‘I wonder what revelations lie in store for us today?’ he whispered. ‘My money is on Brendan finally breaking down and confessing to his cross-dressing ways.’ He nodded at the quiet older man with the large bushy moustache and mass of grey hair that was so naturally bouffant it resembled a wig.
Romilly bit her lip as he continued undeterred. ‘Or Mary the speedy blinker revealing her “Love” and “Hate” tattoos, which she has on each tit. What do you reckon?’
Romilly looked at the neat fifty-year-old woman who picked holes in her cardigan and had already shared, in a voice little louder than a whisper that she’d worked in local government for the last twenty years.
‘I think you’re going to get me into trouble.’ She widened her eyes at Jasper and sat back, waiting for the session to begin.
Mario the therapist was confident, nice-looking and consciously sympathetic. He cocked his head and knitted his eyebrows in concentration at whoever was responding to his question, as though the words they spewed contained insight and wisdom and weren’t just the ramblings of a would-be-drunk. As usual, he began the session by leading a five-minute relaxation exercise, getting everyone to breathe in slowly through the nose and out of the mouth, designed to get them all to a calm place. Then Helen, a fortysomething fashion designer from west London, was given the floor.
‘This is my fifth attempt at coming off booze,’ she began.
Weak… The word leapt into Romilly’s head uninvited as she appraised the slightly grimy, slightly lost-looking middle-aged woman in front of them. Her self-pitying tone didn’t help, either.
‘And I know this time it’s different because I am free to go and yet I’m choosing to stay. I think that’s a really good sign. It means I’m here because I want to get clean and if I want to get clean then that’s over half the battle.’
There was a little ripple around the circle of smiles, a few nods and one or two claps.
I’m not like you. I’m not anything like you. I live in a nice house in Stoke Bishop, I have a wonderful husband and a beautiful daughter at Merrydown School. I’m not like you. I’m not like anyone here. I just want to go home.
‘The holistic programme, the juicing, everything has really helped me. I never thought I’d want to swap alcohol for health, but I do! I want to be healthy.’ This earned another ripple of encouragement. ‘At my lowest point…’ Helen paused and spoke more slowly, staring at the floor. ‘At my lowest point, I was on the game and the men I went with paid me in vodka.’ She looked up, catching the eye of several in the circle.
What the fuck? Romilly tried to hide her disgust and suspend judgement, but it was difficult.
‘I could never have imagined falling so far, but I did and in a way I needed to hit rock bottom before I could start to climb back up. That’s it, really. I am feeling confident about my future and I want to keep feeling like this and so I’m going to do everything I can to get better, every day.’
Helen shrugged her shoulders and tucked her long blonde hair behind her ears. Mario looked overwhelmed as he walked forward to embrace her, rewarding her openness with a hug and a gentle, sincere squeeze on the arm.
Romilly sat with Jasper for their evening juice, sipping the beetroot, ginger and celery concoction through a fat straw.
‘This is way better than steak and chips!’ He clinked his glass against hers and she tried hard to suppress the image of cold glasses of wine that popped into her head.
‘Do you find everything funny?’ she asked.
He considered this as he swallowed the purple iced puree. It was sharp and he sucked in his cheeks then stuck out his tongue. ‘No, I don’t. But I’m very good at hiding behind my funnies.’
‘How old are you, Jasper?’
‘Twenty-two. And you?’
She smiled. ‘Twenty-nine.’
‘Is this your first time in therapy?’
‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘And you?’
He tipped his head back and laughed. ‘Oh God, no! I’ve lost count. I’ve been everywhere, including to three clinics in America, one of them in the desert, where I was supposed to chant away my demons while sitting in a pit and holding a special stick. Another was in Spain, where we were encouraged to hike up the Sierra Nevada and eat only what we could catch—’
‘That sounds harsh!’ she interjected.
‘Not really. I found a pretty boutique hotel and managed to catch a platter of tapas and a fine bottle of local red.’ He winked at her. ‘I’ve had stints in several clinics all over the British Isles and now here, again.’
‘You’ve been here before?’ She was surprised. It hadn’t occurred to her that you might return again and again.
‘Yep. My parents will send me anywhere and do anything rather than sit and talk to me about what’s going on in my crazy, messed-up head.’ He tapped his leg nervously. ‘It seems it’s just too much to ask for them to figure out how to live a life where they don’t have to lock their booze in their gun cabinet.’
‘So what is going on inside your crazy, messed-up head?’
‘My brother died, in a car accident.’ He stared at the floor.
‘Oh God, I’m sorry.’
Jasper nodded his acceptance of her condolences. ‘Unfortunately, it was me that was driving the car, illegally, aged sixteen. And it’s fucked my head and I will take any drug or drink, practically anything I can get hold of, just to blot out all feeling. And my mum and dad can barely look at me, let alone help me. He was brilliant and handsome and funny and now he’s nothing and it’s my fault. It’s pretty fucked up.’ His smile had faded and he now looked like the young man he was, a very young man who was scared.
‘Does it help you, being here?’ she whispered, feeling a wave of affection for this damaged boy.
‘I think the distraction is good, but does it cure me of my addiction? No.’ He held her stare, pale and unsmiling.
‘Then why do you do it?’ she asked, softly.
Jasper placed his juice on the table and folded his hands in his lap. ‘It’s the only thing my parents understand, sending me away. It makes them feel better to be doing something and then when it doesn’t work, they feel less guilty because at least they tried something. And they get even angrier with me because of how much they’re spending, but it’s just a clever ruse, they say that’s what they’re angry about, the cost, the futility, but really they’re angry because I killed their son. So it serves a purpose. And I understand. I do. They don’t really keep track of where I’ve been and for how long, but you get my point.’
He thumbed his nose and reached for his juice with a shaking hand. ‘I guess it’s a routine that’s familiar for me too. When I was eight I was sent away to boarding school and then after the accident I was sent to live with my gran up in Scotland, then when I failed to get any A-levels, despite a very expensive education, they sent me to work in an orphanage in Africa and then when I came back and started serious boozing, they started sending me to rehab. My mum likes to read about places on the internet that offer fabulous cures, the more innovative the better, and she sends my dad the link and he books them there and then.’
‘Do you work?’
Jasper shook his head. ‘No, I’m too busy marching up and down the Sierra Nevada looking for a decent bloody hotel!’ And just like that, they were back to joking.
‘Do you work, Red?’
‘Yes. I’m an entomologist.’
‘What’s that? Is it something to do with mummies and the Sphinx?’
‘No, that’s an Egyptologist! Quite different.’
He flashed her a smile that told her he knew very well what the difference was. His expensive education clearly hadn’t been entirely wasted.
‘I work for a biopharmaceutical company, but I’m on leave at the moment.’ She nodded. ‘I don’t know when I’ll be going back. Everything is a little hazy in terms of dates and milestones and I think that’s the thing I find hardest. If I knew I had to go through this for x number of days but would
feel better by y, then I could hack it; it’s the uncertainty, the vagueness that I struggle with.’
‘Because you’re a scientist. You deal in facts, data.’
‘Exactly!’
He laughed. ‘Well, I’m sorry to be the one to break it to you, but that’s pretty much the only certainty you have as an alcoholic: the uncertainty. That horrible feeling that you never quite know what tomorrow is going to look like, no matter how determined you are when you fall asleep.’
‘I’m not an alcoholic.’ She realised she had said it out loud. Pausing, she looked at Jasper, who smiled and once again gathered his juice into his hand.
‘I tell you what, Red. I’ve seen a few in my time and you do a fucking good impression of one.’ He shook his head as he sipped at the mashed beetroot.
Celeste
The morning Dad told me we were going to visit Mum was the first time it even occurred to me that she might be ill. I’d lived for weeks with my stomach bunched into a tiny ball, imagining all sorts. At first I genuinely believed she was working away. But then I’d hear Dad whispering into the phone, too quietly for me to get what he was saying but loud enough to know it was secret. I knew there was something terrible going on. I’d crawl into the gap under my bed, staring into the dark, too scared to even move, trying to guess what was happening and watching the tiny alien mayflies crawl up and down the mattress over my head.
My main thought was that they were giving me away and didn’t know how to tell me. Mum had gone to get the people they were giving me to, while Dad was quietly making the plans. Whenever Dad was extra nice to me, I thought it was because my departure was imminent. I used to lie ramrod straight in the gap, close my eyes and promise to keep my room tidy and to try and eat broccoli and not to be so noisy; anything just as long as I could stay.
So it was quite a relief when Dad told me where we were heading. I’d been waiting for him to say ‘Get in the car’ and I held my breath, expecting to hear where my new family was and where he was taking me. When he told me we were going to visit Mum and that she was in a kind of hospital, I laughed out loud. But then I started to run through a list of reasons why she might be sick. Did she still have all her limbs? Would she recognise me? I bit my nails right down and tried to stop the squirm in my tummy that made me feel sick.
‘She’s really looking forward to seeing you.’ Dad smiled.
‘Has she still got all her arms and legs?’ I asked.
A little confused crease appeared at the top of his nose and then he smiled again and stroked my hair. ‘Her illness isn’t anything to do with her arms and legs. It’s a bit more complicated than that, but I promise she’ll be feeling a lot better, a lot calmer and kinder.’
I held onto his every word like it was a promise. It was the first time I’d been introduced to the concept that Mum might be ill and wasn’t just being mean to me. I thought about the time I crept up behind her in the kitchen, she was standing by the sink and I planned on giving her a hug, but as I reached up to touch her, she turned around and yelled. The dark green bottle in her hand smashed down in the sink and I heard the glugging sound as something that smelled like perfume trickled down the sink. She screamed, her eyes flashing and she shouted at me, ‘for fuck’s sake! All I want is five minutes peace alone, that’s all just five fucking minutes!’ I think that was when I started to think that maybe her life would be better if I wasn’t in the house at all. I hadn’t meant to make her jump or make her spill her drink. So dad’s insight was helpful. It made it easier, in some ways, like she hadn’t chosen to be horrible or to leave me.
I don’t remember much about the place she was in, except for the way it smelt, like synthetic lemon. It reminded me of air freshener. Everywhere was clinical, shiny and white. I know she was pleased to see me. I remember her hugging me too tightly and I wanted her to let go. It felt like the time when Aunty Sara trapped me in the fort made of cushions. It felt like suffocating.
Ten
‘Are you warm enough?’ His tone was overly formal as he turned the dial from blue to red on the dashboard.
‘I’m fine.’ She hated the stilted awkwardness that sat between them like a sheet of glass, making them strangers.
‘Celeste has made you a gift. It’s a jewellery box, I think.’ He smiled at the road ahead. ‘But be warned, when I left, she and my mum were trying to figure out how to disguise the big hole in the middle. I suggested she fill it with jewels, but she wanted to put a candle in the middle, so God only knows what you’re going to walk into. You might want to practise your delighted face.’
‘I don’t have to practise it,’ she said, affronted. ‘I’ll be delighted just to see her, hold her. I’ve missed her so much.’
‘Of course.’ He coloured in apology.
‘I know it’s only been four weeks, but it feels like a lot longer. It’s so isolated there, it makes you feel removed from the real world.’
‘I suppose that’s the idea.’
‘Yes. Probably.’ She nodded, unwilling to admit that just travelling in a car, being on the motorway and having the freedom of a phone in her hand made her feel a little out of sorts, almost as if she had too much freedom.
‘How are you…? I mean, are you…?’ He tapped the steering wheel with his thumbs and bit his lip, worried about saying the wrong thing.
Seeing the man she loved so nervous around her sent a crimson blush of awkwardness over her face and chest. She adjusted her glasses.
‘I am doing great, David. I haven’t had a drink since the morning I got there and I feel healthier than I have in a long time.’ She thought it best to cut to the chase, deal with the elephant in the room, or in their case, the car.
‘So, I don’t know how to ask, really…’ He swallowed.
She twisted her body to face him. ‘David, you have to be able to talk to me. We’re a team without secrets, remember?’
Her heart raced at the prospect of having to mention her disgusting secret, the greedy need for booze that had taken hold of her for a while. She was, however, confident that she was not like the people she had just spent weeks sitting with and speaking to and observing pouring out their hearts in therapy. She liked a drink, yes, that she couldn’t deny, but these people were addicts and the two things were very different, despite what Jasper had said.
Dear little Jasper… The half a brown envelope with his phone number on it lay folded inside her handbag; the other half had disappeared into his pocket with hers hurriedly scrawled on it. He had been sincere in his offer to be there if ever she needed anything, although she couldn’t imagine how that might come about. It was very sweet of him nonetheless.
He coughed. ‘Okay. And you’re right, Rom. So I guess what I want to ask is, are you fixed, do you think?’
Romilly couldn’t help the spurt of laughter that fired from her mouth. He glanced sideways at the passenger seat and laughed too. Her tears quickly followed. She was like a rainbow, formed by both rain and sun, with tears streaming as she laughed hard.
He placed his hand on her thigh. ‘It’s okay, Rom. It’ll all be okay.’
More tears came at the realisation that if he wondered if she was fixed, he must have considered her broken. And who wanted anything broken? Don’t leave me, David. I need you.
As they pulled up onto the driveway, Romilly scraped her hair up into a knot and pinched her cheeks. A banner made of A4 sheets sellotaped together had been strung across the front door rather haphazardly, with Welcome Home Mummy printed across it in a riot of felt-tipped colour. The letters to the left were large, the W taking up a whole page; the ones to the right got smaller and smaller, where an impatient hand had run out of space. The effect was wonky but wonderful.
At the sound of the car, Celeste came running down the driveway. She buried her face in her mum’s chest, gripping her in a tight hug around her midriff before carefully patting both of her mum’s arms and legs. Romilly clasped her shoulders. They stood fast, neither wanting to let go, both of the
m thankful that they were on home territory again, not in the clinic with everyone watching.
‘I missed you, baby. I missed you so much – you have no idea!’ Romilly kissed her little girl’s face, inhaling the scent of her and enjoying the feel of her little body in such close proximity.
Sylvia hovered on the doorstep, holding a tea towel and smiling. Romilly nodded in her direction, both grateful for all she had done for David and Celeste in her absence and envious that this woman had stayed in her home and played house while she was out of sight. She stood tall and gripped her daughter’s hand, trying not to feel like a visitor to her own home.
‘I made you a present, Mum!’
‘How lovely! A present is just what the doctor ordered.’ She spoke without giving the phrase too much thought.
‘Did he make you better?’ Celeste looked up at her mum, hope written all over her face.
‘It was a she doctor actually, and yes she did.’ She beamed, quite convincingly. I can do this, baby. I can do it for you and I can do it for your dad. I won’t let you down.
Celeste’s smile of relief split her face. ‘It’s a jewellery box, but it’s not only a jewellery box,’ she babbled as she skipped up the path, ‘it’s a candle holder as well.’
Romilly glanced back at her husband, who was lifting her bag from the boot. ‘Well, that sounds like a marvellous invention! Jewellery box candle holders, it’s genius!’
‘Welcome home.’ Sylvia planted a kiss on her daughter-in-law’s cheek. ‘There’s a chicken in the oven and a peach cobbler in the fridge. You look well, Romilly.’ She was sincere and Romilly felt guilty for the negative envy that had flared only seconds earlier.
‘Thank you, Sylvia. And thank you for… everything.’ She peeked over her shoulder and into her clean, tidy home.
‘I have a cab on the way, so I’ll leave you guys to it.’
‘Oh no! Stay and eat with us?’ Romilly levelled.
Sylvia shook her head. ‘Uh-uh. You need time with David and Celeste and I shall get out of your hair. But I’m on the end of the phone, so at any time, if you need anything, just call. London’s not that far away.’ She picked up her bag and kissed her granddaughter goodbye.
Another Love Page 13