‘You resent that?’
‘Yes, a bit… no, a lot, actually. It’s like we have to confront it all the time. The nasty comments or the filthy jokes. And if he’s in a bad mood it’s like we’re walking on eggshells.’
‘Because it’s always about him.’
‘Yes. Whole sessions sometimes.’
‘You feel that sometimes the group gets waylaid?’
‘Yes, and if I’m honest Caroline does it too, sometimes.’ She turns her head, though not quite far enough to make eye contact with Caroline. ‘And I’m sorry if it sounds like I’m just saying that because of what she said about me. She talks about Chris making fat jokes, but she brings the subject up herself all the time. Poor me, you know? Poor… obese me.’
Caroline laughs, but clearly she is not finding this funny. ‘Am I missing something, here?’ She looks around. ‘This is exactly what she does. Come on, Robin, you said so yourself.’
Robin does not look back at her.
Tony allows himself a sly smile and looks at Diana. ‘Do you think perhaps that Caroline’s feelings are valid?’
‘No, not really.’
‘Only I’m just wondering if you dislike the tendency some people have to talk about themselves and their own problems all the time because perhaps you recognise it in yourself.’
‘Takes one to know one,’ Caroline says. ‘That’s basically what he’s getting at.’
For half a minute or more, Diana stares at a spot just to the right of Tony’s head. Then she says, ‘Yes, all right. Perhaps.’
Tony nods, pleased. ‘And why do you think your typical way of relating to the group is to talk about your problems outside? To consistently present the ongoing problem you’re having with your ex-husband and your daughter?’
The shrug is momentary, the smile no more than a slit. ‘Because I’m a silly, selfish bitch?’
‘Is that what you really think?’
Diana shakes her head. ‘No. But I can see why other members of the group might feel… trapped, though. Or somewhat limited.’
‘Do you think anyone in particular has felt like that?’
‘All of them, at one time or another, I should think. Robin, certainly.’ She turns in Robin’s direction. ‘I’m sorry if I made you feel like that, truly, I am.’
‘It’s fine,’ Robin says.
‘You’re not here to apologise for anything,’ Tony says. ‘Not unless you feel you really need to.’
‘What I need is reassurance, I suppose,’ Diana says. ‘Deep down that’s probably what I’m after.’
‘What kind of reassurance?’
‘That I’m right to hate her. The woman who took my husband and as good as took my daughter at the same time. I want people to tell me that all this rage is justified and that I’m not just losing my marbles.’
‘That’s how you’d describe it? Rage?’
‘There isn’t another word for it.’
‘Boring?’ Chris says.
Tony does not take his eyes off Diana. ‘Can I suggest that rage is only part of it?’
‘It’s needy,’ Heather says. ‘I really don’t mean that in a negative way, I promise. Obviously you feel angry, but I think you basically want to be reassured that it wasn’t your fault. That’s what the drinking was really about.’
Diana’s head drops slowly, as though she is falling asleep.
‘How does that make you feel?’ Tony asks. He waits a few seconds. ‘What Heather just suggested.’
For a while there is only the sound of bodies shifting in chairs, and distant traffic. When Diana finally looks up, her perfectly applied mascara is bleeding on to her cheek.
‘Yes, I want someone to tell me that my daughter’s wrong,’ she says. ‘That he didn’t leave because I wasn’t a good enough wife. What’s wrong with that? I want to be told that I’m worth a bit more than dog-walking and watching daytime TV and wasting time in that stupid charity shop. That I’m still attractive, and that I might be quite interesting, if anyone could be bothered to find out and that maybe, instead of people feeling sorry for me and telling me that time is a great healer and how everything happens for a good reason, someone somewhere might actually want to fuck me now and again.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Chris says.
Diana reaches into one pocket and then another, and Tony finally passes across the box of tissues that is always sitting under his chair. She dabs at her eyes and sits back, almost breathless.
‘This is the first time I’ve ever cried at a session,’ she says. ‘All these months and this is the first time.’ Her smile is wonky, but determined; her face flushed as she continues to wipe the tears away. ‘That’s supposed to be good, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever felt happier,’ Heather says. ‘Not since I’ve been clean, anyway.’
‘Why were you so happy?’
‘Because you were all there, celebrating with me. Everyone came and it was a great party and there was no fighting.’ She smiles. ‘Not that I was aware of, anyway.’
‘Who were you most pleased to see?’ Tony asks.
Chris makes a noise, somewhere between a cough and a splutter; wanting to be seen stifling his laughter. Tony ignores him.
Heather glances away, momentarily. ‘It was nice that you came,’ she says. ‘Only because you told us you wouldn’t, you know?’
Tony looks down at his notebook and scribbles something quickly. A doodle, to kill a few seconds. ‘Do you think there’s too much fighting between members of the group?’ he asks.
‘I don’t know what’s a normal amount.’
‘You don’t like it when people in the group argue with one another?’
‘Well, I know that sometimes there’s confrontation and that’s normal. I know there has to be, but it doesn’t mean it isn’t upsetting.’
‘Why does it make you so upset?’
‘It’s never nice watching people tear each other to pieces, is it?’
‘Isn’t it?’ Chris asks.
‘Well, maybe some people get off on that, but it just makes me freeze up a bit. Plus it’s usually me that has to try and sort it out.’
‘Like a peacemaker, sort of thing?’
‘Yeah, and I don’t think that’s fair. I had to do it with my mum and dad and I hated that it was me who had to be the grown-up.’
‘Are there moments in the sessions when you feel like that?’
‘I suppose when Robin and Diana are going at each other. Yeah… just because they’re the oldest.’
‘I’m starting to feel positively ancient,’ Diana says. She looks to Robin, but he is watching Heather intently.
Tony stays focused on Heather. He says, ‘Who do you think is the most confrontational in the group?’
Chris says, ‘Have a guess.’
‘Well, I don’t want it to sound like we’re ganging up on him.’
‘Fill your boots,’ Chris says. ‘I’d probably be upset if you said someone else.’
‘He’s the one who makes me angriest, but that’s probably because he’s also the one I’m closest to, I think.’
‘Bless you,’ Chris says.
Tony throws Chris a warning look. He does not want this to become a dialogue. ‘Why do you feel particularly close to Chris?’
Heather shrugs. ‘I’m not really sure. Because he knows what I’m really like, I suppose. People outside the group haven’t got a clue, have they?’
‘Are there people in the circle you don’t think know you very well?’
‘None of them do,’ Heather says. ‘Not really.’
‘Because they aren’t making the effort?’
‘No, it’s not that.’
‘Maybe you aren’t letting anyone get close,’ Tony says. ‘Maybe you don’t think you’re worth getting to know.’
‘Probably because I’m not.’
‘King of the world, piece of shit,’ Robin says.
Heather looks at him. ‘Maybe.’
‘What did you feel
like when Robin said you were the person he trusted least?’
Heather is still looking at Robin. Her face is expressionless. ‘Made sense.’
‘Why?’ Robin asks.
Tony holds up a hand and leans towards Heather. ‘Who would you say is the least trustworthy member of the group, Heather?’
She sits back and cocks her head as though weighing it up. ‘I’d probably have to go with Robin on this one, and say me…’
‘Heather’s a doormat,’ Chris says. ‘Robin’s a boring know-it-all with hairy ears, Caroline’s a fat cow and Diana’s a spoiled bitch with too much time on her hands. Can I go back to my seat now?’
‘Yes, if you want to,’ Tony says. ‘But you’re pretty much dying on your arse so far. I mean, nobody’s laughing, are they?’
Chris brings his hand to his face and lays it gently against the side that is damaged. ‘So?’
‘Oh, was that not the reaction you were after?’
‘It doesn’t matter what kind of reaction he gets,’ Diana says. ‘As long as he gets one.’
‘Nothing wrong with that,’ Chris says. ‘Somebody needs to mix things up a bit, don’t they? Get this group’s blood pumping. I’m only saying the things the rest of you are too scared to say.’
‘I’m not scared to say anything,’ Caroline says. ‘I just don’t say controversial things for the sake of it.’
‘Neither do I,’ Robin says.
Tony writes, then looks back to Chris. ‘You think the group is too passive?’
‘Some more than others, yeah.’ He nods in Heather’s direction. ‘Nobody’s asking her to be a peacemaker or whatever. She’s only doing it to be liked, anyway.’
Heather shakes her head.
‘Do you not want to be liked?’
Chris hesitates, then gathers himself. ‘I want to be loved, Tony. Or better still, worshipped.’
‘But it doesn’t bother you if you’re disliked.’
‘Not particularly.’
‘Not when Diana says you dominate the sessions?’
‘Maybe she likes to be dominated.’
‘Not when Robin calls you a liar?’
‘Like I said, we’re all liars. I’m a particularly good one, I don’t mind admitting that.’
‘What’s the biggest lie you’ve told in one of our sessions?’
Again, Chris seems thrown, but only momentarily. ‘Well, I lied when I said I had a huge cock. Actually…’
‘It’s massive,’ Tony says, nodding.
‘Your punchlines are becoming rather predictable,’ Robin says.
‘At least I’ve got some.’
‘You’re the lie,’ Heather says, quietly.
Tony looks at her and nods; encouraging her to continue.
‘Everything about you is a lie. Everything you pretend to be.’
‘Here we go,’ Chris says. ‘Blah, blah.’
‘It’s so obvious it isn’t even funny.’
Chris looks at her. ‘You want to talk about what’s obvious?’
‘This is something you’ve heard before?’ Tony asks.
‘Am I really supposed to think this is some amazing insight?’ He looks back and stares at Tony. ‘Seriously, is this some shit on one of your tablets of stone?’ His voice is getting louder, edgier and though he is leaning forward, his shoulders are hunched and he has slowly drawn his knees up. He looks defensive, suddenly; foetal. ‘I’m not an idiot. It’s not like I don’t know this stuff. The number of times this crap got trotted out in rehab.’
‘So, you know that people in recovery often adopt different personalities because deep down they’re afraid of being disliked? Afraid of being ridiculed for who they actually are?’
‘Yes.’ Chris nods, like a good boy. ‘I’m aware of that theory.’
‘It’s not a theory,’ Tony says. ‘It’s something I’ve seen time and time again, for as long as I’ve been doing this. Clients who’d rather be disliked for being this… character they’ve taken on than reveal who they actually are.’ He waits. ‘Is there a particular member of the group who you think would be more likely than others to ridicule you?’
‘You’re having a decent crack at it yourself.’
‘Anyone more likely to humiliate you in some way?’
Chris says nothing. His head has begun to drop.
‘The dread of self-disclosure, of real self-disclosure, needs to be overcome if there’s going to be genuine recovery.’ Tony’s voice is lower suddenly, and he is talking as though there is only him and Chris in the room. ‘We all pretend to be something we’re not now and again. I try not to sound posh when there’s a workman in the house, or sometimes I make out that I like a fancy restaurant when actually I’d much rather be having fish and chips. We do it to fit in, or to please other people, and it’s perfectly normal. But hiding who you really are all the time, because you’re scared or ashamed, is hugely counter-productive and can do serious psychological damage long term. You need to let your true self out into the light before it gets lost altogether. Before you disappear. Chris…?’ Tony waits until Chris is looking at him. ‘Now might be the perfect time for you to talk about what it is you’re most ashamed of?’
‘No.’
‘We talked about this,’ Heather says. ‘You promised.’
He turns, snaps at her. ‘No, I didn’t.’
Tony raises a finger. ‘Does anyone have a hand mirror? Diana?’
‘Oh, right.’ Diana reaches for her bag and quickly pulls out a compact. She stands up and hands it to Tony. He thanks her and immediately passes it across to Chris.
‘Look at it,’ Tony says.
‘You want me to do my make-up again?’
‘Please.’
After a few moments, Chris raises the compact and stares at himself. The egg-sized lump and the blotch of discoloration, the ring-ripped flesh below the eye.
Tony sits back. ‘Something to think about,’ he says. ‘However bad you think your face looks… unless you start to be honest with yourself about these things, about who you really are… that’s how your head’s going to be on the inside.’
… THEN
Chris lets out a long sigh. He sits back hard and folds his arms. He says, ‘I don’t know what the hell you’re all expecting.’
‘We’re not expecting anything,’ Tony says.
‘Seriously, though, all these confessions and shameful secrets. What’s the point? So, we know that Dr Robin told a little white lie and got his little black friend into trouble. We know that Diana stuck a compass into girls who were fitter than she was.’ Chris shrugs and sneers. ‘How does that help any of us?’
‘It’s not about helping other members of the group,’ Tony says. ‘It’s what talking about these things does for you. It’s about owning your shame.’
Chris rolls his eyes. He leans forward slowly, takes a breath, leans back again. Tony has watched many people in this position going through the same deliberations more times than he can remember; the same agonies. It always reminds him of someone creeping to the edge of the high diving board and looking down in horror at the water so far below them. Wrapping goosepimply arms around their chest, then stepping back again.
He says, ‘There’s no hurry, Chris.’
He knows he can only wait and will him to jump; to find the courage. He looks away and becomes aware of Heather, rocking gently in the seat next to him; pulling at her fingers, mouthing, ‘Go on…’
A minute crawls by before Chris snaps his head forward suddenly and begins to gabble.
‘Look… it’s not like it’s going to make anyone throw their hands in the air and go, “Oh my God, I never imagined it could be anything like that, how unspeakably horrible!” Well, it might, I suppose, but what planet are you living on, because I mean it’s everywhere now, isn’t it? It’s part and bloody parcel. You can’t open a paper or watch the news and people sit around laying bets on who’s going to get rumbled next. Which pop star or which TV presenter or which conveniently senile
MP? Which childhood hero…?’
He looks at them all, one by one. He feigns a theatrical incredulity at having to spell it out.
‘I had what you might call a hands-on dad, fair enough?’ He tries to smile, but it freezes midway there and becomes a grimace. ‘Very hands-on.’ A few moments later he starts to nod slowly, showing no sign he’s aware that Tony is the only one still able to look at him. ‘Don’t get me wrong, we had all the good stuff as well, me and my brother. The football games with the old man and the fishing trips, and a tent in the garden we could sleep in if the weather was good. We had picnics in the park and sometimes we got to stay up late and he was never stingy when it came to bedtime stories. That was usually when things got a bit iffy…’
There’s a long pause.
‘They were great though,’ he says. ‘Those stories. The Famous Five and Harry Potter and then there was his particular favourite, which was all about how if he reached under the duvet and played with our tiny little cocks for a bit, it would help us sleep. Come on, isn’t that a cracking story? There was the other one, of course, which he liked even more, all about how he would sleep much better if we did the same to him. Not just touching, you know…?
‘Thing was… it’s like it became my favourite story too. It was a way of being close to him for once, I suppose, and we were all sharing this special secret. Yeah, I know, how mental is that? I looked forward to it and after a while I started to get… hard. Maybe that’s when I found out I had a thing for blokes, I don’t know.’ His voice is lower than normal now and he is talking a lot more slowly, the London accent more pronounced. ‘I remember lying there with my heart smashing against my chest, listening for him coming up the stairs, and I got jealous if he picked my brother instead of me. He didn’t usually do us both at once.’ He tries to smile again. ‘He wasn’t a monster…’
Tony leans forward. ‘Chris, victims of abuse often come to believe it’s their fault somehow. Like they invited it. It’s perfectly normal.’
Chris doesn’t seem to hear. ‘We had these bunk beds. You know, with a wooden ladder? I’d nabbed the top one straight away, because it was exciting being high up. Then when the stories started… Dad’s special ones, I mean… my brother would come up too and we’d lie squeezed in there together like sardines, trying not to breathe. Like he might not bother if there were two of us in the same bed. Then after a while… I don’t know, a year or something… I moved down to the bottom bunk, so he’d get to me first.’
Die of Shame Page 26