The Right Treatment (2 page)

“Well done, you. I am so proud of you. You always had it in you,” he said, kissing her with delight. Honestly, that moment was even better than getting his own results to him because he didn’t have her obstacles—learning difficulties or parental difficulties. Through sheer grit and determination, his Aoife had just bought herself a much brighter future.

Matt had to go back to Galway to work the night shift. With the excitement of the results, the opportunity to discuss the previous night never came up and he had to leave on unfinished business. The next time he returned to Miltown Malbay, Aoife was already hooked up with one of her classmates and he knew he had missed his chance. What he didn’t know is that would be the last time he would lay eyes on her for years. If he had, he might have forced her to listen to him, made her listen to his side of the story. Told her how much she meant to him. But he never did get that chance. Aoife was off to London to college, and Matt’s father, a bank manager, was transferred down to Cork, resulting in a move for the whole family, and that was that. No more innocently bumping into Aoife Devine.

Chapter Two

London, 2014

“Oh, shit! Not again!” Aoife muttered softly to herself as soon as she woke up.

“Who the fuck was it this time?” Blackouts were rare enough, thank heavens, but becoming more frequent since she started to use more pills.

She tried to get a good look at the rolled-up ball sleeping next to her, but his face was covered by the duvet and all she could make out was that whoever it was, he had longish black hair that could seriously do with a cut. And she hadn’t the foggiest clue where the hell she was; that it wasn’t her own bedroom was all she knew. As she crept out of the bed as quietly as she could, she was relieved to see a used condom on the floor at her feet. That at least…

She could feel the stampede of wildebeests running through her head.
Aspirin, I need aspirin,
she thought as she gathered up her clothes. Her knickers were on the floor beside the bed, her bra was a couple of feet away, her jeans by the door. Shit, her shirt, she couldn’t go home without her shirt. There was no sign of it anywhere and no memory of where she took it off. Hell, she remembered nothing since downing that Ecstasy tab at about eleven.

What cabbie would be willing to take her home looking like that? Aoife supposed she could borrow one of his, whoever he was. She groped around in the semi-dark, unwilling to open the curtains or turn on the light in case she woke him. She grabbed the first thing that felt like a shirt and silently slithered out the bedroom door. When she got into the light she realised it was a hideous cowboy shirt, but she wasn’t going back to change it.

As soon as she was downstairs, she looked around for a letter or something with the address on it. Nothing! Still at least she found her handbag in the living room and when she checked she was relieved to see her purse with cash and cards was intact. And her door keys were there. She was sorted. She went out the front door as quietly as she could to make sure she wasn’t caught red-handed.

Aoife walked round in what seemed to be ever decreasing circles until she eventually found a tube station. Bloody Leyton, how in the hell did she end up in Leyton, she wondered, as she read the sign outside the station. She had been clubbing in the city centre; that much she remembered. She hoped some of it would come back to her on the journey home. She was grateful that at least she managed to end up somewhere on the right underground line, even if it was at the very opposite side of the city. She didn’t think her head would be up to deciphering the complex workings of the tube map this morning. Before she hopped on the train, she managed to procure a bottle of water from a vending machine, now all she hoped was that she would manage to find two aspirin in the bag. Usually she had the foresight to carry them around with her.

Never again,
she thought, as she felt her stomach lurch and heave to the rocking of the train. Then she managed a wry grin at herself. If she had a quid for every time she had said never again, she’d be filthy rich and resting on her laurels. Aoife knew she would be having the exact same regrets tomorrow morning; hell, it was only Sunday, and a bank holiday, there was still tonight to be got through. As a general rule, Aoife’s weekend started on Thursday night and carried through to Sunday, when she would stay home and gently come down from her binge with a couple of drinks at home with her flatmate, Fiona. But bank holidays just extended the partying.

Very occasionally Aoife wondered if she went too far, if it was time to grow up a bit. But hell, she’d been under her parents’ iron rule for more than long enough and she was determined to have a good time and not bow to conventionalism like them. Who cared what the neighbours, or indeed anyone else, thought? This was her life and she was going to make the most of it. When Fiona got all sanctimonious with her, she felt like screaming. She’d been living with that for years. Aoife didn’t know why Fiona had suddenly become so prudish. And anyway, what was it to her? Aoife rarely brought men back to their house; usually she stayed out so it was no one’s business but hers.

It was the E that was the problem, Aoife knew. She didn’t do them all the time; well, maybe she had been doing them a bit much lately, but she intended to cut back, starting tomorrow. They made her totally feckless and her natural shyness and self-loathing disappeared, albeit temporarily. She talked to total strangers, danced like a lunatic, and lost all her inhibitions; hell, she’d even stripped her shirt off once or twice in clubs. For all she knew that could be what happened last night—she may have left the club topless. Not that anyone but Aoife was aware of her insecurities; everyone thought she was confident and outgoing. Only she knew just how much effort she put into that persona, how much it cost her every time she went out of the front door to plaster that happy-go-lucky face on herself. The tabs helped her.

But unlike alcohol, one tab was enough to set her wired to the moon, on an up, and there was no telling just how much she was going to react to it; ‘good’ tabs could be explosive, ‘bad’ ones mainly nauseating. With a few drinks, that feeling came on you gradually and you could tell you were at the point when enough was enough. You could choose to ignore or heed the warnings depending on your mood. Ninety-nine percent of the time, Aoife heeded the warnings with alcohol; it just didn’t give her a good buzz. There was no early alert system in place with the E and once it kicked in, it was too late, good or bad. Aoife liked that. For years she fought to control herself, her learning difficulties, her antipathy toward her image-conscious, high-achieving, demanding family. It was so good to let go of control with an E. Every so often she had the blackouts, waking up in a stranger’s bed not knowing how she got there or who the person beside her was. But although she berated herself for it, Aoife liked how it made her lose her self-consciousness and her inhibitions. She made sure to keep her contraception up to date, using the merino coil, which only needed to be replaced every couple of years, so at least the risk of pregnancy was low but it was often hit and miss whether she had the sense about her to insist on a condom too. Those rare men she hung around for long enough to have the post-coital post-mortem always told her how wild she had been and she laughed and joked as if it was just a normal experience, but in truth she was secretly mortified; how could she do those things with strangers? And she didn’t even know if she enjoyed them or not. Bravado was the only option. Aoife the man-eating tiger!

Chuguda chuguda chuguda,
the train went as it flew along the track. Aoife’s head and stomach felt every one of those wheel turns. She concentrated on the thought of climbing into her bed and tried to sip on the water instead of lash it down to cure her insatiable thirst. If she drank it too fast she was sure to be sick.
Don’t vomit, don’t vomit
was her mantra as the journey passed. Both to distract her thoughts and to be prepared for the grilling she was sure to get from Fiona, she spent the journey making up a cover story for last night. The one thing that bugged her was this slight nagging inkling that she knew someone who lived in Leyton, but for the life of her she couldn’t think who it might be or if there was any risk that they might blow her cover.

Finally she made it to Ruislip with the contents of her tummy mercifully intact. And to think she would have to do it all over again that very evening; there was a going-away party that she just had to go to even though partying more was the last thing she, or her body, needed right now.

* * *

“Hiya, be down in a minute. I desperately need the loo,” Aoife shouted as she slammed the front door behind her and ran upstairs to the bathroom. Fiona knew it was forced cheer. She recognised all the signs. When Aoife came down, she was grey and washed out.

“Hard night?” she asked. Then she took in what Aoife was wearing. “Where did you get that shirt?” she asked, balling her hands into tight fists. She really wanted to punch Aoife right now.

“It’s Tim’s. The fellah I stayed with.”

“It’s Brian’s—I had that made for him. I’d know it anywhere. Did you fuck him last night?” Fiona said through gritted teeth. Aoife had really gone too far this time. Fiona could put up with a lot from Aoife, had put up with a lot. But the disloyalty of bedding her first love (even though he had proven to be an asshole in the end), now that was a step too far.

“N-n-no. I told you it’s Tom’s. Maybe Brian chucked it out.”

“You said Tim a minute ago, now it’s Tom. Fuck it, Aoife, if you’re lying, I’m done with you.” Fiona really hoped that Brian had indeed got rid of the shirt, but even that option pained her; he had loved that shirt. Then again, she thought he had loved her.

“Tom, I said Tom. You must have misheard me. You know I wouldn’t go near Brian.” Fiona saw Aoife’s face become paler, if that was even possible. She ran to the cupboard and pulled out a basin, passing it to Aoife.

“You were hitting those fucking E’s again. That’s the third night in a row. Lay off them tonight. In fact, you’d be better off to skip the party altogether.”

“Who are you—me mother? Anyway, I can’t—it’s Martina’s Australian wake. I have to go and so do you. She’s off on Tuesday.”

“No. Bloody. Drugs. Is that clear?”

“For fuck’s sake, back off,” Aoife muttered under her breath. Fiona let it pass; she was too dangerously close to losing her temper to acknowledge it.

At first, Aoife was pretty quiet and reserved. She stayed with Fiona, Martina, and the rest of the gang while they had a couple of drinks. Fiona kept a close eye on her. She didn’t seem to drink any more than the others, probably less if anything. Very early on, Aoife had switched to water while the rest of them were knocking back beer and having a right laugh. Then Aoife got a bit restless, until she saw a group of stags come in. She was off, chatting away with them, laughing and flirting. Aoife was in control, playing cat and mouse with the men. Enjoying the attention.

Then at about ten-thirty things changed—Aoife started dancing like a wild thing and was all over every man who came near her, rubbing her body against theirs, hands all over them, talking nineteen to the dozen. She was wired. Grinding her teeth like she was chewing a huge piece of gum. While pretty used to seeing her high, Fiona had never seen Aoife as bad as this before. She really didn’t know how Aoife always managed to make it home safely if this was the way she behaved. She left her in the middle of a stag party, flirting and dancing wildly, and went to dance with the others. Anything but watch the spectacle.

.

When Aoife hadn’t re-joined the group a while later, Fiona went in search of her. That’s when she spotted her in the middle of the floor shaking her body, shimmying up and down against a man’s body as he kissed and mauled her. When he lifted his head, it was clear as day: Brian. Aoife had finally gone too far. Fiona froze, mesmerised. Regardless of the audience, Aoife started unbuttoning her shirt. Finally reacting, Fiona ran to stop her, intending to drag her home whether she liked it or not. Rage coursed through her veins. She would give Aoife a few home truths tomorrow, and no holding back. That was the last piece of shit she was ever going to take from her. All of a sudden everyone on the dance floor seemed to stop at once. Fiona turned her head in the direction they were all looking in. There, in a heap on the floor was Aoife, out cold, and Brian was standing looking at her, totally and utterly motionless and helpless.

She heard her own disembodied voice screeching as she ran towards her friend:

“Ring a fucking ambulance. Now.”

* * *

There were times when Matt McDaid hated his job, and those times were nearly always Friday and Saturday nights. Now he was adding Sunday to his list. He’d had to do patch-ups from drunken brawls, been vomited on, endured verbal and physical aggression, and now his pager was going again. Great, just as he had managed to grab some shuteye. The clock told him he’d been in bed precisely twenty-eight minutes. These forty-eight hour shifts were a bloody killer, all he ever seemed to catch were catnaps. He was one happy man that his senior house officer position was coming to an end on Friday—next time round, he would be the elite, a consultant doctor, on the wards instead of Accident and Emergency. Much more civilized. He wondered how the transition would go; perhaps he might have been better looking for a job in another hospital, where they wouldn’t remember him as the obliging sucker who always made himself available in an emergency. Barely containing his bad temper, he snatched the phone in the tiny room that served as doctor’s sleeping quarters, and called the nurses’ station.

“Dr. McDaid, we have a possible OD in cubicle one, MDMA we think.”

“Where’s Dr. Brown? It’s her turn. I only just got to bed.”

“She’s dealing with a cardiac arrest.”