Rehab Blues

by Adrian Laing

  “I’ve done you proud, mate, proud.” Ralph enjoyed the thought of the impending reward from his much younger boss and for some reason momentarily thought of himself as an off-coloured pack of sausages still on the shelf, despite its now-past sell-by date.

  “Better be good shit, old boy otherwise you’re for the knackers’ yard.”

  Ralph smiled; he knew Simon’s sweet spot. “I’ve got it all, every tweak and twiddle. Where do you want me to start?”

  Simon moved not one muscle, stared at the old git in front of him and waited for the goods.

  Ralph looked down into the floor and spoke softly. “I was sixteen when I first worked for the Sunday News. Sixteen. I’ve seen them all come and go.” Ralph lifted his eyes to meet to Simon’s. “What keeps it all going is… a great story; nothing more, nothing less. Would you be surprised that daddy bear – David Cooper – is a recovering alcoholic and has done time for fraud? Its gets better. He met the love of his life – mummy bear – when she was working as a prison psychologist, and – wait for it – baby bear, David’s kid, Jason, was a problem child ever since his mother died in a car accident whilst being driven by the drunken daddy bear who has reinvented himself as a Group Operations Director, or ‘god’ to his friends. Couldn’t make it up.”

  Ralph sat back as if waiting for a standing ovation, but Simon wasn’t as naive as he looked.

  “It’s a start, I suppose. But not bad Ralph, not too bad at all; looks like you’ll live another day. Sounds like Judas was worth his twenty pieces of silver, keep him talking. I guess David hasn’t twigged that his best mate is on our pay roll. Get a draft up-and-running and let’s see how this is sizing up. And don’t forget we’re light on the photos’ side. Get that one sorted.”

  “Sure thing, boss. Will do” said Ralph.

  Simon threw Ralph a tightly wrapped small chocolate sweetie from a drawer under his desk. “Good boy, Ralph, good boy.”

  7

  “OK, Listen up Helen and JC.” Both JC and Helen knew when David was in deep serious mode; something was up.

  “I’ve just met with me old mate, Henry Stallard. We’ve a problem brewing and I’m not sure what we’re going to do about it. According to Henry someone’s on to us. I mean us personally. Seems there’s someone doing a lot of digging around. They’ve been in contact with one of our mates from prison. From what I hear they’re so into us they’ve even sent investigators to Tallinn, Helen.”

  “Tallinn? Why send someone to Tallinn? Where’s Tallinn?” JC looked more confused than worried.

  “Tallinn” said Helen “is where I did my doctorate in psychology. It’s the capital of Estonia, JC.”

  JC was still confused. “Yeah, but like so what?”

  David looked at Helen, as parents sometimes do when their kid is about to hear a truth known only to mummy and daddy.

  “OK, JC. I’ve been honest with you all my life. You know my past and you know what happened to your mum.”

  JC looked at his dad with a sense of impending doom.

  “Go on dad… and…”

  “Well, I’m not sure you know all there is to know about Helen, son.”

  JC looked at his dad and Helen with some apprehension. “I know Helen came over from Estonia and got a job in the prison where you were er… staying, Helen was the prison psychologist and that’s how you two met, right?” JC was now more worried than confused.

  “Yeah, that’s all true. It’s just that Helen had a bit of rocky upbringing before she decided to qualify as a psychologist.” David looked at Helen to finish the story.

  “JC, OK, it’s like this. I don’t know how much you know of my past, but it’s not all good.” Helen sighed, deeply. “My father was a well known psychologist in Estonia; his reputation was built on the studies of families – disturbed, disrupted families – and how it affected the children.”

  JC look at Helen as if was about to hear something shocking. “I know about that, but like I said, so what?”

  “Well, my dad seemed to spend all of his time with other families. It made me really rebellious and jealous JC. I mean by the time I was thirteen, going on thirty, I was… well, a bit wild – nothing outrageous by today’s standards. You know JC, the usual.” Helen lowered her head half hoping that might be enough for JC.

  “The usual, Helen? Like drinking vodka, smoking weed… fooling around?”

  “Er, yeah, just about, JC.” Helen paused knowing that if there was a time for a quality confession, then this was the moment.

  “Look, JC. If there’s someone digging around who’s about to come out with all my glorious past, I may as well tell you right now. Here’s the worst of it. When I was about fifteen or sixteen I became aware that men – older men – found me very attractive, sexually attractive. It felt like a way of getting revenge on my dad. And, you know these older men seemed to have a lot of money, and my dad was always mean in that respect. I never felt that I was doing anything wrong, JC.”

  JC’s jaw dropped. “Helen, I get it. Holy shit. And now there’s someone who we think knows all about this – dad’s stuff included, like why you ended up doing time, dad. All that con man business. You’ve told me everything, right? Jesus, put that altogether and that sounds like quite a story to me. I suppose they intend to just print and be damned. I had always thought – naively – that they had no right to drag all that stuff up. So, we’re screwed, that’s what you’re saying. It’s like the end scene from Oliver!, right? I mean we pack our bags and head off into the sunset and start again. Is that it?”

  David placed an arm over his troubled son’s shoulders. “Listen JC, I’ve been through tougher times than this. No, we’re not doing a Fagin, far from it. Listen, it’s business as usual, I’ll work something out, trust me. In the meantime let’s be careful about what telephone messages we leave for each other, OK?”

  ***

  David was beside himself with anticipation. Martin Howler was about to arrive, one of David’s all time favourite players for his life-long favourite football team. He really couldn’t wait.

  “David, could you… calm down a bit. Remember where you are, who we are – you’re expected to be… you know, calm, collected, professional. Stop pacing around. Remember what I’ve always said… ”

  “Yeah, yeah Helen I know,” said David, “‘a celebrity’s just a big kid with attention-seeking issues’. How do you want to play it with Martin? I mean this isn’t the usual scenario is it? He’s not coming because he wants to or feels he has to do. This is one of those press gang type appearances. We’ll have to be very careful; we don’t – you know – want to push him off the edge. Can’t have Martin Howler doing a runner, can we?”

  Helen, as ever, looked very composed, serene even.

  “Let’s be clear how long we’ve got. Two, maybe three days? He has to attend training on Wednesday at the latest, we know that much. So, nothing too heavy. We’ve got to make sure Tracy feels Martin has learnt something. We should start straight away with Tim and Tamara.”

  David’s mobile buzzed. Martin was about one minute away from walking through the door.

  David looked at JC. “First off, JC why don’t you show Martin around? Not everywhere, but enough for Martin to feel he knows The Place. Show Martin his room, settle him down a bit. Try and talk football. Don’t know how you’re going to deal with the match earlier, that’s your challenge son. Just give us enough time to brief T ‘n’ T.”

  David’s door opened and in strolled, tall and cocky, the celebrated premier league striker, Martin Howler, looking every inch the nouveau rich and carefree womaniser he was known to be.

  David practically jumped over to Martin and introduced his son, JC, and then Helen who took swift control.

  “Hi, Martin. Hope the journey wasn’t too bad. I heard your agent drove you down.”

  “Yeah, wasn’t too bad. He’s a great agent
but a crap chauffeur. Thinks ‘Sat-Nav’ is an adult television channel.”

  Helen maintained her professional but friendly look. “My Martin, you do look a lot bigger – and younger – than you appear on television.” Helen looked up into Martin’s deep blue mischievous eyes. “You must be… what… six foot three, six four?”

  Funny you should say that, I get that a lot.” Martin wasn’t too much interested in or good at small talk either. He was, after all, sacrificing a Saturday night – against his will as he saw it – just to keep the peace with the wife. The threat to a very lucrative sponsorship deal was also preying on his mind; these new sponsors were getting quite touchy about bad behaviour, after all Martin was a much-loved family man.

  “Yeah… OK. I mean what happens now? You gonna hypnotise me or something?” Martin was clearly very nervous, which made Helen feel even more relaxed.

  “No, no Martin. Well not right away. Only joking. We’re going to iron out your schedule – still got a bit of work to do there. How about in the meantime JC shows you around, it’ll make you feel more… at home. You’ll be back up North well before next big week’s big training session, promise.”

  Martin visibly relaxed. “Come on Martin, I’ll give you the guided tour, this way.”

  “OK. I suppose I’ll see you both later then.”

  Martin felt a bit awkward as JC ushered him out of David’s office. They were the first people he had met that day who hadn’t mentioned the match earlier. It had been a great game, for the other side. Losing one nil against your arch rivals when you’ve missed two penalties was about as bad as it could get for a star striker. ‘A bad day at the office’ was how the BBC commentator had described Martin’s performance. The home fans weren’t so diplomatic. Martin was grateful for a good excuse to lay low for a couple of days. He could always redeem himself in the next match.

  As JC lead Martin on a guided tour of The Place, Martin was engulfed with a sickness to his stomach which reminded him of two very specific occasions, the first was the feeling he had some years ago, when he was making his name in the reserves. The other time was when he took his wedding vows.

  Martin Howler was for the first time in a long time totally out of his comfort zone.

  ***

  “You ready for this, Richard?”

  “I’m not sure, Helen, don’t really know what a ‘Kaleidoscope Review’ involves, so to be frank, I don’t know whether I’m ready or not. Do we just jump in or do I get to know what it is before we start?”

  “‘KR’ is very simple but very effective, Richard. It doesn’t involve anything else other than honesty and concentration.”

  “Like a marriage, then?”

  Helen smiled and stared deep into Richard’s eyes, which were a lot less weary looking since his arrival at The Place.

  “OK, this is all it involves. I’ve got a specially designed timer here. It’s quite neat, isn’t it? Look I can set a number – let’s take your age. Fifty-one, yes? Right, what happens is that I set the number on the display. I can then set the display to count down from fifty-one to zero in intervals of, say, one minute at a time.”

  Helen pushed a few small buttons on the back of the compact little device which looked like a digital travel alarm clock. On the screen, brightly displayed in red lights was the number ‘51’.

  “OK, Helen, very nice. Looks like an expensive detonator. What are we going to do with it?”

  “As I said, Richard, it’s very simple. You’re going to keep one eye on the number, as displayed. Starting with the number fifty-one and working right back until zero. You’re going to talk about your birthday according to the number displayed. Get it? It’s best if you just talk without thinking – I know that’s difficult for you Richard because you are a thinker. You’ve told me already Richard that every year, as your birthday approaches, you feel more and more depressed, suicidal even. By the time you leave The Place I want you to be looking forward to your next birthday. Is that so ambitious for such a successful, handsome man like you? So, we’re going to start off with your last birthday. Tell me anything you want – for a minute – about your last birthday. For example, where you are, who you are with, any presents you can remember, any specific incidents that come to mind. Most important of all is to try and remember – on balance – whether you were happy, or not. Does that all make sense? It’s just a game. Shall we have a go? I’ll be making some notes as we go along, so just keep talking – you enjoy talking, don’t you, Richard?”

  Helen pressed a button and the game started.

  8

  The basement room of The Place had been the subject of great debate in the early design stages. Helen always had the last word on the matter, not least because it was her money that paid for it. The room had to be adaptable for several purposes: as a dance studio, a theatre-like room for psychodramas, a dining room and a space that could be adapted for all manner of group activities. Group therapy sessions took many forms, but Helen had understood from the beginning that most of the guests, at one time or another, would have experienced or be familiar with old-fashioned confessional-type encounters, favoured from Alcoholics Anonymous to slimming clubs. It was called ‘The Encounter Area’ for good reason.

  On one wall was a row of mirrors which were great for the dance and exercise sessions. When a more intimate atmosphere was needed, a discreet curtain could be pulled across the mirrors making the room feel far smaller and quite intimate, particularly when the carefully controlled lighting was used to full effect.

  For a group therapy session with Tim and Tamara it worked well to start with the curtains drawn. If the session progressed to an exercise session, the curtains would be pulled across the mirrors.

  Behind one of the wooden panels on the wall facing the mirrors was a storage area which housed a variety of props. All that was needed today was six lightweight armless but sturdy folding chairs, enough for Tim, Tamara, Martin, Annie, Betty and Toni.

  Tamara had already placed the six chairs to form a generously-sized circle. By the time the guests had arrived both Tim and Tamara had already taken their seats directly opposite one another, Tamara’s back deliberately facing the door through which the guests would arrive.

  Neither Tim nor Tamara stood up when Martin, Annie, Betty and Toni walked into the Encounter Area; instead they waited, silently, for the group to decide where they would sit. This process of settling down always taught Tamara a great deal about each and every member of the group.

  Martin appeared confused. Initially he could only see the back of Tamara’s head. Thinking that the lady was quite young he had decided to sit next to her, but when he had seen enough to realise that Tamara was on the wrong side of fifty, he ignored her and sat next to Tim.

  The others took their places, Betty appearing reluctant to place her full weight on what appeared to be a lightweight chair that might collapse under the strain of her weight.

  Tim and Tamara waited until everyone was seated; the absence of any ‘meet and greet’ small talk created an immediate and growing sense of anticipation.

  Tamara was ready to break the ice.

  “OK. Hi, everyone. I’m Tamara, over there is Tim.”

  Tim sort of waved to the group with an inane grin, looking as he intended: cool and groovy as if on his way to a 70s disco party. True to form, Tim was dressed in tight floral-patterned trousers and a loose-fitting, light mauve coloured, frilly, open-necked shirt matched by his soft suede moccasin shoes.

  “Now, I’ve already met Toni and I recognise one or two of you,” said Tamara knowing she would be safe with that line.

  “I’m not sure exactly what Helen or JC may have told you about me and Tim – we’re known as ‘T ‘n’ T’ by the way – but our thing is dealing with – well – addressing – issues of addiction, mostly addiction to sex, but addiction takes many forms, you know.”

  Betty tried not to
move one little bit in case her precarious perch collapsed, but decided she could get away with putting her hand up. Betty had wanted to say ‘what in god’s name has sex addiction got to do with me’ but the penny dropped, a bit late, that this T ‘n’ T double act had her covered.

  “Yes, Betty… what do you want to share?”

  “Er, nothing really, right now. I was… er… wondering if I could have a bigger seat… you know I’m feeling a bit vulnerable on top of being a bit big.”

  Tim had an idea. “I know, I’ll get some cushions and stuff and we can all sort of sit around, instead of being on chairs.”

  “Oh, Tim” said Tamara, “you’re just so sweet and thoughtful. Don’t you think so everyone?”

  Within a few minutes the group had reconvened having selected various cushions, bean bags and even an exercise ball which Martin tried to lean on until he gave up and lounged on the floor.

  “Now, are we all comfy?” asked Tamara looking at Betty who was implausibly sitting on a few scattered cushions, looking far from comfortable.

  “OK, now let’s introduce ourselves, properly, one by one. I’ll start with myself.”

  Betty squelched around a bit trying to find a comfortable position, wondering how this could get any worse.

  Tamara was off. “I’m sixty-five years old. Sixty-five.” Tamara let the number hang in the air until everyone present expressed some degree of disbelief. “I didn’t find happiness in my life until I was well over forty. In a way I can see now that my happiness started when men no longer wanted me just for sex.” Tamara paused and looked over at Tim as if that was his cue.

  “Tamara’s a wonderful person, absolutely wonderful. She’s endured all manner of hardships and pain but still her beautiful soul shines bright, clear for all to see.”