Page 30 of Darling Girls

She played the first message.

‘Jessica, this is Debbie Montgomery-Squires.’

Just like that, the uncomfortable face-off with Debbie over the pills came back to Jessica like a punch to the gut. It had only happened this afternoon, she realised in wonder. It felt like another lifetime.

She glanced at Phil; he hadn’t so much as stirred.

‘I have searched high and low and cannot find my pills. I even moved the shelves to check they hadn’t fallen down the back of them. I amone hundred per cent certainthey were in the cabinet when you started. I was starting to think I was going mad when one of the ladies mentioned that her cousin used your service and had also noticed pills missing afterwards.’

Jessica’s stomach dropped like a stone.

‘We were planning to go straight to the police, but I thought I’d do you the courtesy of speaking with you first. If you could give me a call at your earliest convenience, I’d appreciate it.’

Fuck, Jessica thought.Fuck fuck fuck.

Panic feels a lot like excitement, she reminded herself, thinking of Mel Robbins’ podcast.I’m excited that Debbie Montgomery-Squires wants me to call her to explain what happened to her Valium. I’m glad her friend’s cousin also noticed pills missing from her bathroom cabinet.

Nope. Mel Robbins’ tip was bullshit.

What was she going to do now?

She thought about waking Phil.So what?he’d say.You took some Valium! They shouldn’t have left it lying around.

It didn’t matter that Jessica was in the wrong – not to Phil. His loyalty was blinding. Once, when they were first married, Jessica had reversed into a parked car. They hadn’t had much money back then, and she’d been furious with herself for being so stupid.

‘What kind of idiot leaves their car parked somewhere?’ Phil had said when she told him.

She’d laughed and laughed. That was the point. But she’d stopped laughing somewhere along the line. Not just at Phil. She’d stopped laughing at all. There was just always so much to do!

What she needed, ironically, was a Valium, to help her think. She’d been prescribed benzodiazepines three years ago, after having what she later discovered was her first panic attack. She’d been helping a client sort through her deceased mother’s attic when it came on quite suddenly.

It started with acute, overwhelming nausea. Within minutes she was breathless, her palms were damp, her mouth dry. There was a pain in her chest: a sharp, stabbing pain that she thought might be a heart attack. She told her client – Mrs Souz – not to call an ambulance; Jessica had never liked a lot of fuss. Sure enough, by the time Mrs Souz fetched her a glass of water and asked if she might be pregnant, she was already feeling better.

She’d assumed it was a one-off thing, a ‘funny turn’. But then, three weeks later, it happened again.

‘Panic attacks are very common,’ Dr Sullivan told her, when she finally made an appointment. ‘But they can be quite frightening when you don’t know what they are. If you do nothing, they will go away on their own. But if it’s impacting your livelihood, you might want to consider medication.’

‘I don’t want pills,’ Jessica had said. ‘I have a business to run. I can’t be in a daze.’

‘It affects people differently, but many people find that all it does is take the edge off. In any case, I think you should fill the script, Jessica. Some patients find just having the bottle with them makes them feel more secure. Knowing it’s there if they need it is enough.’

Being the rule-follower she was, Jessica had the prescription filled. And the next time she had a panic attack – in the car on the way to a client – she pulled over and took a pill. The result wasn’t instantaneous. By the time it kicked in twenty minutes later she’d all but recovered from the panic attack. Still, she felt it. Like a blanket of calm. Her thoughts slowed, her chest became loose. It was a fucking miracle. And it was available to her whenever she needed it.

It carried on this way for a while. She’d have a panic attack every so often, take a pill, and then have a wonderful day. After a while she started taking a preemptive pill before a busy day, just in case. They were excellent for sleep, too, she found. When she took a pill, she slept like the dead. She started to yearn for that feeling she got when the pill slid down her throat. The knowledge that calm was coming. No amount of meditation, yoga or journalling could bring her that same sense of peace.

The pills ran out surprisingly fast, and at the speed Jessica was consuming them, the doctor was reluctant to prescribe more. But one of the great things about being a home organiser was that you had access to a lot of people’s medicine cabinets. Jessica only took a few here and there. She had a reputation to protect, after all. Lately, though, she’d become a little more cavalier – hence the hullabaloo at Debbie’s house today.

Jessica sat up. For heaven’s sake – if there was ever a time to take a pill, this was it. Tomorrow was going to be a big day, a difficult day, and she needed a good night’s sleep if she was going to be on her game. In the morning, she’d call Debbie and smooth things over. It would be fine. Everything always looked brighter after a good night’s sleep.

She opened her bedside drawer and fished out an emergency bottle of pills she’d placed there for moments like this. These were heavy-duty. Extra-strength. The label readEmily Makiv. Nice woman. Jessica had organised her pantry last year.

Jessica tipped two pills into her hand and reached for her water bottle.Sleep is coming, she told herself as she lay back down.Sleep is coming soon.

THE OFFICE OF DR WARREN, PSYCHIATRIST

My next session with Dr Warren starts much like the previous two – with him pointing at the vacant chair and then making me wait several minutes for no discernible reason before he appears to remember I’m there. This time, I don’t sit in silence till he tells me to speak. I am a little short of people who are prepared to listen to me lately. And when no one will listen to you, the idea of an open forum starts to look quite appealing.

‘Where was I up to?’ I say.