I have had extremes of emotions over the last few days ranging from elation to downright despair.
My mood soared on Thursday when Kay telephoned me from school with the results of her A-levels (the early ones taken in January to reduce the number she has to take in the summer).
Grade A for Maths
Grade A for Statistics
Grade A for Biology
Grade A for Chemistry
When she came out of the exams, she thought she had done so badly in a few of them, so I was more than surprised let alone delirious that she had gained top marks.
Then on Friday a letter arrived addressed to Kay from a certain university we had visited in February for interview. It was A4 in size and quite bulky so I took a chance that it was unlikely to be a rejection and phoned Kay at school. Fortunately she was in the school library on a free period , so she was able to take my call. I told her a letter had arrived and asked if I should open it. (Secretly I was unable to contain my curiosity and I was almost working out how to steam the letter open without her knowing, if I had been unable to contact her. Not that I would have done, but I was bursting to know the answer). We agreed that I would drive in at her break time so she could open the letter herself. Kay had been rejected by three of her four choices of university because the course she wants to do is so competitive. In one case there were twenty applicants for every place and the others were about twelve to fifteen for every place. I will not reveal the course yet as I do not want to jinx things, but suffice to say that it is nigh impossible to get in unless you are Einstein. Kay opened the letter and my mood went to the dizziest heights imaginable when she revealed that she has been accepted on the course providing she gets equally good grades in the summer exams. We were on the phone after that telephoning my mother, aunts, cousins, anyone who was equally eager to know the results. Kay spent the rest of the day barely able to believe that her dream may be within reach at last.
The high we continued to remain on all over the weekend came crashing to the ground this morning when I woke up. Greg and I sleep in separate rooms - something I have insisted on since his personal hygiene fell to an all-time low a couple of years ago. He remains in what was our bedroom on a very comfortable double bed with wardrobes, bedside TV and ensuite bathroom. I have decamped to the smallest room where Kay used to sleep as a baby. Then there was just about room for a cot and a table; now there is a rather uncomfortable single bed with a bedside table. To add to the claustrophobic ambience, I share the room with the dog whose bed takes up the remaining bit of floorspace there is. The dog decided long ago that he did not want to share a spacious room with Greg but preferred to sleep with his nose pressed against the base of my bed. Anyway, when I went into Greg's room at 7am this morning, there he was asleep on the top of the bed, fully clothed, including his shoes, with all the lights on. When I went downstairs, lights were still on everywhere. In the evenings, Greg normally sits at the kitchen table to watch TV so that he can smoke outside or at the back door - a rule made at the hospital conference back in September) . On the kitchen table was an unfinished glass of whisky. My heart sank. I had not wanted to believe that he might be drinking again. He had seemed to be doing so well. But there it was. He had obviously been so tired (or drunk) that he had staggered to bed and fallen asleep instantly with all his clothes on and without turning out the lights or removing the tell-tale signs of whisky.
I got Kay off to school, walked the dog in the park and he was just surfacing as I returned home. I was so mad at him, I let rip and we have had a day of blazing rows. He has in turns either lied about how much he has drunk or refused childishly to talk at all. By 5pm this evening, he was so tired/hung-over he went to bed, just as Kay was returning from school, and has been there ever since for the last 5 hours.