The Choice

Layla nodded her head and watched her mother change into her more casual clothes. She continued to sit on the sofa for another half an hour after she heard the front door close and her mother leave. Then, at last, perhaps just as a result of having shared the burden of her woes with someone else, she felt able to return to her studies. She needed to be sure she really understood exactly how the valency of carbohydrates differed from other organic molecules.

It was very late indeed when Layla’s mother returned home. After midnight in fact. Layla was frightened to go to bed. She wanted so much to hear what her mother had said to Marianne. She’d long since finished her studies, where she’d somehow got comfort from the very abstract nature of the discipline, and was half watching and half not watching some late night film where the black hero had managed to single-handedly save the entire city of New York from destruction, even though his rather stupid white sidekick got equal billing in the television listings.

“You still up, dear!” her mother shouted.

“Yes, Mum!” said Layla pushing open the door to the living room and looking into the hallway. And she could see that there wasn’t just her mother there, but also, and surrounded by plastic bags and an extremely battered suitcase, was Marianne. She looked strangely shy and sheepish and smiled at Layla in a very weak way. “Mari! Why? What? I thought…”

“Leave the bags in the hall, Marianne dear. Let’s go into the living room. And then we’ll discuss what’s going to be the way from now on.”

And so Layla sat on the floor, one leg stretched out and the other beneath her, while Marianne sat on one chair and her mother held court on the sofa. Marianne had a packet of cigarettes and occasionally dipped in for a smoke, and Layla noticed that, for the first time, her mother did not object to there being smoke in the house.

When Mrs Lampton had arrived at the squat, Marianne was indeed not in. But the other people in the house, a tall Iranian guy and his rather fat girlfriend, admitted her in and fed her cups of coffee while she waited for Marianne to return. They offered her some grass, but although Layla’s mother had no objection to the drug, - she’d smoked plenty when she was younger, - she didn’t want it to cloud her mind. Eventually, it must have been about seven, Marianne returned home. She was by herself and looked really dreadful. In fact, almost the first thing Layla’s mother did when she saw Marianne was rush her off to the bathroom and wash her.

Her clothes smelt of vomit, she had dirt over her face, her hair was tangled with some disgusting oily muck, and she was still pretty high from whatever she’d been taking.

“Cocktail!” Marianne clarified unhelpfully.

At last, she and Layla’s mother had got talking. And talking. And eventually it was all decided. Clearly the two girls just couldn’t live apart. It simply wasn’t working. Marianne was falling apart and sliding back into her old ways. And Layla was worrying herself to death about her lover. So, the obvious solution was for Marianne to move permanently into the flat with Layla and her mother.

“But what about my studies?”

Well, obviously Marianne had a choice. She could either continue to live in squalor and almost certainly die fairly soon from some illness exacerbated by her… her condition. Or she could abide by the rules of the house. And really there was only one rule, apart from not taking drugs, - and Marianne could continue to smoke cigarettes for a while if it helped her get off hard drugs, - and that was that Layla should continue in her studies. Without interruption. It was more important than perhaps either girl really appreciated that Layla should pass her exams and go on to pursue a career as a doctor or whatever she might eventually decide to be. It was the way out of the life of poverty that was all any of them had ever known till now. Of course, the girls could continue to sleep together. But it would be appreciated if they made an effort to keep the noise down.

“It’s not just me, sweetheart. Although these walls are paper-thin. It’s the neighbours too. You’re both very vocal lovers, you know!”

And that was that. Marianne had been offered the choice. And she took it. More because of her love for Layla than anything else.

And although Marianne clearly benefited from the security and comfort of a warm council flat and the attentive caresses of her lover, no one benefited more than Layla who with the assistance of the two people she loved more than anyone else in the world, studied especially hard for her exams and did even better than her teachers had expected.