Virginia Ironside: On Alert

I could guess if she had been drinking by how long she took to reach the intercom in her flat. I knew, certainly, from the sound of her voice when she spoke through the street phone. If she'd been drinking there was a little more emphasis on the 'daahling' than usual. Once inside, I remember marking a line on the vodka bottle so I could estimate how much had been drunk by my next visit.

Her drinking was never off my mind. As I got older, I would consult booklets, doctors, try to persuade her to go to Alcoholics Anonymous, make appointments with psychiatrists, buy special non-alcoholic drinks to entice her to switch, discuss her drinking with her parents and her brother. All the while I was tightly wired, like a spring, never able to relax, always on alert, 'on duty' to try and fix my mother.

My mother may have been a brilliant teacher and designer of fashion, nurturing such talent as Ossie Clark, and when sober she could be charming, funny, girlish and beautiful. But at times her secretary had to lock her in her office to stop her attending a meeting where it would have been obvious to everyone that she was plastered.

When she'd been drinking, she changed. She simply wasn't there any more. Even when she was only slightly sozzled, she only half-heard what I was saying, only half-listened, and often didn't remember a thing. Conversation was almost normal, but never quite right. I could never quite get the attention I desperately needed. Even today, I find I react with an almost excessive anger if I feel someone is only partly paying me attention. Being laid-back is an impossible state of mind for me.

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