Three Gravol to make her sleepy and settle her stomach.
A half an hour later, a 23 valium chaser. One pill at a time.
Was it enough?
“It better fecking be enough,” Deidre said.
She wanted a drink. Thought heavily about rooting around in Paddy’s workshop to see if she could find any more of his rum stash. Realized she’d probably puke if she did. Didn’t want to puke. Held her stomach like she was carrying a baby.
Lit a smoke instead.
Studied the liver spots on her shaking hands. Loose flesh, yellow fingers, thick fingernails. Leaned back against the headboard. Head too heavy to support. Thoughts dulling. Deidre reached over to the tape recorder on the bedside table and pressed the red record button.
“I’d like to apologize,” she began, “for being such a selfish bitch.”
She cackled, coughed, cleared her throat.
“I’m sorry for cheating on ya, Mike, sorry for fooling around with that redheaded sonoffabitch. Sorry for getting knocked up. Sorry for the drinking and the lying and the running around. You wasn’t so bad; I was just fecking loaded all the time. You was good to pretend Jilley was yours.”
She paused, gathered her thoughts. They were cottoning and muzzy.
“Jilley,” she said, “I’m sorry for not telling you who your real daddy was for so long. I was afraid you’d hate me. Your sister made me tell you. Said she’d tell herself if I didn’t. Fecking pushy bitch. I never liked your sister. Big mouth, self-righteous, goody-fecking-two-shoes.”
Deidre laughed. She was losing it. Getting dizzy. She took another long drag on the cigarette and tossed the butt on the bedroom carpet. It sat in the dull green pile smouldering. “Go ahead and burn, you sonoffabitch! I hate that fecking carpet!”
She laughed. Her head spun. She started to feel nauseous. Held her stomach. Took a deep breath. Felt marginally better.
“It was supposed to be different,” she moaned. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I wasn’t much of a princess after all. Just a fat lazy fecking selfish bitch. Thanks for raising my kids, Mom. Thanks for being .... everything I could never be. Thanks for your fecking holier than thou Catholic shit and your guilt and being the one my kids, MY kids, looked up to more than their own fecking mother!
“You bitch,” she said, tears filling the deep crevices of the hard lines in her face.
She was losing it, now. It was hard to keep her eyes open. She had one more thing to say.
“Paddy, the only thing I’m sorry about where you’re concerned is that I ever laid eyes on you. I’m definitely sorry I married you. Never marry your drinking buddy! That’s my big word of advice, people! Drink with ‘em but don’t marry them!”
Her laugh was low in her throat, bitter. Like the pills.
“It had to end this way. I couldn’t face another divorce. Divorce is for fecking losers.”
She slid down onto the bed, in a pool of dark blood.
Touched her husband’s cold hand.
“I made my bed,” she said. “And now I’m fecking lying in it.”