by Juno Dawson
She shrugs. ‘It was OK. He’s one of those.’
‘Those what?’ Ruby asks.
‘Those “straight” guys who just love trans girls. There’s a reason so many of us are escorts or whatever – it’s because there’s like a thriving demand. But none of them want to get to know us, not really. It’s like you’re a kinky toy to them. It’s bullshit. It was fun, I guess. Someone to do to pass the time, but it won’t come to anything.’
‘Why not? It might,’ I say.
‘Nah. He doesn’t really see me as a girl. That’s all I want.’
I don’t really know what else I can say to that. Ruby fills the silence. ‘You get yours, honey. That boy has arms for days!’
Kendall shrugs. ‘Shame his dick doesn’t match, really.’
And then we’re laughing again.
‘Well, where did you last have it?’ Kendall asks. We’re all in the dining room. Saif has lost his Rolex.
‘I don’t fucking know,’ he snaps. Kendall’s face falls. ‘Sorry. I took if off when we had the water fight I think. I don’t know.’
‘It’ll turn up,’ Brady says. ‘It’s so bling, you can see it from space, bro.’
‘Very funny, asshole. It was a present from my dad. If I don’t find it, I’m dead meat.’ Oooh, Daddy Issues, I think to myself. Something to look forward to in Group.
We’re just finishing dinner (tiger prawns with glass noodles rounded off with truly excellent rhubarb crumble) when Goldstein comes into the dining room. He’s got his coat over his arm and his briefcase. ‘I’m off, but just to let you know that we have some family visits tomorrow.’
Everyone shuts up.
‘Kendall, Saif, Lexi – you all have someone coming.’
‘Nikolai?’ I ask. I can feel tears bubbling up, but I swallow them back.
‘Yes,’ Goldstein says, and I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
‘Any word from my dad?’ Guy asks, his cheeks red.
‘Not this time, I’m afraid, Guy. We’ll have another slot next week.’
Guy just nods, he looks crushed. Poor Guy.
After dinner we have a night off – no organised fun for us. Well, at the Clarity Centre a night off is ‘Games Night’. Cards are allowed as long as no one makes wagers (betting is forbidden), and Saif and Brady are locked in a frantic table-tennis death-match. Kendall is sulking because Saif snapped at her and Ruby is quietly plotting his death with her in a corner of the games room. Sasha is still in Isolation.
Guy is reading 100 Years of Solitude un-ironically by himself on the sofa. I get the impression he’s got the hump Saif has stolen his playmate. I’ve seen this before . . . it’s how Baggy gets whenever there’s another guy between him and Kurt. The beta male gets shunted out. I decide to take pity on him. ‘They didn’t have a copy of Prozac Nation?’
He looks up and smiles. ‘It fell apart from overuse.’
‘You OK?’
He closes the book and crossed his legs underneath himself. ‘I’m more than a little fatigued, to be honest. I want to go home now.’
‘How long have you been here?’
‘Almost two months. Feels like an awful lot longer.’
‘Sucks. You live with your dad?’
‘Yes, Mummy died when I was ten.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’
‘It was a long time ago.’
‘Still sucks.’
‘Have you ever grown up on an army base?’
‘No.’
‘It really sucks,’ he says. I smile. ‘When Mummy died, Daddy decided I’d be best off away at school. Eton, no less.’
‘Oh Jesus. How was that? Eton mess?’
Guy’s one of those cuddly but entirely sexless guys girls adore. Of course, they are usually the first to go all ‘Men’s Rights’ when girls friendzone them. ‘I’m not destined for Great White greatness. I didn’t quite fit in. They thought I was spectacularly bonkers from day one. I’m meant to be ruling the world, right? I’m The Elite, and look at me! They treated me like a defective Swiss watch. “The boy who touches things three times.” That went down about as well as you’d imagine.’
‘So . . . it’s like, OCD?’
‘It is OCD.’
‘Shit. Sorry.’
‘No, it’s OK. I’ve had it so long I don’t really remember how it started. Doctors have told me it’s a bit like an addiction. I’m sure when it started I was doing weird stuff for a reason, but in the end you do them just to take the edge off the panic. If you don’t you feel like you’re going to die. I know I won’t, but that’s not what it feels like.’
I know I probably shouldn’t ask, but I ask anyway. ‘So why are you in rehab?’
He grins. ‘Lexi! This isn’t rehab, remember . . . it’s a “treatment facility”! Daddy didn’t know what else to do. I dropped out of university after three months because it got so bad. I could hardly leave my room and I was getting into fights and stuff.’
‘Fights? You?’
He blushes. ‘Yeah. I know. I don’t look the type. I’m different after a pint or six. The irony is my OCD gets better when I’m drunk, but . . . well, that’s clearly not the way forward.’
It’s never easy, is it? It’s never one thing, I think. I look around the room and none of us are easy, none of us are . . . clean. All our weird shit internally overlaps like tectonic plates, and we just wait for them to grind together, brace for the earthquake.
‘I’m told I was becoming a problem drinker,’ he admits. ‘Who am I kidding? I was a mess. I kept waking up covered in sick in the park just outside my college. It wasn’t pretty.’
‘Isn’t that what university is for?’ I say with a grin.
‘That,’ Guy says with certainty, ‘is enabler behaviour.’
He’s probably right.
‘I just want to have a normal life,’ he says. He lets his guard all the way down, and he was already pretty bloody vulnerable. ‘I don’t want to feel like this for the rest of my life. I can’t.’
I reach for a little white lie. ‘You won’t.’ I take his hand and give it a squeeze. I see Brady briefly look our way. I wonder what he thinks of us holding hands. God, why is that even in my head? That isn’t a thing. Being caged is getting to me. ‘You’re sick,’ I say, ‘and you’ll get better. We all will.’
Would you look at that. I’m learning the lines.
STEP 4: I AM STRONGER THAN I THINK I AM
In the night I dreamed I’d be speaking to Nik through a Perspex screen via a telephone, but I’m told there’s not a set ‘Family Room’ as such. The receptionist calls the phone in my room just as I’m putting some mascara on. ‘Good morning, Miss Volkov. Your brother is waiting for you in reception.’
I stick on the Vans and string my Tiffany necklace around my throat. I look on the coffee table for my McQueen skull ring. It’s like my every-day go-to ring. I rarely take it off. Where the fuck is it? I wonder if I took it off in the lounge last night – sometimes if I get too hot my fingers swell a bit and I take it off. It was my sweet-sixteen present from Nik. I should be wearing it when he’s here. I pull all the bedding up, looking among the sheets and clothes I’ve discarded.
The phone rings again and reluctantly I head to reception without the ring. With every step I get a new butterfly in my stomach. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. It’s only been a few weeks.
I push through the door and see him sitting in one of the armchairs. He’s reading a copy of GQ that’s been left on the coffee table. ‘Nik?’
He looks up at me, his eyes widening. He stands, letting the magazine flop into the chair. We mirror each other. I don’t know what to do.
Then he holds his arms wide and I throw myself into them. He hugs me tight. It’s weird, but it feels like he is the first solid thing I’ve held in a very long time. If he’s real then maybe I’m still real too. He smells of home. No one aroma: a mix of his deodorant, fabric softener, the hotel dry-cleaners, Marlboro Lights . . . home.
He kisses t
he top of my head. ‘Lexi, you look a million times better. Seriously. Thank god.’
I look up at him and wipe a tear off his face. ‘Well, don’t boo about it, you massive pussy.’ I grin and he hugs me harder.
‘Oh, I’ve missed you, you cunt.’
I laugh a huge, proper laugh, so hard it shakes my lungs loose. I cough. I smoke too much.
There’s a polite throat-clearing behind us. It’s Dr Goldstein. ‘Good morning, Mr Volkov. How was the trip down?’
‘Yeah, fine. How’s my sister been? A nightmare?’
‘Nik!’
‘Not at all, Mr Volkov. Lexi is a delight. We’ll chat before you leave, but right now, why don’t you enjoy coffee in the lounge?’
The sun is shining so we get the coffees to go and walk through the grounds. ‘It’s pretty nice out here,’ Nik says. ‘Maybe I’ll bring Tabby for a weekend break next time.’
‘Very funny,’ I say. ‘It’s not a spa, believe me. I was attacked with a hole punch.’
‘What?’
‘It was an accident.’ I take a sip of too-foamy-to-actually-be-a-latte coffee. ‘It’s not so bad.’
‘And you’re off the drugs?’
I scowl at him. ‘The drugs? What are you, eight? Yes, I am fully detoxed. As of yesterday I am pill free. I guess they know what they’re doing.’
‘How do you feel?’
‘Now I feel fine. Then I honestly thought I was gonna die.’
‘Well, whose fault is that?’
I almost smash my coffee into his face, before biting my tongue. ‘We do not blame out here, Nikolai. That’s not our way.’
‘Sorry.’ He actually looks pretty sheepish. ‘But that’s the whole point of coming, right? To get it all out of your system. Now you’re good.’ He grins. ‘You can come home soon and all this will be behind you.’
I shake my head. Can he really think it’s that simple? That I’m a passive victim of evil substances? A couple of cute little birds are splashing about in the fountain on the lawn. They distract me while I struggle to make a sentence. ‘Nik, it doesn’t work like that. It . . . it’s not just about getting clean.’
He looks confused. ‘What is it about, then?’
‘I dunno. I guess it’s about me.’ I cringe at my choice of words. Good one, me. ‘Like, why I was getting so blasted all the time in the first place. It’s complicated.’
Nik shrugs. ‘No, it isn’t. Just don’t do drugs any more. You obviously can’t hack it.’
I stop walking and sit on one of the stone steps. ‘Nik, you’ve come all this way, can we not fight?’
‘I’m not!’
‘Can we talk about something else, please?’
‘Sure.’ He sits beside me. ‘Like what?’
‘Have you seen Kurt?’
He laughs. ‘OK, and I’m the one starting fights?’
‘Nik . . .’
‘No, I haven’t. But like I said, I did threaten to kill him if he set foot south of the river.’
I tilt my head. I don’t know if the coy-little-girl shit ever really flew with Nik, but it’s worth a go. ‘Will you check up on him for me?’
‘Aw, Lex!’
‘Oh, come on! Please? I know you hate him, but I can’t get better if I’m worrying about him.’ Nik looks sceptical. ‘I’m supposed to be focusing on myself, but all I can think about is if he’s in a ditch in Shoreditch. Could you just find him and reassure me a little?’
He looks like he’s biting his tongue pretty hard. ‘OK,’ he says finally, through a clenched jaw. ‘If it helps.’
‘It’ll help.’ I throw my arms around him. ‘You don’t have to spy on him, just let me know he’s OK. That . . . he’s looking after himself.’ Truth be told, without my money, I don’t know how he’s doing. His parents cut him off not long after we started dating. Can’t think why.
‘Lexi,’ Nik’s eyes excavate mine, ‘he’s a junkie. Of course he’s not looking after himself.’
He’s got me there. ‘Just keep an eye on him.’
Saif and his sister come around the corner, strolling together. She is stunning, feline face framed by one of those tall hijabs in peacock blue. It’s all pinned together by a fabulous gold brooch. Saif and I exchange a nod, sharing in a moment of how absurd all of this is.
We fall silent until Saif and his sister have passed. ‘So. How are Mum and Dad? Fill me in.’
When I get to the dining room that night, I see Sasha is there. They must have her meds sorted: she’s neither lobotomy chill or freebasing. Still, Dr Ahmed is also joining us for dinner, which she doesn’t normally. She sits alongside Sasha and tonight there are no tea lights on the tables, making it decidedly less ‘bistro’ and much more ‘school dinners’.
‘Thank you for not making a fuss,’ Ahmed says, not aiming the comment at Ruby directly. ‘Sasha is ready to join us again.’
Sasha hardly looks up. She’s wearing a tent of a cable-knit fisherman jumper. It slopes off her left shoulder. Her clavicle is covered in little circular burn marks. She scowls up at us as we take our seats. ‘I am sorry for my histrionic demonstration when I got here. I have a number of deep-seated issues. I know that may come as a surprise, but it’s all true.’
‘Thank you,’ Ahmed says. ‘Anything else you want to say?’
‘Ruby, I’m sorry I was a twat. I was a proper cunt.’
Ruby throws her hands up. ‘See? She’s doing that because she knows I hate that word.’
‘Sasha . . .’
‘That is indeed one of my myriad issues. I just see a window and clamber on through it. In or out.’
‘Sasha . . . don’t even start.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘Ruby, I am sorry.’
Everyone looks to Ruby to return her serve. ‘Whatever.’ Rally over.
Dr Ahmed shakes her head. ‘Ruby, you know that’s not how it works. I know this isn’t therapy, but there’ll come a time for all of you when you seek forgiveness for the things you’ve done, and you’re not going to want to hear “whatever”.’
Ruby rolls her eyes. ‘Apology accepted. Just don’t get in my way.’
Collectively – or maybe it’s just me – we all turn to Sasha to see if she’ll make the obvious size joke. She refrains. For now. That’s good because I’m kinda hungry – it’s weird how much my appetite is back – and I can’t be arsed with another kick off. I share a relieved glance with both Brady and Kendall and I sense they’d thought the same.
Sasha chews on a piece of crusty bread. ‘So, you’re Lexi Volkov, yeah?’
‘I am.’
‘I know about you.’
I sip on my mushroom soup. It’s lukewarm. ‘So do a lot of people.’
Sasha performs a theatrical wink. ‘Nah, Blondie. I know about you. I suppose every tower needs a Rapunzel but butter always melts eventually. Retribution comes a-calling.’
‘Sasha,’ Dr Ahmed warns her, ‘can we just have a peaceful meal, please?’
I stare into my bowl. She doesn’t know anything. She’s talking shit. How could she, she of all people, know about what happened?
I try to shake it off, but now I feel nauseous. I abandon the soup.
So this is life with Sasha. We’re holding our breath, stepping around broken glass, eggshells, other clichés.
After dinner we have a guest speaker – a former patient who’s now six years sober. Good for him. Six years without a drink. Jesus. Where will I be in six years? I’ll be twenty-three. I try, but I can’t see past the island perimeter.
He finishes up at about eight so we have an impromptu board game night. This shit must be kicking in because the idea doesn’t make me want to jab knives into my eyes or down Cillit Bang. They have Cluedo, Monopoly, Mousetrap, Game of Life . . . all the classics. I dimly remember playing games like this at prep school or with Nik. You can’t play Cluedo with two – it’s too easy to work out who the killer is.
I scan back through memory photos, trying to remember if I ever played with Mumm
y or Daddy. I don’t think we ever did.
Oh, poor little Lexi. Take some pills to ease the pain.
I snap out of it. I refuse to attend the pity-party.
Wisely, we’ve been split into two groups. I’m playing Cluedo with Sasha, Saif and Kendall. I’m glad. I want to keep a close eye on Sasha. I want her where I can see her. ‘I think,’ I say to Kendall, ‘that it was Mrs Peacock in the conservatory with the lead pipe.’
Sasha and Saif hide their eyes, and Kendall shows me Mrs Peacock’s haughty face. I quickly cross her off my list. So it’s definitely Reverend Green. He’s probably a kiddie fiddler too, the beady-eyed freak.
While Saif rolls the dice, I see Sasha dig the tiny little dagger playing piece into her forearm. Boynurse Marcus is playing Game of Life with Brady, Guy and Ruby. ‘Hey,’ I whisper. I don’t want to grass her up. ‘Don’t do that.’
She looks at me through hooded eyes. ‘Bored of board games, innit. I’m trying to stay awake. Not hurting anyone but Sasha. She’s fair game, says so in four out of five toilet doors in Hackney.’ She presses it deeper into her flesh and a bead of blood forms a little jewel on her skin.
‘Sasha . . . come on. You don’t wanna go back in that room. I was in that room. It’s shit.’
‘Spoiler alert. It’s all shit, Blondie.’
I laugh and then she laughs. ‘I think shit exists on a spectrum,’ I tell her. ‘This is less shit.’
‘You got me there.’ She throws the now bloody dagger onto the Cluedo board.
‘Oh, gross!’ Kendall says.
‘I’ll clean it up,’ I offer. ‘You should get a plaster or something too.’
We take a break while I wipe the board and Sasha goes to find a first aid kit. She got away with it this time, I think.
‘C’mon then!’ Saif says, clapping his hands as I join them again. ‘I think I know whodunit.’
‘Really?’ Kendall says. ‘I have like no idea!’
‘I just gotta get one of you in a room and I’m so gonna nail it. This murderer is going down. Going downtown.’
Something familiar in his voice – a breathless, manic quality – makes me stop and look at him. Pearls of sweat dot his upper lip and his eyes are as wide as saucers. I don’t need to be a sleuth to deduce that Saif is high. It’s the first time I’ve seen him not-sulking. It’s an open-and-shut case. I doubt he’s even aware his knee is bobbing up and down like a hummingbird at a flower. I check his nostrils for powder, but there’s nothing incriminating.