The new girl gasped and covered her mouth. She probably had a story of her own, but few were as appalling as Adam’s. He couldn’t meet her gaze. A special place in Hell existed for men who killed their families.
Patrick knew this was the end of the story, so he began nodding. “Thank you for sharing that truth, Adam. I know it pains you, but it’s important to say the words out loud. Things on the outside can’t hurt us like things on the inside, and most of us here turned to booze because of the thoughts in our heads, not the words in our mouths.” He turned to the new girl. “One of the important things to learn in this group, Tasha, is that we must never internalise our feelings. This is a place to share without judgement. Adam’s tale might shock you, but he is a good man. That is the demon we call alcohol. It makes monsters of good men.”
“Yeah, okay,” said Adam, feeling his checks burn as he continued standing in front of everyone. “I’m done now, right? It’s good to meet you, Tasha, but I’m not a good man, I’m sure you agree.”
No point pretending.
I see the disgust in her eyes.
The new girl shifted in her seat, seeming to dislike the sudden attention on her. She cleared her throat and sat upright. “Yeah, well… What you did sucked, but you’re paying for it, right? No one can make you feel any worse than you already do.”
Adam nodded. Got it in one.
He proceeded to sit, but Patrick shook his head and waved a hand to keep him standing. “I’m sorry, Adam, but there’s one more thing I would like from you.”
“What?”
“I’d like you to speak the names of your wife and son. You avoided it while you were talking, and I don’t think it’s healthy.”
“You already know their names.”
Don’t make me say them, Patrick, you sonofabitch. Please.
Don’t.
“Adam, you can do this. I know you can.”
I can’t. Adam bit down on his lip. His fists clenched as he felt that all too familiar defensive rage welling up inside. He fought it down as he had learned to do because anger had no use. It only made the pain worse. But so did saying the names of his dead family. The family erased by his own selfishness.
It should be me who’s dead.
I would do anything to trade places.
Patrick stared at him expectantly. His light blonde hair was only a shade darker than Adam’s, but that was where the similarity ended. While Adam was average build, Patrick was tall and skinny. Adam rarely smiled, but Patrick was all beams and chuckles. “Please, Adam,” he said now. “I know you have the strength. Speak their names for us. Share them with us.”
Thunder boomed.
The lights in the community hall flickered.
Adam sat down quickly, letting his head hang between his knees as he fought to keep his stomach from turning inside out. He couldn’t do it. Not now.
Not tonight.
Patrick glanced at the window and chuckled. “Looks like the storm has caught us. Wasn’t supposed to arrive until later.”
“That’s the weatherman for you,” said Kevin, laughing as if he had just told a hilarious joke. He was the very definition of ‘jolly fat man’ – impossible not to like. While alcohol made some people bitter, Kevin never spoke a negative word.
“Okay,” said Patrick, clapping his hands together. “I think that takes us about halfway. Let’s get ourselves some coffee.”
Adam hopped up before everybody else and hurried to the picnic tables set up beneath the serving hatch of the kitchenette. Printed in black lettering on the whitewashed bricks above the hatch was: Sumner Village Community Centre.
Where the party never starts.
Underneath the print was a smaller line that read: BUILT 1847 BY REV. SAMUEL GOGGINS.
Adam had no idea who reverend Goggins had been, but he had obviously also built community halls when not preaching about God. He probably had nothing better to do. The village was boring enough in 2019, let alone the eighteen hundreds.
Sumner was little more than a main road with a group of houses at either end and a community hall and garden centre in the middle. It was a quiet place with few residents. An ideal place for someone like Adam, who had recently moved into the small cottage his parents had left him when they’d died. He and Katy had planned to raise a family there, but it had needed doing up first. It still needed doing up, but he no longer cared. No children would ever live there.
It doesn’t matter how high the weeds get.
Doesn’t matter if there’s mould.
Adam poured himself a black coffee, hissing when scalding water splashed his hand, then moved aside so that others could get to the canteens. Tonight had brought doughnuts, brownies, and muffins, but he didn’t fancy them. He wasn’t much of an eater, especially not late at night (half nine according to his watch), so he took his coffee back to his seat. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the new girl about to do something terrible. “No!” he yelled. “Don’t touch those!”
Tasha froze, her hand hovering over the brownies. “Shit, sorry, do I need to, like, earn the privilege or something?”
Adam shook his head and smiled to show that everything was okay. “Sorry, I just mean that you shouldn’t eat the brownies.”
She pulled her hand back. “Why not?”
“Because they’re mine,” said Kevin, waddling up to the table and glaring at her. Then he broke out in fits of giggles. “It’s sugar-free chocolate. I have diabetes, so John always orders these for me. You’re free to have one, but I would heed Adam’s warning. They’re terrible.”
“Think I’ll go with the doughnuts,” said Tasha, half-smiling and taking a plain ring before biting into it. With sugar on her lips, she tilted her head conspiratorially. “You said John orders these? Do I need to chip in? Is there a kitty or something?”
Adam glanced around and saw John coming to join them. He was smiling in that proud, confident way that he always did. “Here he comes.”
“Did I hear my name mentioned?”
Kevin gave John a playful nudge. “Tasha wanted to know if she needs to chip in for the food, but I was about to explain that our resident snob covers the cost every week.”
John mimed being offended. “Snob? Why, I’m downright humble. By the way, those muffins were baked fresh today at a lovely little place down the road. The owner rents a two-bed from me on Chesters Avenue.”
Tasha chuckled. She looked John up and down, probably taking in his gold cufflinks and crisp white shirt, then said, “No offence, but you don’t look like an alcoholic. I guess that’s the danger of the disease though, right? It can infect anybody.”
Adam sipped his coffee and sighed. Only those who let it.
John waved a hand dismissively. “I am what you would call a ‘high-functioning’ alcoholic. Why, the day I became a millionaire, I must have polished off three bottles of champagne, and yet the very next day I was up at dawn doing deals. My wife loves me, and both of my daughters are at university. As far as life goes, I’ve done rather well.”
Tasha raised her eyebrow at him. “So why are you here? Doesn’t sound like you have a problem with alcohol.”
“And you’d be right. My life is wonderful and exactly how I want it – which is why I’d prefer to keep on living.”
Tasha frowned.
“Allow me to explain. I got a health checkup last year, you see, when I turned fifty. Turns out I have about three years to live if I don’t change my ways. Apparently, my liver isn’t able to keep up with my indulgent lifestyle. Too much rich living takes its toll. More’s the pity.”
“So you just have to quit drinking and you’ll be fine?”
John smiled. “No problem at all, right? Except it seems I have a small problem with abstinence. I simply can’t resist the call of a satisfying snifter of cognac after a hearty meal at Saul’s Bistro. If you haven’t been, you really must try the mussels in white wine sauce.”
Kevin patted John on the back and grinned at Tasha. “I c
ould cry for him, couldn’t you? Such a hard life.”
Adam managed a smile. “I’m still trying to get over the day Jaguar Land Rover provided him with an Evoque as a courtesy car while his Sport was in for repairs. I’m surprised he coped.”
Kevin hooted with laughter while John gave a mock glare. “How could you bring up such painful memories? Come on, Tasha, let me introduce you to the others. We’re a friendly bunch, I assure you.”
“Yeah, I see that.”
John pointed. “That beauty over there is Betty. Betty, come over here, my love, and say hello.”
Betty, the group’s oldest member at sixty-six, came hobbling over. She had short auburn hair that was turning grey at the sides and a permanent frown that left wrinkles around her mouth. Adam wasn’t particularly fond of the woman, as she had an abrupt way of speaking that often bordered on impolite.
Not that I’m a social butterfly myself.
“Hello, dear,” said Betty, a tad icily. “You’re a young one, aren’t you? How old are you?”
Tasha shrugged. “Twenty-six.”
“Then you must tell me which moisturiser you use, because you don’t look a day over twenty-two.”
“Oh, thank you. It’s nice to meet you, Betty.”
“No, it isn’t. Nobody’s here because it’s nice. We’re here because a thing we love is killing us. Thank God for that little irony. You believe in God, or that other one, Allah?”
Tasha shifted awkwardly. “Um, neither really.”
“Probably for the best. They’re not a lot of use to anyone in this day and age.”
“Moving on,” said John, raising a course black eyebrow. “That handsome, Greek Adonis over there is Costa. He joined about, what is it now, Adam, six months ago?”
Adam nodded. “Yeah. I remember because I got my six-month token the day he joined. He’s about your age, Tasha.”
“And single,” said John with a wink.
Tasha blushed. “I imagine two alcoholics getting together would be a bad idea.”
“You’re right,” said Adam. “Glad you have your head screwed on.”
Maybe there’s hope for you yet.
Probably not for the rest of us.
“Anyway, that’s our little club,” said John. “It’s not as posh as the Heath Vale golf club, but you’re welcome all the same. Do you happen to play golf by any chance? I can get you guest passes if you’d like?”
“Oh, no, I don’t play. Never tried.”
“A pity. Nothing beats a good game of golf.”
Adam rolled his eyes. Except for just about anything else.
Kevin came over with a mouthful of disgusting sugarless brownie in his mouth. “So dry,” he said through the crumbs. “So very dry.”
Tasha laughed and then grinned at Adam. “Thanks for saving me. They really do look bad.”
“You’re welcome. You can buy me a drink sometime.”
Tasha frowned. “That’s alcoholic humour, right?”
Nope. I would actually love nothing more than for you to buy me a drink. “Yep, just a joke. Funny, right?”
Patrick clapped his hands over by the chairs. “Okay, everyone, let’s take our places. That storm wants us out of here, so we’ll have to make this brief.”
As if to prove his point, another round of thunder cracked. The lights flickered again. This time they went off completely. Rain beat against the windows, ball bearings on a metal sheet. Adam enjoyed the sound of rain – calming – so he turned his gaze towards the nearest window and—
What the fuck!
His heart jumped into his throat as a chalk-white face stared at him from the other side of the glass. Its sunken eyes were darker than the night, but its skin was entirely without colour.
What the hell am I looking at?
What the hell is looking at me?
The lights came back on.
Nothing at the window except rain-soaked darkness.
The window was next to the fire escape, which backed onto a small community vegetable garden. Perhaps all he’d seen was a tree branch brushing up against the windowpane. A trick of the light.
Definitely just my imagination.
Either that or a year of sobriety has finally sent me loopy.
No, it’s just my mind conjuring images. It’s a dark and rainy night, after all.
Adam shivered. His jacket hung over the back of his chair so he went to retrieve it.
“You okay?” John asked him. “Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Seriously, that’s the worst choice of words. I might actually have just seen a ghost. “I’m okay, John. Just a bit chilly.”
“Yeah, I think tonight will be a cold one. Wrap up warm.”
Adam put on his jacket and nodded. He couldn’t help but stare over at the window.
The rain grew angrier, hammering at the windows on all sides. It was like standing inside the centre of a drum. Nonetheless, Patrick appeared determined to soldier on with the meeting. He marched over to Adam’s chair and thrust out his arm. Several moments passed, long enough to make Adam fidget with discomfort. Finally, Patrick opened his hand and revealed a dark blue one-year sobriety chip sitting on his palm. Adam took it and quickly slid it into his jeans pocket. “Thank you.”
Did you have to be so dramatic about it though?
Yeah, I suppose you did. Celebrate success, right? Celebrate our successes and forgive our failures, that’s the company motto. One of about a thousand. A bon mot for every occasion.
You don’t need alcohol to have fun.
You are in control of whether you take a drink. You are not in control of what you may do afterwards.
Just say no.
“Nice one, Adam,” said Kevin with a wink. “Shell’s at a hen party tonight if you want to come back to my place to celebrate. I have the finest zero-alcohol wine you’ll ever find.”
“I think I’ll pass, Kev, but cheers anyway.”
“Okay!” Patrick clapped his hands. “Who else would like to share with the group tonight? Costa? You’ve spoken a little about your past previously. Do you feel you’ve come to terms with some of the things that have caused issues in your life?”
Costa – young, olive-skinned, Costa – didn’t seem like a man with problems. He was calm, and often charming, but Adam detected a hint of aggression beneath his handsome smile. Right now, he slouched in his chair, legs crossed, with one white trainer up on his knee and his red leather jacket hanging open. “I’ve been doing better lately,” he said, “almost like I’m ready to put the past behind me and start again. Haven’t had a drink in almost two months. I feel positive.”
“That’s excellent,” said Patrick, beaming. “I believe your mother’s anniversary is coming up. How long has it been now?”
Costa cleared his throat and put down his leg. Both of his knees peeked out through his ripped jeans. He sat stiffly. “A year next month. I get home some nights and go into her bedroom still expecting her to be there. The other day I…” He shook his head. “This is silly, but I found some of her medicines in the bathroom cabinet, and for a moment I just stood there holding them with a smile on my face. It was like the months I spent caring for her had been quality time. I actually miss it.”
Patrick nodded as if he understood fully. Perhaps he did. “You were there for your mother, Costa. She raised you alone, struggling to pay the bills, but at the end you were there for her. I think it’s understandable that you miss nursing her through her cancer. It was your way of paying back all of that love she gave you. It’s a bittersweet memory and entirely understandable.”
Costa nodded, his dark eyelashes lowering. “I’m just ashamed. I would rather her still be here suffering than gone completely.”
Adam found it hard to empathise with that statement. Katy and James were gone, but he would never wish them back if it meant they would suffer. He didn’t judge Costa for it though; it merely highlighted how complex and individual grief was. And yet, the outlet for everyone in this ro
om was the same – alcohol. Alcohol was the medicine they chose, and it was killing them all.
Hell of a way to die, but no way to live.
Patrick kept the conversation going. “You told me a few months back that you tracked down your birth father after your mother’s death. How has that relationship been going?”
“It’s going okay. I knew nothing about him growing up, but when mum got sick, she didn’t want me to be alone. She told me about him a month before she died. When I tracked him down, he was happy to see me, which was a surprise. We’ve even started working together recently. Family business, I guess you would call it.”
“Wonderful news. I suspect this new relationship is helping you move forward instead of looking back. That’s something we can all learn from. A big part of being an alcoholic is routine and habit. If we mix with the same old people in the same old places, it becomes very hard to alter our behaviours. Therefore, new friends and new relationships can be therapeutic. We should all try new things as much as possible – perhaps one new thing a week would be a good goal to set ourselves. Betty? Have you tried anything new recently?”
12 Steps Page 2