mother walked in. She immediately jumped to the conclusion that something was going on and—’

‘Why would she jump to that conclusion?’ Clemmie says. ‘That’s insane.’

‘That’s the point,’ says Ted. ‘It is insane. But she started screaming at us, ranting and raving, then she slapped Beth.’

‘What?’

‘She did,’ Beth says softly, pointing to the swollen cheek. ‘That’s when we had no choice but to call the police.’

‘Mum actually
slapped
her?’ Clemmie says in disbelief.

‘I was on my hands and knees trying to clear up the mess – your mother had dropped a full tray of glass and china – and I heard it. Beth screamed in pain and I immediately restrained your mother while Beth called the police. Honestly, Clemmie, we had no choice. I was terrified she was going to hurt us, or worse, hurt herself. She was a complete mess. I knew this was really bad. I’m sorry, darling, but your mother is really ill.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ Beth’s eyes are limpid, soft, completely empathetic as she holds her arms out to Clemmie, who allows herself to be held, numb at what is happening, still attempting to digest it all. ‘I’m so sorry,’ whispers Beth, rubbing her back. ‘I know how hard this must be for you.’

‘But why is she in the hospital?’ Clemmie murmurs into her shoulder. ‘Did she hurt herself? I want to see her. Where is she?’

Ted takes a deep breath. ‘She’s sitting outside the psychiatric ward,’ he says. ‘We’re waiting for her psychiatrist to arrive, Frank Ellery. Beth phoned him while I tried to restrain your mother and he immediately said he would admit her. They don’t want her seeing anyone until she’s been evaluated. I’m sorry, darling, but you wouldn’t want to see her now. She’s in no state to see you, and it wouldn’t be good for you. She’s babbling all kinds of things that just aren’t true.’

Clemmie sinks down on a chair as tears fill her eyes. ‘How can this be true?’ she whispers, but the only thought going through her head is, I want my mum.

I need my mum to make this all go away.

G
race has been hysterical since the moment she screamed. She was hysterical all the way over here, as they bundled her into an ambulance, so upset she was hyperventilating. They gave her a shot of something, which has made her feel stoned.

Now she is trying to be calm. If she can explain to someone what just happened, they will let her out of here. No one seems to be interested in listening to her; everyone keeps telling her that Dr Ellery will be here soon and she can explain to him.

Her bare feet are cold on the hospital’s linoleum floor. As the hours tick by, as the medication they injected into her starts to wear off, Grace becomes increasingly terrified. Things like this don’t happen to people like her. This is like being stuck in a horrific movie, one so dramatic, so terrible, you are sitting on the edge of your seat dreading the next awful thing you know is coming. Or, at least, you would be if it were happening to someone else.

Jack Nicholson in
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
flashes into her mind. But that wouldn’t happen to
her.
Dr Ellery
knows
her. He
knows
that while she may be many things, a fantasist she is not.

Even when she explains what happened this evening, what made her snap, she realizes her life will never be the same. How can it be when she now knows what has been going on?

Her husband is obsessed with Beth – that much is obvious – and now they are having an affair.

But worse than that was seeing Beth – as Ted was on his hands and knees on the floor, picking up the pieces of glass from the crystal inkwell Grace hadn’t been aware of throwing, before she struck Beth – seeing the look of
conquest
on Beth’s face.

Grace isn’t a violent person. She cannot begin to explain what came over her, a rage, a fury so huge it had to come out somehow. She never thought she was capable of hitting someone, but without realizing what was happening, Grace had brought her hand back and had put all her weight behind it as she slapped Beth on the cheek.

The worst thing of all? How good it felt.

‘Oh my God!’ Beth had moaned, her hands flying to her eye. ‘She just hit me. Oh my God! Get away from me! Ted! She
slapped
me!’

‘Grace!’ Ted came towards her and took her arms, almost shook her in disgust. ‘Grace! I know you’re upset and I’m sorry, but control yourself. For God’s sake.’

‘I’m calling the police.’ Beth moved to the phone. ‘She assaulted me.’

‘Grace.’ Ted’s voice was soothing, conciliatory. ‘I know you’re not well, but you need help, that much is clear. More help than you’ve been getting. We’re going to get you the help you need.’

‘I don’t need help, you bastard,’ Grace hissed as Beth murmured into the phone at the other end of the room. ‘
She’s
the one who needs help. I walk in here and find my husband entwined with his assistant, and
I’m
the one who needs help?’

Ted ignored her, didn’t see Beth look at Grace with a look so cold, so detached from everything that was going on, Grace knew this was exactly what she wanted.

She looks triumphant.

I have won, it said. And Grace knew suddenly that Beth did steal her scarf. God knows what else besides. She knew suddenly that Beth had intentionally called the rental company before the event at Harmont House and cancelled everything. She knew that Beth came into their lives very deliberately to ruin them, or at least, to ruin her.