The Other Side of the Story by Marian Keyes Page A

made its way through my aching eye-sockets, my bruised hair, into my swollen brain and I knew that the horrible ominous feeling weighing me down wasn't just the hangover horrors, but Mam! My eyes went to the phone -I was almost afraid to look. The answering machine light was hopping; it looked like it was going at triple speed, like it was furious . (Could that actually happen? Does it speed up if you've got a lot of unlistened-to messages on it?)
    Oh the dread. The horrible, awful, dreadful, dready dread. Like my alarm clock didn't go off and I missed my best friend's wedding, a free flight on Concorde to Barbados, life-saving surgery…
    I wasn't supposed to be in my flat. I should have gone back to Mam's last night. I'd promised, it was the only way I was able to persuade her to let me out at all. But how could I have forgotten? How could I have gone back to sleep this morning? How could I not have remembered about her until now?
    I pressed 'play' and when the flat Margaret Thatcher voice intoned, 'You - have - ten - new - messages,' I wanted to die. The first four were from Gary and Gaye upstairs. They were very, very angry. Then the messages from Mam began. The first one was at five in the morning. 'Where are you? Why haven't you come home? Why aren't you answering your mobile? I haven't been able to get to sleep at all.' Another call at six-fifteen, then at eight-thirty and twenty past nine. She sounded more and more frantic and on the ten-thirty call she was wheezing, 'I don't feel well It's my heart. It really is this time. Where are you?'
    The next message was not from Mam but from Mrs Kelly. Your poor mothers gone to the hospital in an awful state,' she said coldly. 'If you could find time to contact home we'd all appreciate it.'

9

    TO [email protected]
    FROM Gemma 34 3@ hotmail.com
    SUBJECT It took three days for the horrors to lift
    It's only today that I'm back on solids.
    Mam - thanks be to Christ - didn't have a heart attack, just another panic attack. The nurses gave her a little talking-to, along the lines of 'It's an offence to waste police time' But when she explained to them about Dad leaving and me not coming home, they redirected their annoyance to me and I felt so guilty I took it on the chin.
    Dad still hasn't come back. All last week when I was working like a machine, I didn't have time to think about it, really. But now that my routine is back to normal, I've realized it's over two weeks since he went. It's like I've been in a trance - how on earth did it get to be two weeks? It's a shockingly long time but I'll give it a month and he'll probably be back by then.
    Cody and Mrs Kelly and everyone at work keep tut-tutting and saying what a stupid old bastard he is, but as soon as I try to agree I go wobbly and weepy and they look at me funny and I can see what they're thinking - it's not like it's my husband who has left. Wives are allowed to go wobbly and weepy but daughters are supposed to join in with the insults. I tried calling him 'a mad old gobshite' and Mrs Kelly said, 'Good girl' But then I started to cry and she was visibly irritated.
    This thing has layers I keep thinking. I understand that Dad has left and has ruined everything, then I perk up and think he'll have to come home soon. But then the fact that he hasn't come back yet kicks in again, deeper and much more painful than the previous time. But like I say we'll give it a month, that's a nice round sum.
    And yes, about the wand, thank you for reminding me that I was always partial to cheesy kitsch. Although what's cheesy about my 'Kitty goes to New York' shower cap? It's beautiful, not to mention functional.
    I'm back in the office all this week. It's such a relief to be working only ten-hour days - and to be near the shops. I am buying things. Odd things. Yesterday at lunchtime I bought a keyring in the shape of a sparkly glass stiletto with a blue flower on the toe. Then I painted my nails ten different colours, each one