28 March 1983
Something's going on.
I think Jo and I both have a fairly good idea of what it is, but neither of us are talking to each other about it (we're talking, at least as much as we can with the whole basic problem of her being too fucking busy to spend time with anyone but Alex for longer than an hour, but not about that) because then we might actually have to think about it and acknowledge it.
I'm going to say it here:
No, I shouldn't. Clive's moving out and it's not going to matter and focusing in on how things used to be won't help any of us.
On the other hand, Lizzie's a wreck. It's not obvious, she's pushed it back, she's always been good at that. She's seen some horrible shite in her time -- she saw the worst that happened to me, she was there when Annelise threatened to kill Jo, and she got her taste of it after trying to get us out when George locked us in the basement -- and if it weren't for the maths she'd seem normal enough. But we're her family. The Hopkinses, the Stantons, even the Wadcocks. We know.
There's just no way for me to take this on alone. It has to be me and Jo, or neither of us. Either we leave it on the Hufflepuffs to suffer through in silence, or we take it on, and I'm just not sure Jo has it in her to go through another round without falling apart or committing homicide.
If she's turned on Clive it means that everything's up in the air and everything we thought we knew was wrong. She only ever touched Clive the once, after she found out about the redheaded Muggle archery girl he'd been secretly seeing when he was 13 or so, and Jo just about went skyhigh. I hate to think what she'd do now. It's too much to hope nothing.
Clive never helped me, but I never asked for his help. He isn't asking for mine, but he may need it. I don't know. The one thing I know about him is that he would do anything to keep our family from fighting, but he thinks we're all equally to blame, and maybe we are. But now he's part of the fray, is he going to just blame us?
Likely. Hell.
The right thing to do is to say something. I know that. So that's what I should do. Fuck me.
Lisa gets married this weekend, I think. Good for her, or whatever.
It's a fact -- I can't bring myself to care. She works for him, she didn't work for me, it's not my fault or hers, and I don't hold it against her (unless she's holding it against me but the point WASN'T the grudge).
We still haven't got plans, but Alana's wedding comes first. It sounds like Petra's having a good time trying to get Alana to want a wedding and not a wedding-themed version of the Birthdays. Looking forward to it either way.
Thursday and Friday are going to be damned busy for me, wrapping a case up. Dawlish wants the last nail in this metaphorical coffin before the weekend's up, nothing newsworthy, just work.
I'm being boring but interesting can be overrated sometimes.
Lazy weekend. Looking forward to that. I'd say "unless Eve has other ideas," but trust me, there is nothing she likes more than to lay around on her fine arse for a solid weekend. Based on the amount of moving she does in the week (about as much as me), I can hardly blame her.
Alana's wedding planning marches on, and the reports from the bridesmaids, the mother of the bride, and the groom are all... a little hilarious, I'll have to admit. The one thing I can report personally is that Alana finally picked a maid of honour, except I have to say I'll prefer the title man of honour though it sounds a little absurd when I put it into print like that.
Either way, I think it's half a punishment because now she expects me to actually listen to some of this wedding shit. I don't know what good I'm going to be, but I'm sure Donna and Bradana will be more than happy to help. What plans did you have for next week, Alana? I didn't write it down.
[Private: Stantons]
We need to talk. Dinner at Lizzie's?