Die of Shame (29 page)

Twice, Chris has walked from Holland Park tube station to Ladbroke Grove and back again. He thinks that certain buildings and shopfronts are a bit like others he has seen recently, notices that a newspaper seller looks familiar, but is otherwise oblivious to the details of his journey or the fact that he is repeating it. Most of the time he is looking down at the ground moving beneath him. He doesn’t step aside for people. He doesn’t distinguish between the pavement and the road and he is unaware that when he stops to stare into shop windows – at naked mannequins with no arms or electrical goods or the reflection that looks like a ghost – he is sometimes standing there for ten or fifteen minutes at a time.

He can’t even remember how he came to be in west London to begin with.

He remembers that at some point there was a phone conversation with Woody and he supposes that he was the one who had made the call. A promise to hook him up again that’s probably worth nothing, but it’s all he has.

He’s coming down, but still high enough, and he’s smart enough to know that now’s the time to arrange his next fix. He’s been caught out like that plenty of times before. Call me whatever you like, he thinks, but you can’t accuse me of not planning ahead.

Whatever you like…

Gutless arsehole.
 

Waste of DNA.
 

Sad, stupid fucker.
 

These are among the many bad things he calls himself as he trudges the streets, but they’re only words; just sounds that are immediately lost inside his head. Wheeling away into the darkness as other ideas, other certainties speed into focus, and stick.

She
did this, not me. She wanted this to happen.

‘Watch yourself, mate.’

He stops and looks at the man whose shoulder he has banged into. A man with a big, silly shoulder bag and a blue hat. Bag man… stupid hat man. Angry twat in a twatty hat.

He can’t help laughing.

‘You’re not looking where you’re going.’

‘She tell you that, did she?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Yeah, well she’s always got loads of opinions,’ Chris says, unaware quite how loudly he is speaking. ‘Plenty to say about other people, but maybe she needs to look at herself a bit more, don’t you reckon? Stop making other people do things they don’t want to, because the fact is she hasn’t thought it through. Because she’s selfish and maybe she wants other people to do these things, to face up to all the crap in their lives, when they were kids, whatever, because actually she’s too scared to do them herself.’ He nods, holds up a hand. ‘Don’t worry, you don’t need to say anything to her, because I’m going to tell her all this myself tomorrow night. Right to her filthy stupid face in her precious circle…’

The man is out of sight well before Chris has finished, but in the few seconds before he had hurried away Chris had recognised the look. The man had been frightened, white-faced with it he was, below the peak of that twatty hat.

Chris laughs again and moves on.

A skinny little poof like me and now all of a sudden I’m dangerous
…
 

Plenty of looks as he walks. Some of it’s down to his face, he knows that, the bruises you can still see from half a mile away, but mostly it’s the general… state of him. Shock, anger, revulsion, all the old favourites. Sympathy even, now and again, and he thinks that goes to show how sound a lot of people are, well in London, anyway. It’s funny how quickly he’s become used to those looks again and how, just like before, the only one he can’t stomach is pity.

He’s got more than enough of that for himself, thank you very much.

He crosses one road and then another, heading aimlessly back towards Ladbroke Grove and racking his brains for alternatives if Woody doesn’t come up with the goods.

Dredging up names, characters.

Spike, Billy Whizz, that mental bloke in Dalston who always carried a briefcase with a knife in it…

Waiting for lights to change he walks on the spot, then freezes when he sees them talking outside a coffee shop. A pair of them and he’s pretty sure already, but when one glances across at him he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that they’re Drugs Squad. He knows that they’re watching him and that they’ve probably been following him for ages already.

It’s a good job he hasn’t scored yet.

It’s ridiculous how obvious it is, the leather jackets and the casual chat and he can’t believe they’re being so blatant about it.

He wonders if this is down to her as well.

Easier to grass me up, he thinks, to get me tugged, than look me in the eye.

He’s sweating anyway, but suddenly it’s like he’s dripping with it. He knows he has to get away fast and the instant the lights change he’s across the road and taking a sharp right into Lansdowne Crescent. He is trying not to run, to attract any attention, and every few feet he checks to see that the coppers aren’t following.

When he’s sure he’s lost them, he stops and ducks into a driveway, and he doesn’t start moving again until his heart has stopped hammering. Instantly he’s thrilled that he’s outsmarted the Feds, and, when he clocks the number of the house, he’s absurdly delighted that he’s only a few doors away from the hotel where Jimi Hendrix died.

That he gets how ironic it is.

Chris starts walking again, heading on a roundabout route towards Shepherd’s Bush now, though he doesn’t know it, or care. He makes the effort to keep his head up, because now he knows they’re on to him he needs to be careful. It’s never a good thing to be pulled in by the police, but today it’s really the last thing he needs.

Not when tomorrow’s his chance to tell Little Miss Pain-Isn’t-Shameful exactly what he thinks. When he gets to show her what she’s done and what she’s responsible for.

When Lucky Heather’s going to get everything she deserves.

‘You fancy going in?’ Caroline asks.

‘For real?’

They’re standing in the courtyard outside St Paul’s church in Covent Garden. Someone on their way inside has told them it’s called the actors’ church, but having hung around for ten minutes they have yet to see anybody they recognise.

‘Yeah, we could. It
is
Sunday.’

‘Still…’

‘Come on,’ Caroline says. ‘For all we know Benedict Cumberbatch is on his knees in there.’ She giggles and Heather does likewise, until finally she shakes her head.

‘It’s not really my thing.’

‘OK.’

‘Sorry.’ Heather hunches her shoulders, a little embarrassed. ‘I did try once, but I just thought it was all a bit creepy.’ She stares up at the large clock above the portico. ‘Plus, I prefer getting help from someone I can actually see, you know?’

‘Makes sense.’

‘I didn’t even know you were religious.’

‘I’m not really,’ Caroline says. ‘Robin was telling me about it, that’s all. He goes now and again, I think. Well, it’s a bit of a thing with a lot of them in NA, apparently. A higher power and all that. I don’t think he’s a proper God-botherer or anything, but he says it helps him. So…’

‘I’ll wait,’ Heather says. ‘If you want to go in.’

Caroline looks as though she’s thinking about it. Then she says, ‘No, sod it.’ She tosses her hair back. ‘Benedict’s prayers are not getting answered today.’

Heather laughs.

‘Be just my luck though, wouldn’t it? If he
was
in there and it turns out he’s actually a chubby-chaser.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yeah.’ Caroline puts an arm through Heather’s. ‘Come on, let’s go back to the piazza, take the piss out of a few mime artists.’

They walk back up towards the tube, the street crowded with tourists, gathering in large groups ahead of them around the station entrance. They hear accents which sound eastern European, others which are probably Scandinavian. There are a good many jester’s hats and backpacks on display and, judging by the way the sky is rapidly darkening, it seems as if the umbrellas being held aloft by tour guides might soon come in handy.

‘Here we go,’ Caroline says.

They stop at the edge of a small crowd enjoying the sporadic antics of an elaborately made-up ‘robot’. It squawks whenever someone poses for a selfie, and each time someone drops a coin into the small box at its feet it moves a little.

They watch the routine for a few minutes, then, a little too loudly, Caroline says, ‘Do you think if we stuck a fiver in his box he might piss off and get himself a proper job?’

Heather grins, shushing, then starts to laugh at the look of fierce disapproval from a woman standing next to them. The woman shakes her head and leads her two entranced toddlers away.

‘Seriously,’ Caroline says.

The robot emits a squawk of disappointment when the first, fat drops of rain begin to discolour the ground around him. Umbrellas go up quickly and the crowd starts to disperse.

‘Shall we get something to eat?’ Caroline asks, as they begin to move.

‘I’m a bit skint,’ Heather says.

‘It’s on me.’

‘That’s not fair.’

‘Not a problem,’ Caroline says. ‘It’s amazing how much you can save when you live on raw carrots and lettuce leaves all week.’

They pick up speed as the rain gets heavier, Heather moving ahead, then slowing to wait for Caroline to catch her up.

‘I could murder a Big Mac.’

‘Me too, but I thought —’

‘That’s the whole point.’ Caroline waves the concern away. She’s walking as fast as she can, but other pedestrians are going past as though she’s standing still. ‘If I eat like a rabbit all week, I can treat myself at the weekend.’

When the real downpour begins, they follow others into the station to wait it out. Caroline pushes through the soaking crowd and manages to find them a space against the wall.

‘Bollocks.’ Her shirt, patterned with flowers, is plastered to her arms and chest and she starts to pick at the sopping material. Heather is trying not to stare at the black bra that is clearly visible beneath; the sturdy cups she could fit her head inside.

‘Doesn’t matter.’ Heather smiles and drags fingers through her hair. ‘It’s only water.’

Caroline stares at her. ‘What’s the matter with you today?’

‘How d’you mean?’

‘You sure you haven’t taken a few too many happy pills?’

Heather shrugs. ‘Just in a good mood, that’s all. Any reason I shouldn’t be?’

‘No, but your mood’s not usually
this
good.’ Caroline leans back against the wall. ‘And, you know, the way the last session ended.’

‘A lot can happen in a week,’ Heather says.

Caroline turns to look at her.

‘I met up with Tony.’

‘What does that mean? “Met up.”’

‘He reckons I’d make a good therapist, so we had lunch and he talked to me about it, that’s all.’

Caroline waits and watches Heather’s eyes dart away from her own. ‘That’s
so
not all.’

‘We had lunch, then we just walked about for a while.’

‘Did something happen?’ It’s clear that Caroline has forgotten all about being drenched and uncomfortable.

‘Yeah, if you like.’ Heather wraps arms around herself, clutches her wet suede sleeves, unable to keep the smile from her face. ‘Something.’

‘What?’

Pedestrians are still crowding into the station to avoid the rain and, as the crowd shoves and thickens, a man is pushed against Caroline. She swears at him and pushes back, hard. Ignoring the muttered apology, she turns to look at Heather again, waiting to be told.

There is still an empty chair in the circle, but Tony insists they begin. Heather asks again if they can wait a while longer, but Tony refuses, reminding her that group members need to arrive on time.

‘It’s not fair though,’ she says. ‘It’s my turn this week… you know, to talk about shame, and I really wanted him to be here. I made such a big deal about him doing it.’

‘You didn’t pressure him,’ Tony says. ‘It looked like support to me.’

‘That’s right,’ Diana says. ‘And remember what you got for your trouble.’

‘Outside the group, I mean. I nagged him.’

‘Rules are rules,’ Robin says.

Tony nods and says, ‘I’m sorry.’ The truth is that he has been half expecting this after the way Chris had left at the end of the last session. The rage and the blame. That slammed door had felt fairly permanent.

‘I think you’re the only one who’s bothered,’ Caroline says. ‘That he’s not here.’

‘Yeah, because it’s my fault.’

‘That’s stupid.’

‘Has anyone spoken to him since last week?’ Tony asks.

Heads are shaken, but it’s only Heather’s gesture that seems sorrowful.

‘OK. Well, I’ll call him again tomorrow,’ Tony says. ‘But for now, we need to crack on. Heather?’

‘I’m not sure I want to do it now.’

Robin sighs, loudly.

‘Well, it’s up to you, of course.’

‘You’re being stupid,’ Caroline says.

‘Shut up,’ Heather says.

‘Nobody else made a fuss.’

‘You haven’t even done it yet.’

‘Why don’t you tell him in private, if it’s so bloody important?’

‘Caroline’s right,’ Diana says.

Tony raises a finger and waits until they are all looking at him. ‘Look, it’s Heather’s call, ultimately, but whatever happens, I don’t want this session to be all about the one member who isn’t here. We’re —’

All heads turn when the doorbell rings and all eyes follow Tony as he gets up and hurries from the room. Walking through the kitchen towards the front door, he can hear Robin grumbling loudly behind him.

‘Somebody wants to make an entrance…’

The bell rings again just as Tony opens the door and it only takes him a second to see what’s happening. Before he can say anything, Chris is already past him, moving quickly, and by the time Tony gets back to the conservatory, he is sitting on his chair. Arms folded. Good as gold.

Tony remains standing. He takes a breath, then steps across until he is standing next to Chris. He says, ‘You can’t stay, you know that.’

Chris lifts his head slowly, says, ‘This is my chair.’

Tony looks down at him, well aware there’s little point in asking the usual question. Chris has clearly not had a good week, a good day, a good hour.

Eyes like glass beads and the smack-sweat stink.

‘Has she done her bit, yet?’ Chris waves a hand in Heather’s direction. His words are slow, if not quite slurred, but the effort involved in preventing it is apparent. ‘I didn’t want to miss her
amazing
story, whatever the hell it is.’

‘Jesus, Chris,’ Heather says.

Chris suddenly leans so far forward that it looks as if he might tumble off his chair. He says, ‘
Jesus
, Heather.’

‘You need to go,’ Tony says.

Chris puts a hand on the floor to steady himself, then uses it to push himself back upright. ‘This is my chair, though,’ he says.

Robin stands up. ‘Do you want me to give you a hand, Tony?’

‘Yes, for God’s sake throw him out,’ Diana says.

‘It’s fine.’ Tony leans closer as Chris’s head starts to drop. ‘You know how this works, Chris. I can’t allow you to be part of the session when you’re like this. So, just leave and I’ll talk to you tomorrow, OK?’

‘Well, I think he should be thrown out permanently,’ Diana says.

‘That’s not how it works,’ Tony says, sharply.

‘Just look at him.’

‘The tendency to relapse is part and parcel of the disorder, OK? It is not a failure. Yes, I need to remove him from this session, but no, I’m certainly not going to give up on him, in the same way that I wouldn’t give up on any of you.’

Diana says something else, and then Robin chips in and for a minute or two, they talk about Chris as if he isn’t there, which to all intents and purposes is the situation, until finally Heather raises her voice.

‘Please let him stay.’

Tony looks at her.

‘Just for… ten minutes, all right? Just let me say what I need to say and then he can go.’ She looks at the others in the group. ‘I mean, as long as he doesn’t open his mouth, as long as he doesn’t contribute to the session in any way, then what’s the harm? I just need him to be here so I can do this, that’s all. Can’t we just bend the rules, just a bit, you know? Ten minutes, that’s all, I swear, and then I don’t care if you kick him out on his stupid junkie arse.’ Now she looks back to Tony. ‘Please, Tony. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.’

Tony thinks for a few seconds, then slowly shakes his head, but it’s more in disbelief than refusal. He says, ‘It’s up to the rest of the group.’

Heather looks across at Diana, because she knows that’s where the greatest resistance is. ‘I’m asking, Diana. Just ten minutes.’

Diana takes a moment and is about to speak when Caroline says, ‘Oh, I couldn’t care less. Let’s just get on with it.’

‘Only until Heather’s finished her story,’ Robin says. ‘And as long as he keeps his mouth shut.’

Diana sits back slowly and flashes a thin smile in Heather’s direction. ‘It’s your funeral.’

Tony says, ‘All right then,’ and sits down. He’s by no means sure that Chris is even aware what’s happening, but he repeats the ground rules to him anyway, a little louder than he might otherwise. He tells him that if he is carrying any drugs on him he must take them outside and leave them there, but Chris shakes his head. Then, just as Tony is reaching down to pick up his notebook, Chris looks up suddenly.

He stares at Heather and appears to focus.

Tony sets his notebook a little nervously on his lap. He takes a last long look at Chris, then gives Heather the nod.