Another Love (15 page)

An awkward hush came over the room before Lorna spoke.

‘Can I ask you to look at this?’ Lorna tapped the keyboard on the desk in front of her and pointed to a PowerPoint slide that had appeared on the blank wall behind her.

Romilly squinted at the bullet points on display.

‘I want to ask you these questions out loud and I want you to answer me honestly, okay? And don’t worry, it’s not a test; you can’t fail. It’s just to give me an insight and maybe to give you an insight too. So, the first one…’ Lorna cleared her throat. ‘Do you ever feel guilty or ashamed about your drinking?’

Every day, every single day. I hate how much I drink. I’m so, so ashamed…
‘Sometimes.’ She blushed.

‘Okay, good. And the next one is, do you ever lie to others or hide your drinking habits?’

I lie every day, to everyone, and I go to great lengths to hide what I drink…
She pictured the wellington boot full of wine and the stash of miniatures in her toiletry bag that she swigged from while she was on the loo. She nodded. ‘Sometimes.’

Lorna smiled. ‘Okay. And do you have friends or family members who you know are worried about your drinking?’

She saw herself in the bathroom with Holly.
‘I was talking to Carrie about it. We’re worried about you, Roms.’
David squeezed her hand. Romilly nodded her response.

Lorna pointed to the next question. ‘Do you need to drink in order to relax or feel better?’

I can only relax when I’ve had a drink. It’s always been that way, but now it’s worse, I need a drink to feel better; I need a drink to get through the day.
‘I guess,’ she whispered.

‘Have you ever blacked out or forgotten what you did while you were drinking?’ Lorna’s voice was soft; probing but kind.

Romilly didn’t realise she was crying until she went to speak and the answer came out in a croak. ‘Yes.’ She immediately thought about that horrible morning when she’d woken to find that Holly had left. She’d wondered where her sister was and why Sylvia was a little frosty over the breakfast table and Celeste so withdrawn.

‘And finally, do you often drink more than you intended to?’

I always, always drink more than I intended to. I only ever plan on one sip, a little taste, but I can’t do that. I can’t. Not any more.

Romilly nodded and looked at David, ashamed that he had to hear all this.
Don’t leave me, David. I love you…

*

After unpacking her clothes into the sleek, touch-door wardrobe and lining up her shampoo, conditioner and toothpaste on a glass shelf above the pale grey marble sink, she sat on the bed and felt her legs sink into the thick white duvet. She swiped at the tears that coursed down her face, replaying the moment David had turned his back to leave her, his mouth contorted with crying. ‘David!’ she’d called along the corridor as they faced in opposite directions. ‘Proper love, Bug Girl,’ he’d managed, before Lorna had placed her hand on his back and walked him to his car.

‘You can do this, Rom. You can,’ she whispered as she placed the photograph of her, David and Celeste on the bedside table and ignored the tremor to her hand.

There was a knock on the door.

‘Come in.’ She sat up straight, alert, feeling her pulse quicken and her cheeks flush at the prospect of interaction. A fresh wave of nausea swept her body, leaving her hot and sweating. Her joints ached and there was a twist to her stomach that made her muscles tense. Dry mouthed, she smiled at Lorna, who entered with another, younger, woman dressed in a pale blue tunic that buttoned up on her shoulder; the Orcus logo was embroidered below the buttons and her hair was tied up in a long, dark ponytail swinging high on the back of her head.

‘How are you doing, Romilly?’

She was relieved that Lorna was still being as kind as she had been when David was there. She’d feared that might have been an act, put on to convince him that this really was the right way to spend a large chunk of his monthly salary.

‘I’m okay. You know…’ She bit her lip.

‘I wanted to ask you, now we’re alone, did you have a drink before you arrived here today?’ Lorna held her eye. ‘Again, there’s no wrong answer. We just want honesty. It’s important because the timing will help us monitor your reaction to alcohol withdrawal and decide how best to treat you. I’m not trying to catch you out, I promise.’

Romilly considered her options and concluded that honesty was probably the best policy. She nodded. ‘Yes, I did.’

‘Well, thank you for telling me that.’ Lorna smiled. ‘This is Gemma and she will be your programme mentor.’

Gemma stepped forward and raised her hand in a wave. ‘Hi, Romilly.’

She waved back, which felt a bit ludicrous, like they were playing one of the games that had kept Celeste entertained at nursery.

‘Romilly, is it okay if I just go through your toiletries and bits and bobs?’

‘What for?’

‘It’s a check we carry out on all new arrivals,’ Gemma explained. ‘Just to make sure you don’t have any substances that might cause harm to you or any other clients if they were to get hold of them.’

Clearly this was quite routine for her, but Romilly could only reflect on Lorna’s earlier assurance that this was not a prison.

‘Sure.’ Being in this environment was exposing enough; it mattered little if they went through her things.

Gemma commenced unzipping her suitcase and felt around beneath the lining. Then she nipped into the bathroom and peered inside her toiletry bag, before unscrewing the lids of her shampoo and conditioner and having a sniff of both. ‘Could I ask you to hop off the bed?’ She smiled.

Romilly did as she was asked, standing against the wall while Gemma dropped to her knees and lifted the mattress with one arm, running her other arm up under it until she touched the wall. She then patted the duvet and pillowcases and turned her attention to the wardrobe, looking inside the pair of trainers on the floor and tipping the slippers up and giving them a shake. Similar treatment was given to the drawer, which contained her underwear.

Eventually Gemma placed her hands on her hips and sighed. ‘Great. Thanks for that, Romilly. We can’t be too careful and it really is in your best interests. Do you think you might have brought anything in here that maybe you shouldn’t? If you have, this is a good opportunity for you to tell us about it.’

‘Where would I have put it?’ Romilly answered, with a tad more irritation than she’d intended. The waves of sickness and sweatiness were making her feel quite unwell.

‘Oh, you’d be surprised.’ Lorna laughed. ‘We’ve had items lodged in the cistern behind the loo, behind ceiling panels and in just about every orifice you can think of!’

Gemma shook her head. ‘I can tell you this for nothing, when I was trying to kick the booze, I’d have popped anything anywhere, if it meant I could get a drink when no one was looking.’

That’s how I feel, right now. I’d give anything for a drink, just a sip. Some wine, anything. I know you mean well, but you don’t understand. Just one little taste would help me, make me feel better and then I could think straight and make a proper plan for how to fix things…

‘How are you feeling right now?’ Lorna narrowed her gaze.

‘Okay. Not great. A bit sick,’ she confessed.

‘We can give you something for that. Gemma will give you a tour and then drop you at the treatment rooms and we can start you on the path to wellness. How does that sound?’ Lorna smiled encouragingly.

Sounds like something I want to run away from…

*

After half an hour spent hooked up to a drip in a white-walled, white-floored, windowless room, Romilly actually felt a bit better. Not only because of all the good stuff going into her veins, stuff that would apparently help flush out the toxins, but because being sat there with a needle in her arm felt quite medical. And that made her feel like she was ill. Not nuts, or weak, or demanding or selfish, but ill. For the first time, she felt some of the guilt that had bound her so tightly for so long start to fray at the edges.

Gemma showed her to a communal area that was bright and airy. Light flooded through the floor-to-ceiling bi-fold doors. One wall was covered in luscious silvery flock wallpaper; the other walls were white and contained a huge TV screen and a series of boxy bookshelves filled with interesting-looking coffee-table tomes. Large, luxurious silver sofas were arranged opposite each other like equals signs, with low, reclaimed-wood coffee tables between them and oversized potted plants on console tables at the back. Vast chrome lamps with white coolie shades were peppered around the space. It reminded her of a fancy hotel lobby; she half expected to see a couple of business types holding a meeting and a clutch of impatient guests glancing at their watches as they waited to check in.

The people on these sofas, however, were clearly not businesspeople or hotel guests. They were people who, like her, were trying to get better.

Gemma pointed to the sofas. ‘Go make yourself comfortable, Romilly. We’ll be bringing round juices in a minute or two. Don’t look so scared. They’re a friendly bunch.’ She smiled, inclining her head towards the residents. Most of them were in pyjamas or tracksuits. Some were listening to music, others were browsing magazines or just sitting there in silence. ‘The only rule we have here is that you can’t mention alcohol or brand names or names of specific drinks. You can talk about drink issues, but we find it doesn’t help if we are more specific.’

It was strange, but even Gemma’s innocuous comment caused the image of a bottle of gin to spring to the front of her mind. She swallowed, wanting so badly to drink from it. ‘I think I might go back to my room, if that’s okay?’ Her voice was small and her face trembled as her whole body shook.

‘Yes, of course.’ Gemma placed her hand on her arm. ‘I’ll be up in a minute. I’ll wait for your juice and bring it with me.’

Romilly nodded as she made her way along the central atrium wall towards her room. An uncomfortable heat washed over her in waves and left her flushed, sweating and with a strange feeling of emptiness that was horrible and nothing to do with hunger. Her stomach churned with sickness and her fingers were constantly clenching and unclenching as she bit down hard, enjoying the sensation of grinding her teeth.

She was removing the rather unwieldy key-ring, a neon-yellow ball, from her pocket when a voice made her jump.

‘Hey, neighbour!’ he offered, with an enthusiasm and energy that bordered on sarcastic.

‘Hi,’ she whispered. She was in no mood for making new friends, especially not with a plummy-voiced, floppy-haired boy who, ridiculously, had turned up the collar of his navy Jack Wills polo shirt and tied a cricket jersey around his waist. Who was he going to impress in here?

‘I’m next door.’ He pointed. ‘This your first day?’

She nodded.

‘I thought so. I know the room’s been empty since I arrived. How are you finding it? Have you tried the steak? The beach isn’t far and there’s a lovely stroll down to the town if you fancy a wander after dark.’

‘Sorry?’ She eyed him with irritation.

He laughed. ‘Nothing! It’s just my “welcome to Torquay” sense of humour.’

‘Are you from Torquay?’ she asked quietly.

‘No.’ He shrugged. ‘Bristol. You’re not in the mood for a chat, are you, Red?’

She shook her head and pushed open her door.

‘Well, when you are, come say hi. I’m Jasper, by the way.’

Romilly looked at him. The cocky kid was in his early twenties, she guessed, and seemed to find the whole situation quite amusing. He was right about one thing, though: she was in no mood for a chat.

Dad told me Mum had gone away, but he was non-specific about where or when she was coming home. A couple of years previously, she’d gone to the States to speak about insects at a conference. It felt like ages that she was away. When she got back, she brought me loads of goodies: comics, a teddy, some slippers with pom-poms on and some actual NASA space food, ice cream and mashed potato that you had to add water to. I added the water, but the food tasted disgusting. It made me think that maybe I didn’t want to be an astronaut after all.

I instinctively knew that this was a different kind of trip because this time she didn’t call me and Dad didn’t tick the days off on the calendar and we didn’t plan her welcome-home banner. In fact Dad hardly mentioned her at all, as if I might not realise she was gone. Still, I convinced myself that she was at another conference and I tried really hard to stop myself worrying that she might have only got a one-way ticket.

Granny Sylvia came to stay a lot and she and Dad had this timetable on the fridge with little slots that they filled in –
Bake biscuits for lunchbox
;
Celeste to Brownies
;
that sort of thing – so they knew who was doing what. It was pretty much exactly the opposite of what happened when Mum was there. There were no spontaneous outings to the park any more, but it was reassuring to know I would always be collected from school on time and that there would always be something proper for tea. And they never forgot to kiss me goodnight.

Granny Sylvia wasn’t Mum, though, and I didn’t want Mum to think I’d swapped her. One afternoon, our teacher, Mrs Hopkins, handed out slips of paper about some meeting at school. We were supposed to give them to our parents and return them to her as soon as possible. She told us very firmly that our parents were to sign the slips and circle the time they would like to attend. My heart hammered in my chest. I placed mine between the pages of my reading book and popped it in my bag. I kept picturing it there. I couldn’t sleep, worrying about it. I cried in the bath whenever I remembered it, and I lay in bed for hours, trying to think of a solution. I didn’t want to bother Dad with it and Mum had disappeared, so she couldn’t even sign it, let alone turn up for the meeting. I just didn’t know what to do. Then the answer came to me, really late one night after I’d tossed and twisted for ages under my duvet.