Rachel's Holiday
Page 136

Things that I once would have died before being caught doing, brought me great joy. Like visiting my butcher friend, making dinner for my family or going for a walk on the seafront. There was huge pleasure in the simple things. Patrick Kavanagh’s Advent came to me often, the way it had when I first entered the Cloisters. We have tested and tasted too much, lover, through a chink too wide there comes in no wonder.
And I learnt about integrity and loyalty to my friends. I had to, with Helen around. Whenever she answered the phone to any of the NA people, she’d shout ‘Rachel, it’s one of your loser, junkie friends, one of the ones who wasn’t able to hack it.’
In my previous life, I would have submitted to Helen’s – or anyone’s – scorn and terminated contact with the N A person forthwith. But not now.
Occasionally, just for the laugh, I’d say ‘What are you so afraid of, Helen?’ to put the frighteners on her.
Until one day Helen bumped into Nola and me in town.
‘You’re Nola?’ she screeched in palpable disbelief. ‘But you look…’
Nola raised one eyebrow in a questioning gesture that was highly glamorous.
‘You look normal,’ Helen blurted. ‘Better than normal. Lovely. Your hair, your clothes…’
‘That’s nothing, girl,’ Nola said in her sing-song voice. ‘You’d want to see my car.’
‘And her husband,’ I added proudly.
I never once saw Chris at any of the meetings I went to. After a while I stopped looking for him.
Eventually I forgot about him altogether.
Until the night Helen approached me, looking awkward and nervous. Immediately I was worried,
Helen never looked awkward and nervous.
‘What?!’ I barked at her, racked with anxiety.
‘I’ve something to tell you,’ she said.
‘I know,’ I shouted. ‘That’s obvious.’
‘Promise you won’t be cross,’ she beseeched.
I realized something really terrible must have happened.
‘I promise,’ I lied.
‘I’ve got a new boyfriend,’ she said sheepishly.
I almost puked. I no longer wanted him, but I didn’t want him riding my sister when he couldn’t sustain an erection with me.
‘And you know him,’ she said.
I know.
‘He was in your laughing house.’
I know.
‘And I know he’s not supposed to go out with anyone until he’s a year off the jar, but I’m mad about him,’ she wailed. ‘I can’t help it.’
‘Not jar, drugs,’ I said, in a daze.
‘What?’
‘Chris was in for drugs, not drink,’ I said, not knowing why I needed to explain this to her.
‘Chris who?’
‘Chris Hutchinson, your…’ I forced myself to say it. ‘… fella.’
‘No,’ she looked really puzzled. ‘Barry Courtney, my fella.’
‘Barry?’ I mumbled. ‘Barry who?’
‘You all called him Barry the child in the bin,’ she said.
‘But he’s no child,’ she added defensively. ‘He’s man enough for me!’
‘Oh God,’ I said weakly.
‘And what’s all this shite about Chris?’ she demanded. ‘Oh CHRIS!’ she exclaimed. ‘The one who wouldn’t do the anal sex.’
‘Yes.’ I watched her. Somehow I knew something had happened.
‘Did he ever ask you out?’ I asked. ‘And don’t lie to me or I’ll tell Barry’s counsellor that he’s in a relationship and he’ll be forced to break it off with you.’
I watched the struggle on her face.
‘Once,’ she admitted. Ages and ages ago. He came into Club Mexxx off his knob on something.
‘I said no,’ she added quickly.
‘Why?’ I braced myself for pain, but to my surprise felt almost nothing.
‘’Cos he was a creep.’ She shrugged. ‘Giving everyone that “oh you’re so special” shit. He didn’t fool me. Anyway I wouldn’t go out with someone that you’d fiddled and interfered with.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I asked, mortified.
‘Because you were having relapses and getting knocked down and nearly killed and I just thought you’d be better off not knowing,’ she explained.
I had to admit she’d done the right thing, at the time. I could handle it now, though.
69
Autumn whizzed by and the weather got colder and edged into winter.
Something changed. I found I wasn’t angry with Luke or Brigit anymore. I couldn’t pinpoint when it happened, because brotherly love and forgiveness don’t wake you up in the middle of the night and do grand-prix laps in your head, the way vengeance and hatred do.
You don’t lie there, fully awake at five in the morning, grind your teeth and visualize going up to the people you feel really fond of and shaking them by the hand. And saying… and saying… and saying… ‘I’m sorry.’ No wait, and saying ‘I’m really sorry.’ (Yeah, that’d show them.) You don’t lie there and plan that once you’ve done that you’re going to smile warmly. And for a parting shot ask ‘Any chance we might be friends?’
Feelings of softness and fidelity don’t lap at the back of your teeth and make horrible tastes in your mouth.
For the first time I realized how selfish and self-centred I was. How horrendous it must have been for Brigit and Luke, living with me and the chaos I’d created.
I felt unbearably sad for them, for all the misery and worry they’d been put through. Poor Brigit, poor Luke. I cried and cried and cried and cried. And for the first time in my life it wasn’t for me.
With terrible clarity I saw what an ordeal it must have been for them to get on a plane and come to the Cloisters and say what they’d said. Of course, Josephine and Nola and everyone else had been blue in the face telling me that, but I hadn’t been ready to face it until now.
I’d never have admitted I was an addict if Luke and Brigit hadn’t confronted me so violently with the truth. And I was grateful to them.
I remembered the awful final scene with Luke and I now understood his fury.
It had been building up over the weekend. On the Saturday night we’d gone to a party and, while Luke was talking to Anya’s boyfriend about music, I wandered towards the kitchen. Looking for something, anything. Very bored. In the hall I met David, a kind of friend of Jessica’s. He was en route to the bathroom with a small but perfectly formed bag of coke, and he invited me to join him.