Die of Shame (2 page)

‘I’ll go first.’ Robin blushes slightly as all eyes turn to him. ‘Well, somebody has to kick things off, don’t they?’

‘Thanks, Robin.’ Tony scribbles something in the notebook he keeps on his lap. ‘Like I say, think about it and we’ll see how it goes. It’s not a regime, it’s just a suggestion.’

‘Can I say something about the “here and now”?’ Diana asks.

Tony nods, suppressing a smile. Whenever possible he tries to guide his clients from the ‘there and then’ to the ‘here and now’: to talk about the way things are in the present; their current lives as former addicts. Diana is, in many ways, a model client and is always keen to prove it. She has a noticeable habit of parroting Tony’s favourite phrases and buzzwords back at him.

‘Well, allowing for the fact that by “here and now” I mean yesterday, there was an incident in the supermarket I’d like to talk about, if everyone’s OK with that.’

Heather, Caroline and Robin say that they are. Chris slaps his hand to his chest and says, ‘Oh my God, had Waitrose run out of mangoes again?’

‘My friend called me when I was in there,’ Diana says, ignoring him. ‘She was the one who first told me what my husband was up to. She’d seen him in a restaurant with his little bit on the side, you know?’ Her mouth tightens briefly. ‘Anyway… it must just have been that association or whatever it was. Like a sense memory or something, because without choosing to, I suddenly found myself standing in the aisle with all the booze…’

Caroline, Heather and Diana walk up to Muswell Hill Broadway. Caroline had suggested the Starbucks nearby, but to her great surprise the other two told her they always went to the pub after a session, and clearly, sticking to a routine is important to them. ‘There are some groups where you’d never be allowed to go somewhere “wet”,’ Heather said. ‘The pub, I mean. Tony’s a bit more relaxed about that kind of thing, as long as there’s more than one of us.’

‘I could never go into a pub on my own,’ Diana had said.

Even though she’s the only one with no history of alcohol abuse, and despite the others declaring that they have no problem if she wants a glass of wine or whatever, Caroline insists on buying a round of soft drinks.

‘I know how I feel sometimes, if I’m watching someone putting a massive plate of fish and chips away,’ she says.

They sit around a small table in the corner. Heather points out a bigger one, tells Caroline that’s where they usually sit, if it’s free and the whole group have come along. ‘Robin and Chris come most of the time,’ she says. ‘Robin a bit more than Chris, probably.’ Fifteen minutes earlier, leaving Tony’s house, Robin had apologised and told them that he had an appointment, while Chris had jammed earbuds in and walked quickly away, clearly not in the mood for socialising.

‘Yeah, what’s his problem anyway?’ Caroline asks. ‘Chris.’

Heather rolls her eyes and looks at Diana. ‘Bloody hell, where do we start?’

‘You were right about him being needy,’ Caroline says.

‘He just wants attention all the time,’ Heather says. ‘Likes to show off.’

‘Still no excuse for being rude though.’ Diana tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. An expensive cut and dye job matches the high-end make-up which had been reapplied on the walk from Tony’s. Her dove grey tracksuit, aside from being a fraction of the size, looks a damn sight more expensive than the one Caroline had bought at Sports Direct. ‘Mind you, he would never admit to being an arsehole, he’d just say he was being “waspish”.’

‘He’s gay, right?’ Caroline asks.

‘Oh yeah, very.’

‘You just wait,’ Heather says. ‘A few sessions in and you’ll be sick to death of hearing about Chris’s bloody sex life. He likes to throw in as much graphic detail as possible, you know?’

‘He thinks he’s being shocking,’ Diana says. She mimes an exaggerated yawn. ‘All part of the attention thing. Actually, much as he gets on my tits, I think it’s just a defence mechanism. You know, a wall he puts up.’

‘He was just having a pop at you because you’re new,’ Heather says. ‘Wanted to see if you could take it.’

Caroline sips her mineral water. ‘I can look after myself. I’ve had plenty of it over the years.’

‘Yeah, I bet,’ Heather says.

The pub is getting busier, noisier, and Caroline has to lean in to make herself heard without raising her voice. ‘Robin seems nice, though.’

‘He is,’ Diana says. ‘He’s very… keen.’

‘So are you,’ Heather says.

Diana reddens. ‘You know what I mean. Like volunteering to go first with this whole shame thing.’

‘Yeah, well.’ Heather gives Diana a knowing look.

‘Is that a South African accent he’s got?’ Caroline asks.

Heather nods. ‘He came over when he was a teenager, I think. Went to university over here.’

‘He
is
a doctor or he
was
a doctor?’

‘He still is,’ Diana says. ‘But he stopped for a while.’

‘What he was saying about how easy it was to get drugs?’ Heather slowly stirs the ice in her drink with a straw as she speaks. ‘When it got really bad he used to do this whole drug diversion thing, yeah? So, he’d give his patient a bit, find some excuse to leave the room, shoot a bit in his own arm then go back and give his patient the rest.’ She sees the shock on Caroline’s face. ‘I know, sharing needles and all that, but it happens all the time according to Robin. With anaesthetists especially. Anyway, turns out he gave a few of his patients hepatitis C, which, you know, you can die from, and that was when he realised he needed to clean his act up.’

‘He wasn’t caught?’

‘No, but he knew it was only a matter of time, so he took a “sabbatical” for a year and sorted his life out. Amazing, really.’

Diana nods her agreement. ‘Robin’s very passionate about being in recovery, very motivated. Still goes to a lot of meetings. NA and so on.’

‘What about you?’

Diana shakes her head.

‘Me neither,’ Heather says. ‘Just Tony’s sessions. I meditate as well…’

Caroline thinks for a few seconds. ‘What you were saying, about the moment Robin knew he needed to get clean or whatever? It was one particular photo for me. I couldn’t bear to look at it. That and chucking down tramadol like they were Smarties.’

‘Different for everyone, I suppose,’ Diana says. ‘There was one really bad week, I couldn’t get the lid on the recycling bin. All the empties, you know?’

Heather lays a hand on top of Diana’s, just for a second or two. ‘I knew a junkie in rehab who decided to get clean when his mum died and the family wouldn’t let him see the body.’

Caroline looks confused. ‘Sorry, I don’t…?’

‘They thought he might steal the jewellery they were laying her to rest with. Yeah… that’s probably the worst one I’ve ever heard.’

‘Jesus…’

Heather finishes what’s left of her drink, then goes to the bar to get another round. She’s short, thinner even than Diana, but there’s little in the way of make-up and she has made no attempt to hide the smattering of grey in hair that is closely cropped. She wears skinny jeans and trainers, a sweatshirt under a bright orange puffa jacket.

‘You got any kids?’ Caroline asks.

‘One,’ Diana says. ‘Grown up now, more or less.’ She digs into her handbag for her phone. She stabs and scrolls, then leans forward to show Caroline a few pictures. ‘She’s in her second year at Exeter.’

‘Empty nest,’ Caroline says.

‘Very.’ For a few seconds Diana scratches at a stain on the table with a scarlet fingernail. ‘What about you?’

‘No, but I want to.’

‘Well, you’ve got plenty of time.’

‘Yeah.’

‘What are you… thirty-something?’

‘I’m twenty-seven.’

‘Oh… sorry.’

‘Doesn’t matter, and you’re right, I’ve got loads of time.’

Heather comes back with the drinks, muttering about the barman taking his time to serve her because she wasn’t buying alcohol. She pushes Caroline’s Diet Coke across, says, ‘What were you two gassing about then?’

‘Kids,’ Caroline says. ‘You got any?’

Heather blinks and hands Diana a glass. ‘Always meant to, but it’s hard isn’t it, when the only meaningful relationship you’ve ever really had is with a chemical?’ She sits down. ‘It would be great, but you know, time’s running out and buggered if I’m using a turkey baster.’ She produces two packets of crisps from her pockets and tosses them on to the table. ‘Hope you don’t mind these. I’m starving.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ Caroline says. ‘You were fine about me having a drink if I wanted one.’

‘Sure?’

‘I think I can cope with people putting away a couple of bags of cheese and onion.’

Heather smiles, showing teeth that are far too straight and white to be natural. She tears open both bags of crisps lengthways and nudges one towards Diana.

Caroline watches them each digging in. ‘I was thinking… bearing in mind that whole “what’s said in the circle” thing, are we OK to talk about some of this stuff? You know, what you were saying about Chris and Robin.’

Diana grunts and quickly finishes chewing. ‘Long as it’s still within the group, it’s fine, I think.’ She looks to Heather. ‘It’s talking to outsiders about the group that’s not allowed.’

‘It’s nothing Robin wouldn’t happily tell you himself anyway,’ Heather says.

Caroline nods. ‘It’s kind of like when they bend the rules in
Big Brother
, isn’t it? You can’t talk about the nominations to anyone else, you know, why you’ve nominated someone, but you can sort of talk… generally about them.’

‘I’ve never seen it,’ Diana says. ‘It’s a bit like experimenting on rats in a cage from what I’ve heard.’

Caroline laughs. ‘Trust me, that session tonight made the
Big Brother
house look like happy families or something.’

‘I thought it was all pretty relaxed tonight,’ Heather says. ‘Chris aside, obviously.’

‘So, come on then, tell me about Big Brother.’ Caroline grins and reaches across to take a handful of crisps.

‘Tony?’ Diana leans back, thinks about it. ‘He’s an interesting bloke, but he doesn’t give a lot away. Well, you can’t really, can you, doing what he does? They have to draw a line, I suppose, not allow their clients to get too close.’ She turns to Heather again. ‘You’ve been going the longest, what do you think?’

‘His family’s from Sri Lanka,’ Heather says. ‘But he was brought up in Scotland, I mean you can hear that, right? I know he used to be a bit of a songwriter, might still be for all I know. That’s what the piano’s about.’

‘We still don’t know who’s playing it though, do we?’ Caroline says.

‘Well, we do know he’s married, or has a girlfriend. We saw her once, when she came into the kitchen, didn’t we?’ Diana nods. ‘I don’t think Tony was best pleased, remember?’

‘He went a bit quiet,’ Diana says.

‘There’s a bit of stuff on Google if you want to have a look, but not much. The various therapy associations he’s a member of, all that.’ Heather nods. ‘I did find one of his songs on YouTube once.’

‘Was it any good?’ Caroline asks.

‘All right, I suppose.’

‘Oh, I quite liked it,’ Diana says.

Heather pulls a face. ‘It was too hippyish for me. A bit James Bluntish.’

‘Is that rhyming slang?’ Caroline says.

Diana spits mineral water on to the table, which makes Heather laugh even more than she has been. When she has stopped laughing, Heather says, ‘You are going to fit right in…’

An hour later, watching Diana walk back to where she’d left her car, Caroline says, ‘She did well, didn’t she? That wobble she had in the supermarket, staying strong, or whatever you want to call it.’

Heather shrugs. ‘We all have wobbles.’

‘I suppose.’

Having established that they are heading in the same general direction, they turn and begin walking towards the bus stop.

‘You know, people or places that set you off,’ Heather says. ‘Stress is one of the worst things, money problems or whatever. Or it can just be something bad happening.’ Hearing the familiar rumble of a diesel engine, she turns to see a bus coming. ‘Shit.’ With the stop still fifty yards away she looks at Caroline, but it’s clear that, for one of them at least, running to make the bus is never going to be an option.

‘You go,’ Caroline says.

‘No, it’s fine.’

They carry on walking, say nothing as the bus sails past them.

‘Thanks,’ Caroline says.

‘It’s fine, I don’t mind waiting.’

‘No, I mean for being nice. Saying I’d fit in and everything.’

‘Well, you will.’

‘Hope so.’ Caroline smiles. ‘I’m really looking forward to getting to know you.’

Heather hums, non-committal suddenly.

‘What?’

‘Probably not a very good idea.’ Heather shakes her head, walks on with her head down. ‘If you knew me, you really wouldn’t like me.’

The escort had not been the one whose picture he’d chosen, but it had happened before and this one was pretty enough, so he hadn’t been overly bothered. He
had
been a little annoyed that, in the usual broken English, she’d demanded more money for a few of the things he’d wanted, especially as she’d specifically promoted those services on the agency’s website. It always amused him that these things were advertised in code. Did people seriously think that CIM might stand for ‘covered in mud’ or that ‘watersports’ had anything at all to do with boats?

Once she has gone, Robin takes a shower; his second one in an hour, since the girl had insisted on him showering before they’d got down to business. Again, all pretty standard. He changes the sheets, as there seems little point in being clean and climbing into soiled linen later on. He microwaves a lasagne, and once he’s eaten, he stretches out on the sofa in his dressing gown, listening to Duke Ellington and trying not to think about how much he would enjoy a large glass of red right about now.

A nice shot of fentanyl or methadone.

Tonight’s session with Tony had gone well, he thinks. The new girl seems sweet enough and, lying there, he wonders how she might react if he were to have a quiet word in private with her, talk her through some medically approved weight-loss treatments he would be able to recommend. On reflection, it’s probably not a good idea. She’s almost certainly on one diet or another anyway, and if she took offence it could make future sessions a little tricky. He likes to get on well with everyone, however difficult that is sometimes.

He is feeling slightly anxious about having put himself forward for the shame session the following week. He was only trying to help Tony out, because he could see that nobody else was in any rush to volunteer. He tells himself to keep calm about it, that he’s got a week to think about how best to tell the story, that it will all go OK. The other reason he’d spoken up was because he’d known it would irritate Chris, which was always rather fun. Poisonous little so-and-so doesn’t like him, has a problem with the way Robin talks about his recovery. Chris is not a fan of the twelve-step approach, of the passion and the proselytising. Robin asks himself why he even gives someone like that a second thought. After all, you did whatever worked and stuff anyone else if they didn’t like it. How could Robin be any other way, considering where he’d been and where he was now? How close he’d come to losing everything.

Not that there hadn’t been a heavy price to pay.

He’d just about escaped with his career, but more or less everything else had gone. Almost thirty years married, his wife had known what was happening very early on of course and had made it clear that it was her or the drugs. Gave him a simple choice, unaware that it was a contest she couldn’t win. It had been ugly and rancorous, but how could he have expected anything else?

They had already been through so much together.

He had been furious at the time, as the scale of his losses had started to become clear, but somewhere between the lines of those legal letters and in the pauses during those frosty phone conversations there was always the suspicion that his wife could send a letter to the General Medical Council any time she felt like it, have him struck off in a heartbeat. So, in the end, he’d been left with little choice other than caving in to everything her hatchet-faced solicitor had demanded. Thankfully, he’d clung on to his job by the skin of his teeth and had salted just enough away for a one-bedroom flat in an area that wasn’t completely hideous.

He’d made the best of it, started again.

He looks around. The place is clean and well laid out, it has everything he needs, but Christ, it’s so pathetically small. He has nobody but himself to blame, of course, but he can’t help remembering. He would be inhuman if he didn’t miss his study, his garden, his dog.

It’s a struggle sometimes, not to be bitter, even if that goes against everything he’s learned and come to believe about recovery. He has always tried to abide by the programme, though in at least one respect he knows that he’s cheated. Making amends to those you’ve hurt is a step that’s important and it sounds so straightforward; seems so easy when it’s just a heading on a blackboard or a flip chart. But he has still not been brave enough to check on those patients he’d infected. He’s far too scared about what he might discover.

It had been a death that had tipped him over the edge; that still lured him back towards it every day of his life. Any more deaths would be impossible to live with.

Robin closes his eyes, and when he opens them again an hour later, the music has finished and he’s breathing heavily, sweaty beneath his dressing gown. Climbing into bed, he can still taste the girl, can smell her perfume on the headboard, and he lies there wondering why he bothered changing the sheets.