In A World Gone Mad: Friday 29 May 2020

Andy, from the age of fifteen was an addicted drug dealer. He left Windermere suddenly after a party with alcohol and a cocktail of drugs, that had him wrecking his mother’s house and acting out in a bad-trip frenzy of paranoia and terror. Unless you’ve seen it, you can’t know how horrible it is to have somebody in that state. They can’t be reasoned with or calmed. Luckily, when we brought him home he was seven stone and easily managed even off his head on drugs.

I loved the trust that Max gave me that night. When he put the child locks on the car and physically pushed Andy into the backseat with me, I told Max to just drive, and concentrate on the notoriously bad Lakes road. I said that I could manage Andy and to get us home as quickly and safely as he could.

Max trusted me to know what I was doing and  didn’t look around once.

Andy was off his face. He alternated between punching and kicking the car to get out. Punching himself in the face and flinging himself into my arms and sobbing against me before turning on me again to punch me.

It was hilarious because he started slapping himself—but only enough to leave the tiniest handprint. When that didn’t get him any attention, I just left him to get on with it, he closed his fist and took to punching himself. He’s made a big show of the swing and then eased off on impact so that he barely made contact.

‘Do you want me  to give you a hand with that?’

‘Oh, fuck off, Sarah.’

‘You’re messed up, I’ll allow you that one. But you do realise, if at any point you run even the slightest danger of hurting yourself or your dad’s car, I am going to stop you?’

When he started booting the door, I did have to restrain him, but, despite the drugs, it was like fighting a puppy.

It was a bad night and we were still bringing him down the following evening.  He never went back home and moved in with us.

I can’t sing Andy’s praises enough. He has a good job. He makes a lot of money. He’s not dealing. And I have  one rule. No drugs in my house.

He’s broken it a few times. I smelled weed a couple of times when he was with the last girlfriend and came down on the pair of them like a ton of bricks.  And there were occasions when he’s come home stoned.

During our recent music nights, twice he’s gone to his room and come down doing the jaw thing. When he’s on coke, he moves his jaw from side to side. I let it go. We’re on lockdown. He’s been out to the shop a few times but hardly at all. Is he meeting somebody to buy coke? I couldn’t work out how he’d got any and only wanted to challenge him if I was a hundred percent certain. The first thing he would do is deny it.

I’m ninety five percent certain he’s used coke twice during lockdown. But is it possible it was just alcohol, as a former user could beer and vodka do that to him? Or could he be having some kind of flashback affect where his jaw remembers the habit of contorting and he does it when he’s relaxed in drinking? Is that possible? I have to be certain of my facts before accusing him.

The other reason I haven’t said anything is that I’m terrified to. After I caught his girlfriend in my house with weed—it was in her bag and they never smoked it here, allegedly— I told him again that I will not have drugs in my house. I have grandchildren and won’t have them  subjected to an unsafe household and it isn’t a lifestyle that I want to lead. I spelled it out very clearly, the first time I find drugs in my home—he’s out. No notice, no excuses, no second chances. He’s out, bags packed and gone within minutes. And he won’t be coming back.

That’s a  huge ultimatum. It’s final. I don’t want to catch him with drugs because then I have to follow through on my threat and I’m not sure that Max wouldn’t go with him—or put up one hell of a fight to keep him here. The flat was my tenancy—this house is joint tenancy he has as much right to be here as I do.  Since Max moved in, I’ve never once been in his room. I’ve threatened a room search but never followed up—I daren’t.  The rule I made without thinking it through is the Sword of Damocles. If he backs me into a corner I have to follow through with my threat and that would be disastrous.

Over the last three months, that kid has changed. He’s spending more time with us which is lovely—particularly for Max. He has a lot of patience with his grandad and helps out with him. He’s started offering to do things. I almost hit the floor when he came in the other night and asked Max, who was cooking dinner, if he needed anything doing.

He would never have done that three months ago.  He’s never considered anybody else and was thoroughly selfish. Now he doesn’t go to the shop without asking if we need anything.  The last girlfriend matured him a lot and he’s growing into a nice young man. I’m proud of him and what he’s done to himself. He’s stronger and more stable—however.

However, however— mentally and emotionally he’s still got a long way to go. He’s paranoid and anxious. As soon as he has any kind of confrontation or something doesn’t go right for him he goes off the deep end.  He is undiagnosed for any conditions and therefore unmedicated. I applaud him for that. Seeing the way his sister is and his mother—and even Max can have hypochondriac tendencies, it’s made him not be a doctor pesterer. I’m glad he’s not on anti-depressants. He’s coping well without them. When he blows up, it’s bad—but the other ninety nine percent of the time he’s great and doesn’t need to be medicated. Three years of drug abuse have messed with his nerves and his nervous system and sometimes he has bad hand tremors.  But the lad’s doing well.

It’s Ocean’s birthday today and Belle is on one. Despite disease, despite being on Lockdown and despite Barrow being the worst affected town in the country, she has caused merry hell trying to get the family assembled for a huge party.

Because of her screaming and swearing at him, Max has never stood up to her. She can change from Good Belle into bad on the turn of a sixpence.  Max is very diplomatic and uses his calm and oh so reasonable dad voice. Max, be a man, lift up your skirt, grab your bollocks and get the little bitch told for once in your spineless life. Max and I argue about the way Belle and Annie speak to him a lot. Andy stands up to them better than he does.

I’m surprised I have a tongue left in my mouth I’ve bitten it that often. I’ve never said one wrong word to either of them, and you have no idea how hard that is.  For three years I’ve kept quiet for Max’s sake. He lost of all his children for the first year we wee together. They resented him leaving town. One by one, they’ve gravitated back to him, but he’s terrified of losing them again. It isn’t going to happen. Now is the time to stop letting them walk all over him and stop being their friend and start being a father.

I’m three years in with Belle. She kicks and screams and throws her paddy’s but in the same manner that I’ve never blown at her, she’s never been anything but sweet with me. We both know it’s coming and we’ve both tried to avoid it. Now we’re at the stage with her and Max, that I’m sure if we went at it, she’d sulk for about two to three weeks, but she’d be back. Max does too much for her to cut him off again.

So, she’s made her plans. The deal was that Annie would come through yesterday and pick Andy up. He’d stay with them until Friday and We’d go through on Friday and pick Andy, Belle and Ocean up and bring them to us for the weekend.

Belle decreed it and so it would be. I hated the idea.  I don’t mind having them here for the weekend. But they have disregarded Covid19 as though it doesn’t exist. If Belle has any combination of all of her imaginary diseases, she is putting herself at terrible risk. And she’s been telling us since this began how she’s in the highest of the highest ever risk groups because she’s so sick. Max will not tell her she can’t come and that’s their choice. But they are making choices for a six year-and one day old little girl. Max is quick to tell me how resilient children are, and how  the under tens are the least affected target group. Okay, so she’s safe then, that’s all right, I’ll remember that at her funeral.  In the next breath he says that we’ll take her to Asda and let her choose a toy for her Birthday.  First ‘We’ can’t take her anywhere, it’s one shopper only. And second, they don’t let children in the shops. I can’t stand this bending of the rules to suit their cause. Marty says that I’m ridged, I’m black and white and there’s no give with me. And Max says that I just don’t want his children here.

The other problem is that there is literally no room at the inn. Belle and Ocean’s bedroom has gone and is taken up by Arthur, they are going to have to sleep on the two sofas in the  lounge. It’s doable but not ideal. And we still have no lock on the lounge door. Arthur is always a hair’s breadth away from kicking off—and if the truth be told, as much as he adores them, I don’t trust him around young children anymore. He wants to pick them up all the time and ride them on his shoulders. If Belle and Andy are at each other’s throats—when the tension is already high anyway, it’s a tinder waiting to enflame.  I sense disaster looming.

Andy has a problem with going to his old home. He left town owing his old dealer, the one higher in the chain than him, a lot of money. He was at the point where he was getting a lay on of over a thousand pounds a week to offload. I don’t know how much he owes but  it’s a lot of money and I don’t think that is the only person he owes money too. I’ve seen the death threats on his phone and the text to Annie, telling her or order his coffin.

He’s terrified of going back. Their argument is that he’ll be in the house the whole time and won’t see  anybody. But all it takes is to be driving there and somebody sees him in the car and there’ll be war.  It’s set his anxiety off.

We’ve had Annie on the phone to him kicking off and Belle ringing both Andy and Max and laying the law down.  I’ll support Andy in whatever he decides. He’s a man, he’s nineteen years-old and can make his own decision. And just latterly he’s been making the right ones.

I was worried earlier in the week that all the arguments and the guilt they have put on him would set his anxiety off and set him back.

‘I’m your mother, why don’t you want to come and see me? What have I ever done to you?’

‘Ocean is your nice, what kind of uncle are you? I’m telling you now… you will be there for her party.’

Andy stood up to them and refused to go. He’s feeling a lot of guilt for upsetting his mum and said to us the other night.

‘I feel so bad for you and dad. Now because of me, you won’t get to spend the weekend with Belle and Ocean.’

‘Andy, darling, I’d love to see the  girls for the weekend, but you haven’t done anything wrong. If they don’t come that’s belle’s decision, not yours. And to be perfectly honest love, I’d rather they didn’t at the moment. If they don’t come this weekend they’ll come next week or next month, and with lockdown, the later the better.’

Max refuses to tell them not to come and I get the position that puts him in as a father—but it’s up in the air. Belle’s had her tantrum and screamed at Andy and Max. They are no dad or bother of hers—again. And she’ll either step down and come , or she won’t.  I’d rather they didn’t, and we go back to Max’s plan of having a big family party when it’s all done with.