A Postcard from Italy. Alex Brown

end up dying of hunger,’ she added, bleakly, desperate to make some kind of sense of the situation she was in now, and with no way out anytime soon that she could see.

      ‘Doubt it! The size of her,’ Phil muttered as he drained the last of a can of beer.

      ‘Pardon?’

      ‘Nothing. Only joking.’ He marshalled a swift smile on to his face before carrying on with, ‘I know you can’t just “not bother” with her and I wasn’t suggesting you abandon her or anything. But you could get someone else in to look after her. It doesn’t have to be you all the time. Anyone would think you like being the only one she can count on …’

      Grace sighed and decided to fast-forward the next part of her plan to make her own life easier, and because in all honestly she really didn’t have the energy to argue with him or explain the situation any more than she already had done, umpteen times. And she could see the way the relationship was going, only this time it was worse as she was actually living with her mother. Back when Matthew had started complaining about Cora’s demands she had mostly been visiting and helping her out of an evening and at weekends. In addition to the late-night phone calls, of course. Sooner or later, Phil would have enough and find someone else too, just like Matthew had, and she really couldn’t put herself through all that again.

      ‘Maybe we should have a break!’ she blurted out.

      Phil’s face froze.

      There, she had said it, and felt a wave of relief. Better out than in is what her mother would say. Cora was a great believer in speaking your mind and had drummed it into Grace to do so too … ‘I’m only being honest,’ she would say, even if the words were spiteful and hurtful. Grace had been carrying the thought of slowing things down with Phil around inside her head for a while now. But having told him, she panicked, never having been one for confrontation, so felt the need to add, ‘It’s not fair on you. My mum needs me, and you are right, I don’t put you first …’

      ‘What?’ Phil spluttered. ‘Don’t be daft, Gracie. You can’t dump me.’

      ‘I’m not dumping you, exactly.’

      ‘Yes you are. Everyone knows “a break”,’ he paused to do sarcastic quote signs in the air, ‘means dumped!’

      ‘But I can’t put you first, Phil.’

      ‘That’s not what I meant. I didn’t say you need to put me first. I said we should put each other first.’

      ‘Did you?’ Grace felt confused now, her head crammed full of cotton wool … from the exhaustion most likely.

      ‘Of course, babe. Me and you. Always has been. It’s about us.’ And he stroked a finger over the back of her hand.

      ‘That’s just it, Phil. I don’t think I can put us first. You want more than I can give you right now …’ She dipped her head and twiddled with the butterfly pendant that hung on a delicate silver chain around her neck. She had bought it as a gift to herself on the day of her first visit to the GP to ask for help. A symbol of new beginnings. Only it hadn’t really worked out that way as she didn’t have a new life. In fact, she now felt even more trapped. Stuck in a rut as her mother’s carer, with a mediocre relationship and an old engagement ring that Matthew had refused to take back when she’d offered it on the day he came to collect the last of his belongings from the flat. ‘Why don’t you sell it and use it to pay the rent, or treat yourself to something nice … it’s the least you deserve after everything that has happened. I’m so sorry, sweetheart, for the way things have turned out between us. I never meant to hurt you, but … I guess we fell out of love with each other,’ is what he had said, followed by a hug and one of his wonderful warm smiles that had almost broken Grace in two. Only holding it together until the front door had closed behind him, when she had slumped down on to the hall carpet and sobbed. Because all the time she hated him she could cope, just about, with losing him … but he had to go and ruin it all by being nice. And she had never fallen out of love with him. Oh, she had tried to, but somehow couldn’t quite make it happen.

      She never had sold the engagement ring, which was now relegated to a velvet box kept in the drawer beside her bed. Sometimes, when she was at a low ebb, usually after one of her Facebook stalking sessions, she would get the ring out and allow herself, for the briefest of moments, to pretend it was still real. Her and Matthew. Happy in love with a wedding to plan. That hadn’t happened for a while now. But tonight that could all change as she yearned for the simplicity and lightness that had been her life before, with Matthew. Now it just felt heavy, like wading through treacle all the time.

      ‘Babe, come on … don’t be like this.’ Phil moved his finger to her chin and gently lifted her face up to his. ‘I know you’ve got your hands full, but—’

      ‘No buts, Phil,’ Grace jumped in, and then cringed on realising that she sounded just like her sister, bossy Bernie. ‘I can’t be the girlfriend you want me to be.’ Grace had known this for a while. After meeting Phil at the bus stop about a year ago, at first it had all been fine. He had been happy to sit in and watch TV with her and said he ‘got it’ that she struggled to go out. He also seemed to accept that there was no space in her life for dates and trips out to the cinema or to a nice restaurant. Or an art gallery or a sightseeing day like other couples enjoyed. The ones who weren’t carers, and who were therefore in charge of their own lives and free to do whatever they liked with it. It bothered her, if the truth be told. Being an onlooker in her own life, letting Phil down, and herself too. Not to mention feeling guilty for resenting her own mother.

      ‘Look, you’re just stressed that’s all. And you’re the only girlfriend I want.’ Silence followed. ‘Is this because you had to pay for the pizza? Because I’ll sort you out for the twenty quid when I find my debit card, promise.’

      Grace studied Phil. His forehead creasing. His blond hair swept back from his blue eyes. His easy, sideways smile. But before she could answer, he carried on talking. ‘Look, how about I take you away for a weekend. A spa hotel, where you can put your feet up and let the flunkies wait on you for a change. Champagne and massages … what do you reckon? And it’s your birthday soon too. Let’s make it a special one, babe. My treat!’ He nodded at her eagerly and she felt touched that he had remembered and wanted to plan something nice for her. ‘You need a break. And is it any wonder when you work all the hours you do? At least think about packing in your job too … we’d have all the time we wanted then to do stuff together.’

      Grace instinctively shook her head, knowing that a weekend away was an impossibility. She couldn’t afford it, for one thing, and dreaded to think how many steps it was to the nearest spa. Just the thought of it was already making her feel panicky. Plus how would she organise it all? Cora would never go for it, and even if she could be persuaded, it would take time and energy that Grace just didn’t have right now to find a potential weekend carer, interview them and train them to do things the way her mother liked. Cora was so particular. But it was really lovely of him to suggest it and she could feel herself softening towards him.

      ‘Oh Phil, I’m not sure I can … you know that,’ she told him, gently.

      ‘You could if you really wanted to,’ he suggested, kissing her on the lips, then after pulling away, added, ‘if you found a private carer … listened to your sisters and actually got someone in. They’ll pay for it. Hell, I’ll even chip in too if it means I get some bedroom time with you. When was the last time we had sex?’ Grace turned away to stifle a yawn, the softening towards him now dissipating.

      ‘I don’t know.’ She could barely keep her eyes open, so love-making was the furthest thing from her mind right now, which instead was crammed with thoughts of I’d do anything right now for a whole night of blissful, uninterrupted sleep.

      ‘Exactly. So do it, Gracie. Get the carer in and … let me take “care” of you!’ Phil laughed at his own joke as he pushed her back on the sofa and slid a hand up and under her T-shirt in one deft move.

      ‘I’ll think about it,’ she conceded into the side of his neck, knowing it wouldn’t