Grace reaches into the box of wine. The lack of bottles sends a shiver up her spine. She is sure she'd bought the box on the weekend just gone. Memories are quickly interrogated: soccer game, Rory's team playing at home, which gave her the opportunity to zip over to the bottle'o to buy her favourite Sav Blanc that was on sale. Was that this weekend or the one before?
It would make sense if she confused the weekends. That would explain why she was down a few. But she was sure it was just days ago. Had to have been.
She goes through other memories seeking corroboration. All the memories are of this weekend, with no others coming to mind.
Which leaves two other possibilities. One, she has a drinking problem, and doesn't remember drinking more than one glass a night. But again, there is clarity over what has occurred. There aren't the lost nights, instead there have been the early mornings with a walk with Carol.
The second is Matilda. On the few occasions they have allowed their daughter a drink at a family BBQ, she chose a glass of her mother's Sav Blanc. And this gave her a secret sense of pride, mother like daughter. It was a tiny score in her favour of being a good mother.
Matilda had the party on Saturday night, but Grace was sure she hadn't taken the box out of the car until she forced Peter to do it on Sunday morning.
Searching her daughter's room was the next step to uncovering why so many bottles were missing. She was fine for a sixteen-year-old to drink on the weekend out with friends, which is why she's recently bought the grog for her. Vodka was her current choice. But drinking during the week was not okay.
As she pulled out a fresh bottle, she knew the irony of such a thought. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.