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Authors: Ruth Rendell
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parents never had a glass beside them. Until, that is, Douglas, who was a year older than Olwen, seemed to realise what was going on and announced at their evening meal that he would never drink another drop of alcohol as long as he lived.
Both of them had been encouraged to drink wine at table since they were nine and ten. Olwen blamed this custom for her own addiction and in the days when she read newspapers and attended to television, as well as simply having it on, had been made angry by articles and programmes whichadvocated giving children wine to encourage them âto drink responsiblyâ. In her youth her longing for alcoholic drink worried her and made her actively miserable. She looked with wonder and near disbelief at Douglas who, living away from home, had adhered to his resolve, never touched beer, wine or spirits, and seemed perfectly content. Gargantuan efforts were made by her to follow his example and sometimes she did manage to go without for long periods. Her father died of cirrhosis, her mother suffered what her doctor called âdrink-related problemsâ.
While in one of her abstemious phases Olwen got married. Her husband was a social drinker and, knowing nothing of her family history, persuaded her that an occasional glass of something would do no harm. Olwenâs first drink after doing without for six months was bliss. She had a second one with David and was back where she had been before she met him. For a long time she kept a bottle of red wine in the kitchen which she told him was for cooking. It was always the same kind that she bought so he couldnât tell whether it was the first bottle or the twenty-fifth whose level had fallen. She paid for it out of her own money for she had always worked as someoneâs secretary or, at one place, run the typing pool.
The marriage broke up, partly because David wanted children and Olwen was frightened at the prospect. She drank too much. Alone, she indulged herself and began drinking a couple of gins a day as well as the wine. While unaware of doing so, she must have learned from her parents how to be a heavy drinker without giving many signs of it to those not in the know. Bill wasnât in the know, he was a total abstainer, from taste rather than conviction. He didnât like the stuff. When they went out together he bought her drinks, said he liked to see her enjoying herself and admired her âstrong headâ. Dreaming of Bill now, as she sometimes did, she saw himonly as foolish, a mug, to have been so easily deceived. He was on the point of asking her to marry him â and this was the substance of her dream â before he told her that he had two children. In the dream he had five, though, she thought now, he might as well have had ten, his two were so much trouble. She woke up wondering, not for the first time, why she had married him and taken on all that caring and cooking and housekeeping and pretending to be indifferent to alcohol, pretending to like Margaret and Richard, pretending that she didnât need gin or vodka â it was all one â to keep herself sane.
Waking, she needed a drink but she had run out of booze. The vodka bottle she had put on the floor by her bed the night before had had at least two inches left in it. Or she thought it had, she remembered that it had. Perhaps she had drunk it before she went to sleep or had awakened in the night and drunk it. Plainly, it was now empty. She got up with difficulty and staggered to the kitchen where she looked in the drinks cupboard. Bottles were there, two gin bottles and one whisky, but they too were empty. She was aware of a fearful fatigue overcoming her so that, shuffling into her living room, she only just made it to the broken-down old sofa before collapsing.
Bright sunshine coming in through the window cast brilliant pane-shaped light patches on to her head and face. Cursing, she turned her face into the stained cushions. Her craving for a
Both of them had been encouraged to drink wine at table since they were nine and ten. Olwen blamed this custom for her own addiction and in the days when she read newspapers and attended to television, as well as simply having it on, had been made angry by articles and programmes whichadvocated giving children wine to encourage them âto drink responsiblyâ. In her youth her longing for alcoholic drink worried her and made her actively miserable. She looked with wonder and near disbelief at Douglas who, living away from home, had adhered to his resolve, never touched beer, wine or spirits, and seemed perfectly content. Gargantuan efforts were made by her to follow his example and sometimes she did manage to go without for long periods. Her father died of cirrhosis, her mother suffered what her doctor called âdrink-related problemsâ.
While in one of her abstemious phases Olwen got married. Her husband was a social drinker and, knowing nothing of her family history, persuaded her that an occasional glass of something would do no harm. Olwenâs first drink after doing without for six months was bliss. She had a second one with David and was back where she had been before she met him. For a long time she kept a bottle of red wine in the kitchen which she told him was for cooking. It was always the same kind that she bought so he couldnât tell whether it was the first bottle or the twenty-fifth whose level had fallen. She paid for it out of her own money for she had always worked as someoneâs secretary or, at one place, run the typing pool.
The marriage broke up, partly because David wanted children and Olwen was frightened at the prospect. She drank too much. Alone, she indulged herself and began drinking a couple of gins a day as well as the wine. While unaware of doing so, she must have learned from her parents how to be a heavy drinker without giving many signs of it to those not in the know. Bill wasnât in the know, he was a total abstainer, from taste rather than conviction. He didnât like the stuff. When they went out together he bought her drinks, said he liked to see her enjoying herself and admired her âstrong headâ. Dreaming of Bill now, as she sometimes did, she saw himonly as foolish, a mug, to have been so easily deceived. He was on the point of asking her to marry him â and this was the substance of her dream â before he told her that he had two children. In the dream he had five, though, she thought now, he might as well have had ten, his two were so much trouble. She woke up wondering, not for the first time, why she had married him and taken on all that caring and cooking and housekeeping and pretending to be indifferent to alcohol, pretending to like Margaret and Richard, pretending that she didnât need gin or vodka â it was all one â to keep herself sane.
Waking, she needed a drink but she had run out of booze. The vodka bottle she had put on the floor by her bed the night before had had at least two inches left in it. Or she thought it had, she remembered that it had. Perhaps she had drunk it before she went to sleep or had awakened in the night and drunk it. Plainly, it was now empty. She got up with difficulty and staggered to the kitchen where she looked in the drinks cupboard. Bottles were there, two gin bottles and one whisky, but they too were empty. She was aware of a fearful fatigue overcoming her so that, shuffling into her living room, she only just made it to the broken-down old sofa before collapsing.
Bright sunshine coming in through the window cast brilliant pane-shaped light patches on to her head and face. Cursing, she turned her face into the stained cushions. Her craving for a
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