The Right Treatment

by Tara Finnegan

  It was the E that was the problem, Aoife knew. She didn’t do them all the time; well, maybe she had been doing them a bit much lately, but she intended to cut back, starting tomorrow. They made her totally feckless and her natural shyness and self-loathing disappeared, albeit temporarily. She talked to total strangers, danced like a lunatic, and lost all her inhibitions; hell, she’d even stripped her shirt off once or twice in clubs. For all she knew that could be what happened last night—she may have left the club topless. Not that anyone but Aoife was aware of her insecurities; everyone thought she was confident and outgoing. Only she knew just how much effort she put into that persona, how much it cost her every time she went out of the front door to plaster that happy-go-lucky face on herself. The tabs helped her.

  But unlike alcohol, one tab was enough to set her wired to the moon, on an up, and there was no telling just how much she was going to react to it; ‘good’ tabs could be explosive, ‘bad’ ones mainly nauseating. With a few drinks, that feeling came on you gradually and you could tell you were at the point when enough was enough. You could choose to ignore or heed the warnings depending on your mood. Ninety-nine percent of the time, Aoife heeded the warnings with alcohol; it just didn’t give her a good buzz. There was no early alert system in place with the E and once it kicked in, it was too late, good or bad. Aoife liked that. For years she fought to control herself, her learning difficulties, her antipathy toward her image-conscious, high-achieving, demanding family. It was so good to let go of control with an E. Every so often she had the blackouts, waking up in a stranger’s bed not knowing how she got there or who the person beside her was. But although she berated herself for it, Aoife liked how it made her lose her self-consciousness and her inhibitions. She made sure to keep her contraception up to date, using the merino coil, which only needed to be replaced every couple of years, so at least the risk of pregnancy was low but it was often hit and miss whether she had the sense about her to insist on a condom too. Those rare men she hung around for long enough to have the post-coital post-mortem always told her how wild she had been and she laughed and joked as if it was just a normal experience, but in truth she was secretly mortified; how could she do those things with strangers? And she didn’t even know if she enjoyed them or not. Bravado was the only option. Aoife the man-eating tiger!

  Chuguda chuguda chuguda, the train went as it flew along the track. Aoife’s head and stomach felt every one of those wheel turns. She concentrated on the thought of climbing into her bed and tried to sip on the water instead of lash it down to cure her insatiable thirst. If she drank it too fast she was sure to be sick. Don’t vomit, don’t vomit was her mantra as the journey passed. Both to distract her thoughts and to be prepared for the grilling she was sure to get from Fiona, she spent the journey making up a cover story for last night. The one thing that bugged her was this slight nagging inkling that she knew someone who lived in Leyton, but for the life of her she couldn’t think who it might be or if there was any risk that they might blow her cover.

  Finally she made it to Ruislip with the contents of her tummy mercifully intact. And to think she would have to do it all over again that very evening; there was a going-away party that she just had to go to even though partying more was the last thing she, or her body, needed right now.

  * * *

  “Hiya, be down in a minute. I desperately need the loo,” Aoife shouted as she slammed the front door behind her and ran upstairs to the bathroom. Fiona knew it was forced cheer. She recognised all the signs. When Aoife came down, she was grey and washed out.

  “Hard night?” she asked. Then she took in what Aoife was wearing. “Where did you get that shirt?” she asked, balling her hands into tight fists. She really wanted to punch Aoife right now.

  “It’s Tim’s. The fellah I stayed with.”

  “It’s Brian’s—I had that made for him. I’d know it anywhere. Did you fuck him last night?” Fiona said through gritted teeth. Aoife had really gone too far this time. Fiona could put up with a lot from Aoife, had put up with a lot. But the disloyalty of bedding her first love (even though he had proven to be an asshole in the end), now that was a step too far.

  “N-n-no. I told you it’s Tom’s. Maybe Brian chucked it out.”

  “You said Tim a minute ago, now it’s Tom. Fuck it, Aoife, if you’re lying, I’m done with you.” Fiona really hoped that Brian had indeed got rid of the shirt, but even that option pained her; he had loved that shirt. Then again, she thought he had loved her.

  “Tom, I said Tom. You must have misheard me. You know I wouldn’t go near Brian.” Fiona saw Aoife’s face become paler, if that was even possible. She ran to the cupboard and pulled out a basin, passing it to Aoife.

  “You were hitting those fucking E’s again. That’s the third night in a row. Lay off them tonight. In fact, you’d be better off to skip the party altogether.”

  “Who are you—me mother? Anyway, I can’t—it’s Martina’s Australian wake. I have to go and so do you. She’s off on Tuesday.”

  “No. Bloody. Drugs. Is that clear?”

  “For fuck’s sake, back off,” Aoife muttered under her breath. Fiona let it pass; she was too dangerously close to losing her temper to acknowledge it.

  At first, Aoife was pretty quiet and reserved. She stayed with Fiona, Martina, and the rest of the gang while they had a couple of drinks. Fiona kept a close eye on her. She didn’t seem to drink any more than the others, probably less if anything. Very early on, Aoife had switched to water while the rest of them were knocking back beer and having a right laugh. Then Aoife got a bit restless, until she saw a group of stags come in. She was off, chatting away with them, laughing and flirting. Aoife was in control, playing cat and mouse with the men. Enjoying the attention.

  Then at about ten-thirty things changed—Aoife started dancing like a wild thing and was all over every man who came near her, rubbing her body against theirs, hands all over them, talking nineteen to the dozen. She was wired. Grinding her teeth like she was chewing a huge piece of gum. While pretty used to seeing her high, Fiona had never seen Aoife as bad as this before. She really didn’t know how Aoife always managed to make it home safely if this was the way she behaved. She left her in the middle of a stag party, flirting and dancing wildly, and went to dance with the others. Anything but watch the spectacle.

  .

  When Aoife hadn’t re-joined the group a while later, Fiona went in search of her. That’s when she spotted her in the middle of the floor shaking her body, shimmying up and down against a man’s body as he kissed and mauled her. When he lifted his head, it was clear as day: Brian. Aoife had finally gone too far. Fiona froze, mesmerised. Regardless of the audience, Aoife started unbuttoning her shirt. Finally reacting, Fiona ran to stop her, intending to drag her home whether she liked it or not. Rage coursed through her veins. She would give Aoife a few home truths tomorrow, and no holding back. That was the last piece of shit she was ever going to take from her. All of a sudden everyone on the dance floor seemed to stop at once. Fiona turned her head in the direction they were all looking in. There, in a heap on the floor was Aoife, out cold, and Brian was standing looking at her, totally and utterly motionless and helpless.

  She heard her own disembodied voice screeching as she ran towards her friend:

  “Ring a fucking ambulance. Now.”

  * * *

  There were times when Matt McDaid hated his job, and those times were nearly always Friday and Saturday nights. Now he was adding Sunday to his list. He’d had to do patch-ups from drunken brawls, been vomited on, endured verbal and physical aggression, and now his pager was going again. Great, just as he had managed to grab some shuteye. The clock told him he’d been in bed precisely twenty-eight minutes. These forty-eight hour shifts were a bloody killer, all he ever seemed to catch were catnaps. He was one happy man that his senior house officer position was coming to an end on Friday—next time round, he would be the elite, a consultant doctor, on the wards instead of
Accident and Emergency. Much more civilized. He wondered how the transition would go; perhaps he might have been better looking for a job in another hospital, where they wouldn’t remember him as the obliging sucker who always made himself available in an emergency. Barely containing his bad temper, he snatched the phone in the tiny room that served as doctor’s sleeping quarters, and called the nurses’ station.

  “Dr. McDaid, we have a possible OD in cubicle one, MDMA we think.”

  “Where’s Dr. Brown? It’s her turn. I only just got to bed.”

  “She’s dealing with a cardiac arrest.”

  Fuck it, Matt thought as he dragged on his scrubs. Another stomach pumping and hours of watching to see if it was too late. Bloody idiots! God graced them with life and health and stupid fools pumped all this crap in, destroying the wonderful gift they had been given. It made him mad as hell every time. Real first world problems. And nine times out of ten they came back. When he volunteered with Medicines Sans Frontiers in Africa, at least then he was making a difference, helping people who became sick due to circumstance and who were grateful for that help.

  Here, he pumped a youngster out, only to find them back in a few months later because they had repeated the same thing over again. Too much money and too little appreciation for living. And far too much soft-soaping with psycho-babble mumbo-jumbo. He firmly believed anyone who ended up in a hospital for mucking about with drugs should be forced into a boot camp and taught discipline and self-control. And not be draining the valuable medical resources time after time.

  He rushed to cubicle one to see a woman lying unconscious, oxygen mask on her face and shirt open, with electrodes taped on at the ready. More machinery was hooked to her arm and hand and there was the sound of bleeping and whirring. She didn’t look much like a human at that point in time, more a ghostly extension of the machines she was wired up to.

  “Vitals?” he asked as he scrubbed up. The nurse gave him a rundown. Nothing hugely alarming, thank God; her pulse was weak, but stable. He checked her eyes, her pupils were dilating and responsive. Hopefully it would be nothing more than removing any additional pills she may have swallowed and let time do its healing. She was prepped and ready to go. He intubated her and watched the contents of her stomach drain into the kidney bowl. It was more fluid than anything; he was dealing with a young lady who obviously hadn’t eaten before hitting the town. Even at that, the stench was rancid; there was an acrid bitter smell filling the cubicle. Something familiar struck him about the girl lying on the bed, but Matt hadn’t time to study her features while worrying about her survival.

  “Have her bloods been done for toxicology?” he asked.

  A nurse handed him a form to complete; he ticked four boxes and threw the vials full of blood into the plastic bag, marking them urgent.

  “Get them over to phlebotomy now and tell them it’s urgent urgent, maybe even a matter of life or death. I need the results to know how to treat her. I don’t suppose we have a name for the forms?”

  “We do, actually! Aoife Devine; a friend came with her when she was admitted.”

  Matt froze. His pulse seemed to pound through his veins, he could hear each beat, feel it threaten to burst his blood vessels. Jesus, she looked so fucking awful he hadn’t even recognised the face he missed every day. For a moment he was sixteen again and a brazen little lass of twelve was smiling at him, telling him not to pay any attention to the lads (including her older brother) who had been taunting him. He could see her cheeky, freckled face and cute little button nose, and her hair tied in a high ponytail. She was so vibrant and full of life and even at twelve nothing fazed her, not even her God-awful parents.

  “What did you say her name was?” Matt snapped.

  It couldn’t be right. His Aoife would never have ended up in this mess. She was much too together. He had watched her grow up, and once her dyslexia had been diagnosed, she seemed to go from strength to strength. Even when he was at college, he loved to come home for weekends just to see her. Of course she never knew. No one did; he felt so silly being besotted with a girl so much younger than him. But she had been his saviour when he was too shy to stand up for himself. Her older brother and his gang of cronies had picked on Matt non-stop for being a geek, thumping him, taking his stuff, throwing things at him. When Aoife caught them, she called a halt to it by telling their father. Aoife then appointed herself Matt’s friend, even though he was a few years older, following him around like a little puppy. Matt still dreamed of meeting her brother and his cronies again, now that he realised what a bunch of assholes they really were. But his sixteen-year-old self just didn’t have the confidence.

  And for all Aoife had helped him, in turn, he had been her champion when her obnoxious, appearance-absorbed parents didn’t get her. Or when she struggled with her schoolwork. He used to fantasize about coming back to find her when he qualified and whisking her away on a white stallion beyond the rainbow. By then though, Aoife had already rejected him and they were no longer neighbours. Also, Matt had grown up; he knew there was no beyond the rainbow. Matt had forced himself to survive his disappointment, found himself, and relegated his sweet little saviour to his fantasy world. Until now. But her reappearance came in the form of a nightmare.

  He lifted the oxygen mask and examined her face closely, shining his light in her eyes again. She was white as a sheet, too thin, had black circles around her eyes, but there was no mistaking that cute little nose, or indeed those hazel eyes, dull and unresponsive though they were. Matt felt sick. All of his feelings about drugs being for losers had just been turned upside down; his Aoife was no loser.

  The bloods results came back showing a small enough amount of MDMA, or Ecstasy, and almost negligible amounts of alcohol—nothing near as bad as he had feared. She had collapsed as a result of dehydration, and he supposed, exhaustion. But she had been unbelievably lucky—even one E from a bad batch could be fatal, he knew that, and surely to God, she did too.

  Fortunately everything seemed to be functioning normally, even though she was still out cold, and Matt went off in search of the ‘friend’ who had come with her. He expected to find him or her in a totally senseless state, another ‘druggie.’ What he found was a distraught, sober young woman who seemed to be very concerned for her friend, and it was someone he vaguely recognized.

  “I presume you’re here with Aoife.” The woman looked incomprehensibly at him.

  “Aoife Devine,” he clarified and she nodded, finally registering. “She is doing fine, she needs fluids and rest. She hasn’t come round yet. Just how much of this stuff has she been doing?”

  “Oh, thank God. I don’t know. I just know tonight was her fourth night out in a row and she was not looking good today. I told her to lay off that shit, but she never listens.”

  “Have you contacted her parents?” Matt asked, praying the answer would be negative. He knew if Aoife didn’t come round soon, they would have to, but he knew how devastating that would be on her.

  “No, I was waiting to hear what’s going on. Do we have to?”

  “Aoife’s not in any immediate danger, but if she doesn’t come round by morning, then yes, I’m afraid we do.”

  “They don’t get on…” Fiona started.

  “I think it’s Fiona, is it? You probably don’t remember me, but I was Aoife’s neighbour, Matt. If she doesn’t come around by morning, I will have no choice.” He saw the recognition finally register.

  “Oh, thank God. I know you’ll look after her properly. Please, just do what you can. Ring them if you have to. But just make her better.” Fiona started crying. Matt understood, it was relief at a friendly face mixed with shock. It was funny how people reacted at times. Had he been a complete stranger, he knew Fiona would have remained anxious but stoic.

  “Come on, let’s get a hot drink in the staff canteen. You look like you need it,” Matt said. He mentally blew a kiss at any thoughts of sleep for now. Between concern for Aoife and compassion for Fiona, he wouldn�
��t be able to rest anyway.

  Chapter Three

  Aoife was hurting everywhere, and not in any fit state to listen to the lecture she had just heard. With all the hospitals and doctors in London, how in the hell did she manage to have landed under Matt McDaid’s care? She knew she should be grateful to him, but she hated him to see her in this state.

  “You’re one hell of a lucky lady to be here, Aoife. The morgue is full of those who weren’t so lucky. I have a good mind to bring you down there to show you what I mean,” Matt said. Actually, she felt anything but lucky. Her throat, chest, and tummy hurt like hell from her stomach pumping. Her head was hammering from the comedown and the nightmares. But more than that, her pride hurt. She was being treated like an addict, and referred to a shrink. She was no addict; she used alcohol and drugs for recreational purposes, the same as everyone else did. She was just unlucky. And doubly unlucky to have landed on Matt’s doorstep.

  She studied him as he perused her chart. His intense grey eyes were the same as ever, but they seemed harsher, no doubt as a result of his disapproval of her behaviour. His dark brown hair was already starting to pepper ever so slightly with silver, but it suited him. His deep pink, full lips were pulled in a tight line and there was a furrow between his brows as he caught her observing him. She felt her face heat at being caught, but concluded that Matt had grown into one hell of a handsome man, or would have, if he tried putting a smile on that stern face.

  She cringed as he untied her stiff blue hospital gown, pulling it forward, dropping the stethoscope between her breasts,

  True, he had probably seen it all last night, but she was unconscious then. Now she had to suffer the humiliation of the man who had refused to take her virginity baring her tits while giving her a verbal dressing down to remember. The cool breeze through the open window seemed to conspire to cause her shame, mingling with his warm breath, creating a confusion of sensations, causing goose-pimples on her chest and to her total mortification, making her nipples pucker and peak. Matt neither did nor said anything to make her more uncomfortable, but he noticed. That much was obvious from how his eyes seemed to linger as he told her to turn around while he listened to her chest. The gap down the back of her hospital-issue gown was resting right on the crack of her bottom as he pulled it open to place the stethoscope on her back. She flinched, unsure if it was the cold of the instrument or the total utter humiliation that was the cause of the shiver.