‘I’m okay. You know…’ She bit her lip.
‘I wanted to ask you, now we’re alone, did you have a drink before you arrived here today?’ Lorna held her eye. ‘Again, there’s no wrong answer. We just want honesty. It’s important because the timing will help us monitor your reaction to alcohol withdrawal and decide how best to treat you. I’m not trying to catch you out, I promise.’
Romilly considered her options and concluded that honesty was probably the best policy. She nodded. ‘Yes, I did.’
‘Well, thank you for telling me that.’ Lorna smiled. ‘This is Gemma and she will be your programme mentor.’
Gemma stepped forward and raised her hand in a wave. ‘Hi, Romilly.’
She waved back, which felt a bit ludicrous, like they were playing one of the games that had kept Celeste entertained at nursery.
‘Romilly, is it okay if I just go through your toiletries and bits and bobs?’
‘What for?’
‘It’s a check we carry out on all new arrivals,’ Gemma explained. ‘Just to make sure you don’t have any substances that might cause harm to you or any other clients if they were to get hold of them.’
Clearly this was quite routine for her, but Romilly could only reflect on Lorna’s earlier assurance that this was not a prison.
‘Sure.’ Being in this environment was exposing enough; it mattered little if they went through her things.
Gemma commenced unzipping her suitcase and felt around beneath the lining. Then she nipped into the bathroom and peered inside her toiletry bag, before unscrewing the lids of her shampoo and conditioner and having a sniff of both. ‘Could I ask you to hop off the bed?’ She smiled.
Romilly did as she was asked, standing against the wall while Gemma dropped to her knees and lifted the mattress with one arm, running her other arm up under it until she touched the wall. She then patted the duvet and pillowcases and turned her attention to the wardrobe, looking inside the pair of trainers on the floor and tipping the slippers up and giving them a shake. Similar treatment was given to the drawer, which contained her underwear.
Eventually Gemma placed her hands on her hips and sighed. ‘Great. Thanks for that, Romilly. We can’t be too careful and it really is in your best interests. Do you think you might have brought anything in here that maybe you shouldn’t? If you have, this is a good opportunity for you to tell us about it.’
‘Where would I have put it?’ Romilly answered, with a tad more irritation than she’d intended. The waves of sickness and sweatiness were making her feel quite unwell.
‘Oh, you’d be surprised.’ Lorna laughed. ‘We’ve had items lodged in the cistern behind the loo, behind ceiling panels and in just about every orifice you can think of!’
Gemma shook her head. ‘I can tell you this for nothing, when I was trying to kick the booze, I’d have popped anything anywhere, if it meant I could get a drink when no one was looking.’
That’s how I feel, right now. I’d give anything for a drink, just a sip. Some wine, anything. I know you mean well, but you don’t understand. Just one little taste would help me, make me feel better and then I could think straight and make a proper plan for how to fix things…
‘How are you feeling right now?’ Lorna narrowed her gaze.
‘Okay. Not great. A bit sick,’ she confessed.
‘We can give you something for that. Gemma will give you a tour and then drop you at the treatment rooms and we can start you on the path to wellness. How does that sound?’ Lorna smiled encouragingly.
Sounds like something I want to run away from…
*
After half an hour spent hooked up to a drip in a white-walled, white-floored, windowless room, Romilly actually felt a bit better. Not only because of all the good stuff going into her veins, stuff that would apparently help flush out the toxins, but because being sat there with a needle in her arm felt quite medical. And that made her feel like she was ill. Not nuts, or weak, or demanding or selfish, but ill. For the first time, she felt some of the guilt that had bound her so tightly for so long start to fray at the edges.
Gemma showed her to a communal area that was bright and airy. Light flooded through the floor-to-ceiling bi-fold doors. One wall was covered in luscious silvery flock wallpaper; the other walls were white and contained a huge TV screen and a series of boxy bookshelves filled with interesting-looking coffee-table tomes. Large, luxurious silver sofas were arranged opposite each other like equals signs, with low, reclaimed-wood coffee tables between them and oversized potted plants on console tables at the back. Vast chrome lamps with white coolie shades were peppered around the space. It reminded her of a fancy hotel lobby; she half expected to see a couple of business types holding a meeting and a clutch of impatient guests glancing at their watches as they waited to check in.
The people on these sofas, however, were clearly not businesspeople or hotel guests. They were people who, like her, were trying to get better.
Gemma pointed to the sofas. ‘Go make yourself comfortable, Romilly. We’ll be bringing round juices in a minute or two. Don’t look so scared. They’re a friendly bunch.’ She smiled, inclining her head towards the residents. Most of them were in pyjamas or tracksuits. Some were listening to music, others were browsing magazines or just sitting there in silence. ‘The only rule we have here is that you can’t mention alcohol or brand names or names of specific drinks. You can talk about drink issues, but we find it doesn’t help if we are more specific.’
It was strange, but even Gemma’s innocuous comment caused the image of a bottle of gin to spring to the front of her mind. She swallowed, wanting so badly to drink from it. ‘I think I might go back to my room, if that’s okay?’ Her voice was small and her face trembled as her whole body shook.
‘Yes, of course.’ Gemma placed her hand on her arm. ‘I’ll be up in a minute. I’ll wait for your juice and bring it with me.’
Romilly nodded as she made her way along the central atrium wall towards her room. An uncomfortable heat washed over her in waves and left her flushed, sweating and with a strange feeling of emptiness that was horrible and nothing to do with hunger. Her stomach churned with sickness and her fingers were constantly clenching and unclenching as she bit down hard, enjoying the sensation of grinding her teeth.
She was removing the rather unwieldy key-ring, a neon-yellow ball, from her pocket when a voice made her jump.
‘Hey, neighbour!’ he offered, with an enthusiasm and energy that bordered on sarcastic.
‘Hi,’ she whispered. She was in no mood for making new friends, especially not with a plummy-voiced, floppy-haired boy who, ridiculously, had turned up the collar of his navy Jack Wills polo shirt and tied a cricket jersey around his waist. Who was he going to impress in here?
‘I’m next door.’ He pointed. ‘This your first day?’
She nodded.
‘I thought so. I know the room’s been empty since I arrived. How are you finding it? Have you tried the steak? The beach isn’t far and there’s a lovely stroll down to the town if you fancy a wander after dark.’
‘Sorry?’ She eyed him with irritation.
He laughed. ‘Nothing! It’s just my “welcome to Torquay” sense of humour.’
‘Are you from Torquay?’ she asked quietly.
‘No.’ He shrugged. ‘Bristol. You’re not in the mood for a chat, are you, Red?’
She shook her head and pushed open her door.
‘Well, when you are, come say hi. I’m Jasper, by the way.’
Romilly looked at him. The cocky kid was in his early twenties, she guessed, and seemed to find the whole situation quite amusing. He was right about one thing, though: she was in no mood for a chat.
Celeste
Dad told me Mum had gone away, but he was non-specific about where or when she was coming home. A couple of years previously, she’d gone to the States to speak about insects at a conference. It felt like ages that she was away. When she got back, she brought me loads of goodies: com
ics, a teddy, some slippers with pom-poms on and some actual NASA space food, ice cream and mashed potato that you had to add water to. I added the water, but the food tasted disgusting. It made me think that maybe I didn’t want to be an astronaut after all.
I instinctively knew that this was a different kind of trip because this time she didn’t call me and Dad didn’t tick the days off on the calendar and we didn’t plan her welcome-home banner. In fact Dad hardly mentioned her at all, as if I might not realise she was gone. Still, I convinced myself that she was at another conference and I tried really hard to stop myself worrying that she might have only got a one-way ticket.
Granny Sylvia came to stay a lot and she and Dad had this timetable on the fridge with little slots that they filled in – Bake biscuits for lunchbox; Celeste to Brownies; that sort of thing – so they knew who was doing what. It was pretty much exactly the opposite of what happened when Mum was there. There were no spontaneous outings to the park any more, but it was reassuring to know I would always be collected from school on time and that there would always be something proper for tea. And they never forgot to kiss me goodnight.
Granny Sylvia wasn’t Mum, though, and I didn’t want Mum to think I’d swapped her. One afternoon, our teacher, Mrs Hopkins, handed out slips of paper about some meeting at school. We were supposed to give them to our parents and return them to her as soon as possible. She told us very firmly that our parents were to sign the slips and circle the time they would like to attend. My heart hammered in my chest. I placed mine between the pages of my reading book and popped it in my bag. I kept picturing it there. I couldn’t sleep, worrying about it. I cried in the bath whenever I remembered it, and I lay in bed for hours, trying to think of a solution. I didn’t want to bother Dad with it and Mum had disappeared, so she couldn’t even sign it, let alone turn up for the meeting. I just didn’t know what to do. Then the answer came to me, really late one night after I’d tossed and twisted for ages under my duvet.
The next morning I woke early, sat at my little desk and carefully removed the note from my reading book. I tore the slip off, not worrying that it wasn’t straight. I took a felt-tipped pen and wrote Romilly Wells on it in my best writing. And then I drew a big red, yellow and green flower on it, with a smiley face. I drew flowers on most things; I was trying to perfect them. I decided this wasn’t enough of an embellishment, so I put two stickers on it too, one of a rabbit holding a dandelion and the other saying ‘Great Teeth!’ that I’d been given when I went to the dentist. I arrived at school and handed it in to Mrs Hopkins. I was certain she’d think it was from Mum.
Nine
She had to admit that, apart from feeling a little out of sorts, physically uncomfortable and missing home so badly she almost couldn’t think about it, the first day and night at Orcus weren’t too bad. She had declined the thick, gloopy, carrot-based juice that Gemma had brought her and had similarly dismissed the thinner green one that smelt like soil and had appeared some hours later. The surroundings were luxurious and everyone was friendly. So far, so good. Whether it would help her kick the booze, she wasn’t sure. It all felt a bit tame, if she was being honest. At some level, she’d been hoping for a sterner intervention, a shock to her system that would leave her swearing off alcohol for life. She needn’t have worried. On day two, the shock came.
Romilly woke with an empty, gnawing pain in her gut that made her double over into a foetal position. She wanted to spend the day curled up and hiding, but Gemma and her colleague Neil had other ideas. ‘We’ll get you hooked up and the infusion will make you feel better, I promise.’ Gemma was as usual, stern but kind.
Romilly shook her head; her hair was stuck to her face and scalp with sweat. ‘I just… I just want to stay in my room.’
‘I know, sweetheart, but you can’t. We need to get you hooked up to the IV and get the good stuff into your system. Come on, up you jump.’ Gemma pulled back the duvet.
‘Why don’t you fuck off and leave me alone! I’m not a child!’ Romilly roared. Her outburst shocked her more than it did her carers, who had heard it all a thousand times before.
‘You don’t mean it, Romilly, and we’re not going anywhere, so come on, up you get!’
She hauled herself into a sitting position and tried to stop her jaw locking tight and her muscles spasming with tension. It was the most uncomfortable state she’d ever found herself in. ‘Please can I j… just stay here?’ she whispered, shivering and contrite now, ashamed of her tantrum.
’Fraid not. Do you want to shower now or later?’ Neil asked as he tidied the towel from the chair and folded her dressing gown, which she’d flung from her bed in the night.
‘Later.’
She reluctantly left the confines of her room, accompanied by Neil and Gemma. Not like prison, my arse, she thought as they escorted her to the treatment room.
Romilly sat in the chair and closed her eyes as they inserted the needle into her arm. Her teeth ground together, her body ached and wave after wave of sickness washed over her, starting in her gut and rolling out like a tangible, tumbling thing, not content until it had curled along her limbs and up to the top of her head, filling her completely with the horrible sensation of emptiness, starvation and a stomach-churning need for a drink. Her face and palms were sweating and she smelt. Not just a regular, wake-up-and-need-a-shower smell, or end-of-a-busy-day, need-a-bath smell, this was something else. She stank and she knew that if she could smell it, then so could others. And then the diarrhoea started.
Her tears, when they came, were of frustration and embarrassment. She kept thinking about Celeste and wondering what she was doing at that very moment. She pictured her on her way to school, chatting to her dad as he dropped her off en route to the office; in the playground, doing skipping with her friends; back home, watching Blue Peter all on her own; snuggling up with Teddy under her little ladybird duvet. She cried even harder. I’m sorry, my darling girl. I miss you so, so much…
On day four, Romilly was called into Lorna’s office.
‘David has phoned every day and sends his love.’
Romilly had to stop herself glaring at the woman. That’s my husband you are talking about! Don’t you dare send me his love. You don’t know him, you don’t know us! I just want to talk to him. Instead, she simply nodded.
‘I understand it’s hard not talking to your family.’ Lorna had correctly read her expression. ‘But it really is for the best. It can be a huge distraction from the task in hand and it’s far better to give the programme your whole concentration.’
Romilly shrugged.
‘How are you sleeping?’ Lorna’s tone was level.
‘I’m not really.’ She removed her glasses and rubbed at her eyes, which felt full of grit, before replacing them. ‘I find it hard to drop off, my mind is churning so much, and then when I do, it’s almost getting-up time. I’ve had some terrible dreams.’
‘What about?’
Romilly took a deep breath. ‘I dream I’m drinking and I’m in a kind of holiday resort and my whole family are sitting back, having dinner, shocked and horrified by my behaviour and it’s like I’m watching myself from above. I stagger in the street and I can hardly stand. I take my clothes off and I’m yelling and swearing. It makes me cringe and makes me feel guilty, but then when I wake up, I long for the drink that I had in my dream and that makes the dream guilt feel real, and makes me feel like crap.’ She picked at her cuticles.
‘Do you want to break that dream down further?’
Oh, for God’s sake! It’s obvious, isn’t it? ‘No, I think I can read it quite well.’
‘Are you managing to take any of the juices? They are so good for you, bursting with lovely organic veg, and they will really help.’
‘I’ll try and have one today.’
‘As you’ll understand, being a scientist, when your body is used to getting its calories from alcohol, your bowel and intestines can take a while to adjust to processing regular food again. Juic
es are a great way to ease you back in. Are you drinking plenty of water?’
An image of a metallic-green Cicindela splendida she’d seen while she was at a conference in Florida flashed into her mind. She’d spent ages watching as the tiger beetle lapped up the morning dew on a leaf, getting the water it instinctively knew it needed. God, that seemed like a lifetime ago now.
‘Yes. I’m drinking plenty of water.’
‘And you have a group counselling session now?’
‘Yes, I do,’ Romilly whispered, trying to sit up straight and at least look engaged.
‘How are you finding them?’
Pretty pointless. I can’t see how listening to a bunch of strangers talk about how well or badly they’re doing will help me stop wanting a drink. ‘Okay. Yes. Fine.’
Lorna shifted in her seat and closed her laptop. There was a second or two of silence before she spoke and Romilly felt her face flush, as though she might be in trouble.
‘The thing is, Romilly, there are two strands to being here. One is physical; trying to almost recalibrate your body so that it no longer expects alcohol and can cope without it. And the other is psychological; trying to understand why you choose to drink and how you might break your dependency. And that is only really possible if you want to break the dependency.’ Lorna gave Romilly a searching look. ‘When you’re fully committed to stopping drinking. Do you understand?’
‘Yes. Thanks.’ Romilly nodded her understanding and left to go and join her group therapy class.
‘Red! I saved you a seat,’ Jasper called out, pointing at the comfy leather recliner next to his.
She kicked off her shoes and sat down, curling her feet under her.
‘I wonder what the main feature is. Hope it’s a Die Hard, they’re my faves. I went to get you popcorn and a Coke, but I didn’t like the look of the queue and didn’t want to miss the trailer.’ He grinned.
She gave him a sideways smile. ‘Thanks.’ She found him irritating but had to admit that she’d miss him if he weren’t there to lighten the mood.
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