“Yes, Chessie told me.”
“I found him,” she says.
Oh… fuck. “Thea, I’m so sorry.”
She sits with a stiff spine, tearing little bits off her sandwich. “We’d been shopping, and when we got back I went to see him. He was in the bedroom, on the bed. He’d been sick.” She swallows hard, but lifts her chin as she looks up at me. Her expression is defiant, and her eyes blaze. “I hate him,” she says. “For doing it.”
I feel a wave of pity for this poor girl. There’s no point in saying it’s not his fault. She’s angry that he did this to her.
I make sure not to react or look shocked. “I understand why you feel like that.”
She blinks, and her bottom lip trembles. She looks at the remainder of her sandwich. “I thought you were going to tell me off.”
“You’re entitled to your feelings, whatever they are. Don’t ever let anybody tell you otherwise. And you can always talk to me. I won’t judge you. The only thing I will say is that hate is a negative emotion. It’s like a huge wall towering over you and leaving you in shadow. Always focus on trying to find the light, if you can.”
She moves the pieces of her sandwich around the plate, thinking about that. “Chessie said something isn’t working right in his brain.”
“That’s right. The important thing to remember is that he doesn’t want to be an addict. And he would never want to hurt you. When people attempt suicide, it’s because they’re in so much pain that they can’t think about anything else except stopping that pain. It’s as if he’s in a box and his emotions are like hedgehogs that are being stuffed in with him, and there are so many hedgehogs in there that there’s no room for your mum,or you, or anything else, and all their prickles are really hurting him. Does that make sense?”
She nods, her eyes wide.
“When that happens,” I continue, wondering where that analogy came from, “your body goes into what’s called fight or flight—you literally can’t think about anything else except either fighting or escaping the pain. He’s trying to climb out of the box, that’s all. He loves you and your mum very, very much, and he would never knowingly hurt you. But when it comes to it, we’re just animals, and our bodies are like machines, like cars. Sometimes bits don’t work properly.”
“Like, I’ve got asthma,” she says. “My lungs don’t work properly.”
“Yeah, that’s right. I’m short sighted—I have to wear contact lenses. Chessie is claustrophobic—she doesn’t like enclosed spaces.”
“I didn’t know that!”
“Yeah. And with your dad, there’s something in his brain that isn’t quite right.”
“Chessie said addiction is something to do with dopa… dopaline?”
“Dopamine, yes, she’s right. Gambling makes the body give a high surge of dopamine quickly, which makes you feel good. But we don’t quite understand why some people are able to walk away from things like gambling or drugs after trying them a few times, whereas others feel the need to keep going back.”
She eats a piece of sandwich, thinking about what I’ve said. I glance over at Chessie. She’s still on the phone, but her gaze is on me. I think she’s half-listening to what I’ve been saying. Her demeanor is calm, so I’m guessing the news isn’t terrible. I hope her father is okay, too.
I look back at Thea. I don’t think she wants any more of her sandwich. “Would you like to see the room you’re going to sleep in tonight?”
“Yes, please.”
“Come on, then.” I lead her to the hallway, Bearcub trotting at our heels. “That’s my study,” I say, pausing in the doorway.
“You have lots of books!”
“I do. Do you like reading?”
“Oh yes. I’m reading one calledWolf Girl, about a girl called Gwen who gets lost, and she’s looked after by four dogs.”
“Wow, that sounds amazing! Maybe I should read that one.”
She giggles. “What are you reading?”
I lead the way past the small gym room to the end where the bedrooms are. “A biography of Edmund Hillary. Do you know who he was?”
“He climbed Mount Everest.”
“You’re so smart! That’s right. He was a Kiwi, did you know that?”