Ice and a Slice (7 page)

While she was sipping it SJ caught herself wondering if Kit was sitting in some pub somewhere, knocking back pints. Bound to be, whispered a little voice in her head – all that stuff about her giving up when he probably drank bucket-loads. He had that kind of face, weary-worn and crinkled around the edges. He obviously hadn’t spent his youth drinking orange juice.

Tanya had mentioned yesterday that Kit might be a recovering alcoholic, as people who worked in addiction places often were. SJ wasn’t so sure. Surely if you were one you’d want to get as far away as possible from your past, not hang around to see what the next generation was like. You’d probably turn into a born-again Christian or something. Not that she had anything against born-again Christians – they had as much right to their opinion as anyone else. But she was a born-again heathen and it was the mention of God that had put her off the AA meeting she’d once attended.

She hadn’t told Kit or Tanya about that. It hadn’t seemed relevant, but she’d gone to a meeting a couple of years ago. That had been after another particularly heavy session when she’d been paranoid about her drinking. She’d looked up AA on the internet and had rung the helpline. A pleasant, very sober sounding woman had asked her if she’d had a drink today, and she’d said no she certainly hadn’t, it was only four thirty in the afternoon – what did they take her for? - before lapsing into an awkward silence. It was obvious what they’d taken her for.

Anyway, the upshot was that she’d gone along to a meeting. She’d established very quickly that she was in the wrong place. The whole lot of them might be sober now, but they’d obviously been raging drunks once. Not that this had put her off particularly – drunks were quite interesting. No, the main thing had been when she found out the cliché was true. You were expected to say, “My name’s SJ and I’m an alcoholic,” before you could so much as ask where the loo was.

Telling all and sundry you were an alcoholic surely couldn’t be a positive move. It would have been the equivalent of standing up in the slimming club and saying, “Hi, my name’s SJ and I’m a big fatty.” It simply wasn’t the right approach. It was buying into negativity. Everyone knew that if you wanted to be something other than what you were, you simply had to repeat it.
I’m thin
, or
I’m rich
, or
I’m a teetotaller
. It was basic psychology. If you went around telling everyone you were a big fatty, or an alcoholic, or a pauper, then it would very quickly become true. And then where would you be?

“Hi, sweetie.”

SJ jumped as Tom appeared behind her. He’d just had a shave and smelt of Paco Rabanne. Maybe he did want to make love again. The promotion must have gone to his head. Feeling guilty for such disloyal thoughts, she smiled at him.

“You’ve obviously been busy. What’s on the menu?”

“Spag bol. I haven’t been in long. Thought I’d better put in a bit of overtime to show willing, you know. How was Poetry and a Pint?”

“It was great – we did Walter de la Mare.” She smiled. “On a Coke.”

“Uh huh. Is he one of the druggie ones?”

“What? Oh – no, I meant me. I had a Coke instead of a pint.”

“I’d better pour you a nice glass of wine then. You must be gasping!”

Now he came to mention it… Not that she was buying into that, though, obviously. If she’d been gasping, she definitely had a problem.

“Just a small one, then.”

She waited until they’d finished their first course before she told him about going to S.A.A.D.

“Oh? What did they say?” He’d been about to refill her glass. That was bad timing – she should have waited another four seconds in case he took it upon himself to help her in her quest.

“Not much. Just that I ought to cut down.”

He relaxed and carried on pouring, much to her relief.

SJ emptied half her glass and then, concerned he hadn’t grasped the seriousness of the situation, she added firmly, and rather ironically, “I think they’re probably right – but it’s quite difficult to cut down when you usually drink a certain amount.”

“Are you saying you’ve got a drink problem, sweetie?” Tom stared at her, dark eyebrows meeting in the middle of his forehead.

“No, no. Nothing like that.” She laughed brightly. “I don’t think I drink any more than anyone else we know, do I?”

“No – I don’t think you do,” Tom said, reaching for another slice of garlic bread.

SJ frowned – so that had been a damp squib then. She’d just told her husband she might be an alcoholic and he’d blithely ignored her. Everyone knew that real alcoholics lost their jobs, alienated their families, and became a useless waste of space to society. Whereas she, obviously, was far from that – even her husband hadn’t noticed anything amiss. She gulped back her wine – red, as Tom hadn’t got any white out tonight - refilled her glass, and settled back in her chair to enjoy it.

“You – an alcoholic? That’s ridiculous,” Tom muttered, reaching for the bottle and looking slightly surprised to find there was none left.

SJ smiled sagely. She knew exactly what she would say to Tanya next time they spoke.

“If you’re an alcoholic, you’re supposed to be in denial, aren’t you? But I’m not. I confessed all to Tom and he thinks I’m fine – so if anyone is in denial, it’s him. Not me.”

Chapter Eight

The following Tuesday morning, SJ was looking at her Things to Do pad and trying to decide which was the most urgent: her lesson plan for Poetry and a Pint or giving some serious thought to her ‘Reasons Not To Go To My Parents’ Party’ list, when the doorbell rang. Irritated, she glanced at the clock. Only eleven fifteen, so too early for the post, which never came before lunchtime. She got up wearily and went to answer it. Hopefully it wasn’t anyone important as she hadn’t got round to a shower yet and was wearing old, but very comfy grey leggings and a baggy T-shirt Tom had bought her, emblazoned with the slogan,
Is there any wine in the fridge or do I have to pretend to be happy?

Tanya was standing there, looking as though she was going to a photo shoot in a navy pinstriped suit, her perfect skin glowing with health, and her titian hair held up in butterfly clips.

Painfully aware of the contrast between them, SJ forced a smile and said, “Hi, I didn’t know you were coming over. You should have phoned.”

“I did. But your mobile’s switched off. And you haven’t answered my last three texts.”

“Haven’t I? Sorry, I’ve been a bit busy.” SJ avoided Tanya’s eyes. She had been busy, but the truth was a little more petty – that wonderful feeling of solidarity she’d felt when she’d poured out her heart to Tanya had diminished somewhat when she’d realised Tanya had been in no hurry at all to confide in her.

On the other hand, perhaps Tanya had just been plucking up the courage to come round. “I’m sorry I’ve been out of contact,” she murmured, touching Tanya’s arm. “Come in, I’ll put the kettle on. Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay. Why shouldn’t I be?”

“You said you had a problem you wanted to talk about.”

Tanya gave an embarrassed laugh. “Look, I’m sorry; I probably shouldn’t have said anything. You must have caught me at a weak moment. I’m fine, really I am.”

“I see,” SJ said, feeling hurt all over again.

“Actually, I haven’t come round for a chat.” Tanya narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “I’ve come to give you a lift to your appointment. I thought you might need some moral support.”

“I don’t need a lift. It’s in the middle of Soho – I can get the tube.”

“I know you don’t
need
a lift,” Tanya said patiently. “But I thought you might like one. I’ve got to take the car in anyway. It’s no trouble.”

“Well, it’s very sweet of you, but I’m not going today. I thought I told you. I don’t need to go to that place. It’s not just my opinion,” she qualified hastily, because Tanya looked as though she was going to argue. “Even Tom doesn’t think I need to go. He doesn’t think I drink too much.”

“Have you cancelled your appointment?”

“Er no, I meant to, but I haven’t got round to it. Like I said, I’ve been busy.”

“Do you have to pay for these appointments?”

SJ shook her head.

“Then I think you should go, and at least tell them how you feel. They’ll be expecting you – and if you really don’t think you need their help, it’s only fair to let them know so they can book in some poor bugger who does. There might be a waiting list.”

“I bet there isn’t,” SJ said, feeling uncomfortable, because Tanya was right, and she didn’t usually let people down. She’d managed to put her appointment at S.A.A.D in a box marked Think About Later, and she hadn’t thought about it at all.

“I can’t go now, I’m not ready – look at me. Perhaps I’ll just give them a ring and say I’m ill.”

“Well, I agree you should probably change that T-shirt,” Tanya said dryly, “but you’ve got time to do that. We’ll still make it. I can drop you outside the door.”

Oh joy, that was all she needed. One beautifully-dressed woman dropping her scruffy, alky friend off at the drop in centre – okay, so the sign was discreet, but no doubt everyone in the world knew S.A.A.D stood for Soho Advice for Alcohol and Drugs.

“I can’t, Tan, seriously I can’t. For a start I haven’t filled in my form and that’s what we’re supposed to be discussing...”

“Are you scared to go back?” Tanya asked softly. “Is it like slimming, when you’ve put on weight instead of losing it and you know as soon as you get on the scales they’re going to suss you out?”

SJ was about to make some quip about it not being anything like that – they didn’t have a handy little breathalyser on the door, not that it would have mattered if they had, because she hadn’t had a drink since last night anyway – when Tanya gently pushed her back inside.

“Come on, we’re wasting time arguing. Go and get changed. I promise I’ll never nag you again if you just go today and tell them you’re okay and don’t need any more appointments.”

“All right, all right.” SJ gave up because Tanya obviously wasn’t going to let this go and besides, she’d just had a brainwave. Tanya wouldn’t be able to park anywhere near the centre. Therefore she’d just get out of the car, give her a cheery wave, and as soon as she was out of sight, she could hop on the tube and go home. Okay, so it was a little convoluted and she’d still have to phone and tell them she’d planned on coming – of course she had – until she’d been unavoidably detained. But it was better than having Tanya loading all this guilt on her.

All the way there, Tanya made her feel even worse by saying how proud she was that SJ was dealing with the issue rather than avoiding it. And all the way along Western Street, where the centre was, SJ prayed that there wouldn’t be any spaces Tanya could pull into. So far, so good. SJ stared intently ahead at the line of parked cars. It was going to be okay. It was going to be fine. And then, to her horror, a yellow Mini pulled out of a space just ahead of them, almost directly outside S.A.A.D’s entrance.

“Parking angels,” Tanya said with a happy smile, nipping the Smart Car into the space. “They never let you down.”

Flaming parking angels. “What are you doing? You can’t stop here. You’ll get booked. I just saw a traffic warden.”

“Then hurry up and get a move on.” Tanya smiled sweetly and SJ wondered if she’d been sussed out. “Go on. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

She hadn’t anticipated that either. “No need, I’ll get the tube. I’ve wasted enough of your time already. Anyway, I probably won’t be here very long. Once I’ve told them I’m fine, I expect they’ll be glad to see the back of me.”

“It’s no trouble – I’m seeing a client round the corner. My motives weren’t entirely altruistic, as it happens. Go on, you’re five minutes late. You can text me when you come out.”

Reluctantly, SJ stepped onto the pavement, but to her alarm Tanya showed no signs of pulling away. Even the cheery wave didn’t have the desired effect. Disconcerted, she turned towards the door and then checked over her shoulder to see that Tanya still hadn’t moved the car. Shit, it was even worse standing outside than pressing the buzzer. There were dozens of people out shopping today. One or two of them were glancing curiously in her direction.

Why couldn’t the centre be located in some dingy little side street? Why oh why did it have to be slap bang on a main road? They might as well go the whole hog and put up a flashing neon sign. Losers Gather Here. There ought to be a law against drop in centres being in full view of everyone. Didn’t addicts deserve any privacy?

Tanya still hadn’t moved and, feeling a wave of panic, SJ pressed the buzzer. Thinking about it, she could always go inside and wait until Tanya had left and then make her escape. The reception was upstairs so they wouldn’t even know she’d been here. Brilliant – why hadn’t she thought of that before? The buzzer released and she shoved open the door and bumped straight into Kit, who must have popped down to use the Gents.

“Hi, Sarah, I was beginning to think you weren’t coming. Good to see you.”

He grinned at her and she pasted on a sickly smile. He was the last person on earth she wanted to see. She’d rather be going for a Brazilian, or a wisdom tooth extraction without anaesthetic, or an appointment to talk about piles – no, maybe not an appointment for piles, which would have been equally embarrassing.

“Go on up – we’re in room three, same as last week.”

“I er – don’t think I…”

The buzzer went again and she jumped out of her skin.

“I’ll be with you in a sec.” He glanced at the door and then back at her. “We don’t want to talk on the stairs, do we?”

Trapped, she went up, feeling her legs turn more rubbery with each step. It was worse than confessing to piles – she felt as though she was walking to the electric chair. Why on earth had she let Tanya talk her into this? She should have known Tanya didn’t trust her. All that talk about being proud of her had obviously been a smoke-screen. She was going to kill Tanya once she got out of here. Some friend she’d turned out to be.

She pushed open the door of the little room and glanced at the bars on the window. The feeling of being trapped increased. Perhaps the bars were there for no other purpose than to hammer the point home. Once you’d walked in it was impossible to escape.

When had she got so paranoid? Close to tears, SJ headed for the same armchair she’d sat in last week. It seemed an eternity ago. Had it really only been seven days?