‘I won’t, I promise,’ I agreed, so pleased to see them. ‘Is there anyone around with a bit of hash?’ I asked them.
‘Ah, Rachael, don’t start already,’ said Katie.
‘No, I’m ok, I swear. I’m just stressed out after all that flying. Honestly, I’m grand.’
‘Ok...’ Katie looked at me suspiciously. ‘You’ll get some in Sillogue. Knock around to us when you get it.’
I was so excited to be home that I couldn’t breathe. ‘Ma,’ I shouted to my grandmother, ‘I’m back.’
I was expecting her to welcome me back with open arms, but instead she came out of the kitchen with a panicked look on her face. Barely pausing to greet me, she followed, ‘You needn’t unpack your stuff—you’re not staying here. You’re going to stay in your mother’s.’
‘Jesus, thanks very much. It’s lovely to see you too.’
‘You’ve got to go now. She’s waiting for you,’ my nanny insisted, looking flustered.
I couldn’t believe this. After five months of refusing to talk to me, to even acknowledge my existence, my mother was expecting me to sit down and have a nice chat. ‘Is she?’ I shouted. ‘Yeah, well, I’ve been waiting for her for five months, so she can wait. I’m going around to Katie’s.’
‘Don’t be long. Herself and Mick are staying in the Westbury and they’re waiting for you to meet them for dinner. If you’re not back in fifteen minutes, I’ll be around to get ye.’ Mick liked to stay at the Westbury when he was doing business in Dublin: himself and my mother liked to eat well, dress well and look the part. I was dreading seeing my ma. Now I definitely needed something to calm my nerves. The thought of confronting my ma without something in my system seemed unbearable. I couldn’t score gear though. I’d have to wait. Hash wouldn’t really hit the spot, but it would have to do for now.
_____
My mother and Mick were sitting in the lounge of the hotel waiting for me to arrive. They looked like something from a glossy magazine, she with her thick blonde shiny hair, a simple LBD, a dab of make-up with a touch of scarlet red lipstick. Mick looked equally slick in his immaculate black suit.
‘Ah, would you look, the eagle has finally landed,’ he said as I approached their table. ‘Where’s your new boyfriend, Mauricio? I sent him over a ticket so that he could come back with you and stay in Ballymun Hotel,’ Mick found himself hilarious. While he would row in when needed and help me out, he often cracked jokes like these at my expense.
I wished I hadn’t smoked that joint. I was even more anxious and fidgety and I didn’t know how to respond to Mick. ‘I heard that he only has one leg, has he?’ Mick continued to wind me up.
‘No, it’s not funny,’ I said, as if I were three years old.
‘Ah, come on now. Are you not talking to us? I’ll tell you what, I’ll bring you into town tomorrow and buy you new clothes. That might cheer you up.’
My mother didn’t say a word during this exchange and I had no idea of how to talk to her about Cuba. I couldn’t ask her why she had dumped me there for five months without a word and why she had refused any contact with me while I was there. So instead I said nothing and went along as if nothing had happened.
At this time, my mother and Mick moved into a new house on the south side of the city. Philip had started in a new school in the area and everyone agreed that it would be in my best interests to go and live with them, away from temptation in Ballymun and my cronies in Poppintree. Mick decided that my rehabilitation was to be a personal project. He took me under his wing. Anywhere he went, I had to go, so that he could keep an eye on me. He got me a job as a waitress in a pub across the road from their house and things seemed to be going well, but having candle-lit dinners and playing happy families with my mother, who seemed like a complete stranger, irritated me. It was as though we were living in the twilight zone, brushing everything under the carpet and pretending things were great, when everything just seemed so fake. I couldn’t take it much longer and the first opportunity that I got to run back to Ballymun, I took. I couldn’t get heroin out of my head.
Chapter 7
THE DEVIL’S PLAYGROUND
By now Ballymun was infested with drugs. Everyone who had got into the rave scene was now taking heroin. The old-time junkies had been replaced by younger junkies who were taking ownership of the shopping centre and almost every block in Ballymun, claiming their patch of land and openly selling drugs as though they had a licence to do so.
My attraction to drugs was at its peak. I relished doing something that I wasn’t supposed to be doing, sticking my two fingers up at my family and the rest of the world and saying, ‘Fuck you all, I’ll show you and then you’ll be sorry.’ My appetite for drugs was insatiable—Es, hash, whatever I could get my hands on, and I was no longer getting a buzz out of smoking heroin. Most of my friends were injecting at this stage. They were spending less money than I was and getting more of a stone, so in my twisted logic I thought I might as well join them. I was doing heroin anyway, so I may as well be injecting, I thought.
It was one of my friends who gave me my first ‘turn-on’. He took a shine to me and without fail he would give me a whistle any time he passed my house. His eyes would be pinned to the back of his head and I knew that he was injecting heroin. I called him The News of The World, because he knew everyone’s business. He was one of these people who never knew when to say goodbye and even when he was miles down the road he would still be shouting at me trying to tell me something.
He brought me to one of his friends’ flats to give me a turn-on. I knew that I was playing with fire, but that made me want to do it even more. He put the works into my arm and I felt nothing but a harsh sting. I had crossed the line. I had done the very thing that I thought I would never do. Now there was no going back.
_____
As my addiction grew, my grandmother’s house became like Fort Knox. If there was something of value that wasn’t nailed to the floor, or locked in a room, I would rob it. If it was nailed to the floor or locked in a room, I would still find a way to rob it. On occasion I would borrow ladders from the neighbours and climb in through my grandmother’s window, taking anything that I could sell for twenty pounds or more. I knew that what I was doing was wrong, but I couldn’t let myself think about the consequences of my actions. The drugs came first and I couldn’t allow anything to get in my way.
My family was baffled—I might have had my problems, but how on earth could I steal from my grandmother? ‘Throw her fucking out,’ Laurence would tell my grandmother. ‘She’s a conniving little bitch and she’s just going to keep fleecing us.’ Of all my family, my addiction had the strongest effect on Laurence. I had always been close to him and he found it hard to see me like this. He felt responsible in some way for my behaviour and it really began to take its toll on him because he was seeing the worst of it. But I had my grandmother wrapped around my little finger. Even though she knew I was stealing from her, she couldn’t bring herself to throw me out, or to disown me. And I knew that if I could get around her, then I would get away with it.
Everyone in the area knew what I was up to. Some of them would even buy my grandmother’s jewellery or clothes that she had just bought, even though they knew they were hers. I would tell them that they were shop-lifted, but my grandmother would find out who I sold her stuff to and she would have to buy everything back. Then I would rob and sell them again. By this stage, though, robbing from her wasn’t enough. I had to resort to shop-lifting. I couldn’t believe how easy it was. Once I didn’t appear to be on drugs and I avoided the security cameras, I would usually get away with it. The hard part was selling the stuff around Ballymun without getting caught by the gardaí.
The little garda shop didn’t know what hit it. With the nightly drug-induced parties, and drugs being sold on every street corner, they were on high alert. Everywhere I went, I seemed to bump into Garda PJ Walsh and Garda Emily Tormey. They were both working around the clock. They were on a mission: try
ing to do every drug-addict for something or another, in competition to see who got the most brownie points and convictions. ‘There ye are again, Rachael. What’s in the bag?’ they would say, grinning, as they approached me. I would be kicking myself for getting caught. Over a short period of time, I had used up all my warnings and referrals to the JLO (Juvenile Liaison Officer), so that the gardaí had no choice but to push for a conviction. I was fifteen years old and I was going to Mountjoy Women’s Prison.
_____
I had no idea what to expect. I had heard some horror stories about the men’s Mountjoy and I prayed that the women’s prison wouldn’t be as bad. Not that the fear of going there had been any deterrent to me stealing and shop-lifting—I couldn’t see any further than the turn-on and the blissful feeling of warmth and safety which would follow, the sense that nothing mattered except that moment. What I was more afraid of now was the withdrawals which I would experience while I was in prison, the ‘sickness’ which addicts like me were in mortal fear of and would do anything to avoid.
I was brought to the prison in what was called the ‘dog-box’, a two-man metal cage inside a lorry, and I was thankful that I was on my own. After my personal details were given and registered, I was vigorously strip-searched and showered in the reception area and was given my Mountjoy bumper pack, which consisted of a toothbrush, toothpaste, a comb, an old duvet cover and sheet, a couple of pairs of granny knickers with flowers on them, a paper nightdress and a cotton rust-coloured tracksuit. With my hair still wet and my sickness beginning to set in, I was brought into the main section of the prison.
Before me stretched a long, institution-green corridor. It had cells on each side of it, with a barred-off area at the top for the officers, the chief and the governor to work from. I could see two lengthy landings up above and I thought that I would get sick with the fear that was in my stomach.
It was night-time and all the girls were locked in their cells. ‘Sorry, Rachael, but you’re out of luck,’ the prison officer said. ‘The place is chock-a-block and there are no empty cells, so we’ll have to stick you in the recreation room.’ She unlocked the hefty metal door and I couldn’t believe what I saw: six women lying on the floor of the television room. ‘There ye go. Grab yourself a mattress and make yourself at home,’ she said, closing the door behind her and leaving me to my own devices.
‘How’ya, love. Here, put your mattress over there. What are ye in for?’ one of the women drawled.
‘Shop-lifting,’ I answered, trying my best to sound common and to not show any fear. ‘Is this your first time in here?’ another one asked, as though she could smell it off me.
‘Yeah.’
‘What age are ye?’
‘Fifteen.’
‘Ah, jaysus, she’s only a fuckin’ baby. Don’t worry love, ye’ll be alright. Just don’t let anyone take the piss oura ye. Have ye a’in with ye?’
I hadn’t a clue what she meant. ‘Like wha’?’
‘Have ye any gear with ye?’
‘No,’ I replied, wondering how on earth she thought I’d managed to smuggle gear in with me.
‘Yeah, well, if ye get a’in up, just be careful who ye tell. ’Cos it’ll be took off ye. Put your name down for the doctor in the morning and he’ll give you a sup of phy. (Physeptone was administered to those of us with drug problems, to take the edge off our withdrawals.) Are ye sick now love?’ the woman continued, looking at me sympathetically.
‘Yeah, a little bit.’
‘D’ye want me to massage a bit of Deep Heat into your legs for ye?’
I didn’t know what to say. If I said no, she would probably be offended and give me a few digs. If I said yes, she would probably try and feel me up. I decided to go for the few digs. ‘Ah, no, it’s grand. I’m not that sick anyway.’
‘Here, put a bit on us, will ye,’ said another woman, pulling up her nightdress to reveal purple, bloated legs.
‘Would ye believe she’s a great-grandmother. Aren’t ye, Kathleen? Practically lives in this place, don’t ye, love?’ Deep Heat said. ‘Ye wouldn’t think it, sure ye wouldn’t?’ Kathleen looked like she was heavily sedated and as though she was a great-grandmother ten times over. ‘And that’s Maduppa over there in the corner,’ Deep Heat continued. ‘Here Maduppa, make us a pair of brogues there, will ye, love?’ Maduppa appeared to be African. She sat quietly on her own, making shoes out of strips of leather.
There was a girl in the cell whom I recognised from Ballymun. She also seemed heavily sedated. She mentioned a couple of girls from Ballymun whom I knew well and who were also in Mountjoy. ‘The two of them are in here, up on the top landing. Ye’ll see them in the morning.’
Ah, thank God, I thought. They’ll make sure nothing happens to me. That night I fell asleep desperately trying to distract myself from the sound of two of the girls having sex with each other. I was lying right next to them, cringing in my own skin. I just prayed that they wouldn’t come near me.
_____
‘Breakfast time,’ I heard someone shout the next morning. I had got through my first night in Mountjoy still intact. I walked out onto the corridor and joined the queue for breakfast. I had never in my life seen so many women in one place, all of them in their pyjamas and slippers, walking around as though they owned the place. Then I noticed one of the girls I knew. She was standing at the top of the queue. I was just about to call her, when some girl marched over and viciously flung a pot of boiling hot water over her. She screamed, but no sound came out. Within seconds the screws were over, dragging both of the girls out of my sight, urging us to get our breakfast and to get back to our cells.
Within days I had moved up to the same landing as my friends from Ballymun. Because I was one of her own, my friend, who sold gear on the outside, made sure that I wasn’t left to go through any sickness. I was given fifty mls of Physeptone daily and I quickly settled into life in prison. The majority of women were drug users and got their drugs in through visitors, or sewn into the hem of their clothes. They would anxiously wait in the yard, biting their nails, praying that their visitors wouldn’t let them down with the ‘dropsy’ as it was called. It was as clear as daylight when someone had got drugs in: she would suddenly get an urge to ‘clean her cell’, then she would disappear for about an hour and come back out to the yard, full of beans, with her eyes pinned to the back of her head.
Life in Mountjoy was a real eye-opener. Most of the lifers, or women who were doing long sentences, had the top landing to themselves, making their cells like little bedsits and getting more privileges than the other women. The second landing was for women in custody, who were usually in on drug-related charges. This landing was more chaotic, with women ripping each other off and having fights daily, each woman trying to make a name for herself and become the top dog. The bottom landing was for women who suffered with their mental health and who were kept on twenty-four hour watch. It was a jungle and even the officers sometimes seemed as intimidating as the inmates.
Prisoners were bursting out of the seams in Mountjoy. Even the library had been made into a sleeping area. Those of us who could were advised by the prison officers to put in an affidavit for temporary release. I had been in Mountjoy for a couple of weeks when I was called to see the Governor, Mr Lonergan. ‘You are being granted temporary release, Ms Keogh, on condition that you sign on daily in your local garda station,’ he informed me, before continuing: ‘Do you realise that you stick out like a sore thumb in here? Most of the women in this prison have been coming in and out all their lives. You’re only fifteen and you still have a chance to get yourself off the drugs. I hope I never see you in here again,’ he said.
I ran up to my cell, packed my stuff and raced out of Mountjoy, promising myself that I would never touch another drug for as long as I lived.
Chapter 8
DESPERATE MEASURES
By now I knew in my heart that I was a drug addict, but I was still convinced that I had the power to control it. I’ll neve
r let that happen again, I thought. I was just careless, that’s all. If I only have a smoke of heroin on the weekends, I’ll be ok. But I couldn’t get the taste of heroin out of my mouth or my mind. From the moment I opened my eyes every morning, the thought was there, along with an overriding drive within me to destroy everything in my path. There was a burning anger inside of me that only heroin could ease.
Within days I was back to my old tricks, hanging around with Joanne and my friends in Poppintree, avoiding the gardaí like the plague and stealing anything that we could get our hands on. The last place that I wanted to go back to was Mountjoy and I knew that if I shop-lifted again I would get caught. Also, I was being watched like a hawk in my grandmother’s house, but I needed to find a way to make money. So when an older man, a drug dealer, asked me to have sex with him in exchange for drugs, I reluctantly agreed.
As I made my way over to the man’s flat, I glanced up at Joanne’s window to make sure she couldn’t see where I was going. Once again I was out of my own body, watching my feet carry me towards the door, disconnected from the fact that this was me. He was happy to see me and wasted no time taking me into his bedroom. He handed me a lump of heroin in a bag, then asked me to undress. ‘It’s alright, chicken, relax. C’mon over and lie down beside me,’ he urged.
I wanted to vomit, but I did as he said. With a look of hunger in his eyes he began to touch me in places that made my skin crawl. Then, like a dog, he climbed up on top of me and had sex with me. I lay there with my eyes closed, holding the heroin tightly in my hand and trying to focus on anything but the reality of what was happening. Within minutes it was over and I left his flat, feeling disgusted with myself.
_____
My addiction was taking its toll on my family, particularly on my grandparents and on my uncle Laurence. I was robbing them blind, sneaking other drug addicts into my house and using drugs in my bedroom. My grandfather and Laurence began to drink more because of the stress and my grandmother was beginning to look ill. I was angry with Laurence for leaving me in Cuba and he was angry at me for going back on drugs. We would pass each other on the street without any acknowledgment. I was no longer afraid of my grandfather. I would hear him coming in from the pub, hoping he would start a fight so that I could vent all my pent-up anger on him. My aunts had moved out of home and they now began to avoid coming to visit. They knew they would only hear bad news and see my grandmother upset. I was blind to the damage I was doing and I couldn’t think of anything but my next fix. My grandmother got tired of my apologies and my promises to get clean. She had no choice but to throw me out of the house.
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