Again, Rachel, page 25
‘Another night,’ Naaz said, ‘she got into bed with me and my boyfriend, Oliver. Wearing nothing. Acting threesome-y.’
‘You wish!’ Ella exploded.
‘Ella, no. You know that.’
‘Did you call her out?’ I asked Naaz.
‘Yeah, but … she said Oliver fancied her and I was jealous.’
‘I never said that!’
‘You did,’ Jonah said. ‘I was there. But you were out of it so you don’t remember.’
‘Jonah, did you try challenging her?’
He shrugged helplessly. ‘… She’d been mugged. It affected her badly. Any time I tried to talk about the tablets, she reminded me. I was trying to be supportive, so I felt I should shut up. But we – Naaz and I – copped on that she must be taking more than the prescribed amount. So we went looking and found prescriptions from two doctors in Dublin and another from a doctor in Waterford. She’d also ordered some online. She didn’t need a prescription for that but they cost hundreds.’
Doctor shopping. I saw this a lot.
‘As well as the sleepers, she had prescriptions for Valium and Xanax. The tablets were hidden everywhere in the flat.’
‘Like?’
Jonah and Naaz exchanged a shrug. ‘In jacket pockets, zipped inside cushions, sellotaped to the underside of the couch.’
Deep inside me, a bell clanged. This type of subterfuge featured a lot in testimonials – what was different about this time?
For a second I puzzled over it but had to move on.
‘She had cut the cards of tablets up into tiny amounts,’ Naaz said. ‘Twos, mostly, sometimes four. We found two tablets inside a bag of oven chips in the freezer. That was an accident,’ she added. ‘Finding those.’
‘We laid them all out on the coffee table,’ Jonah said, ‘with the prescriptions, and called her in.’
‘You’re making it sound like there were thousands,’ Ella yelled. ‘There were literally, like, twenty.’
‘There were thirty-one sleepers, eighteen Xanax and twenty-nine Valium,’ he said. ‘And it wasn’t the number, it was that they were hidden.’
‘But –’
Again, Murdo shushed Ella.
‘We hoped it would shock her into stopping,’ Jonah continued. ‘But she went crazy. Crying. Saying we didn’t know how traumatized she was. I felt really guilty … but angry too because how could I get her to stop if I couldn’t say anything to her?’
‘Same,’ Naaz agreed.
‘Before the mugging, did you ever notice a pattern of impulsive behaviour from Ella?’ Leaving nothing to chance, we’d already been through this on the phone.
‘Hey!’ Ella’s face was dark with umbrage. ‘What’s that got to do with sleeping tablets –’
With a look I managed to silence her but poor Jonah was agonized. I nodded at him to continue. ‘Yeah. Like, she and I binge-watch stuff, same as everyone, but when Ella loves something, she literally stays up all night. That’s a regular thing. Which is bad because of work. And bad because it’s something we’re meant to share. I always fall asleep but in the morning she’s still sitting there, watching the last episode.’
Ella squeaked with outrage and Jonah whispered, ‘Sorry.’
‘There was a time we were watching a K-drama –’ He looked at me. ‘A TV series from Korea.’
I know what a K-drama is! Exsqueeze me, son, I’m down with the kids!
‘We were saying how cool it looked and we’d love to go, but you know, it was just … talk. So I went to sleep and woke up to discover she’d booked us flights and an Airbnb. In Seoul.’
‘Had she consulted you about getting time off work?’ I knew she hadn’t.
‘No. And when I tried, I couldn’t. And we couldn’t afford it. We were able to cancel the Airbnb but not the flight. We had to take the hit.’
Ella stood up. ‘Fuck you,’ she yelled at Jonah. Then to Naaz, ‘And you.’ And to the rest of us, ‘And all of you! I’m not staying in this fucking shithole another second!’
‘Ella.’ I bit out the words. ‘Sit. Down.’
If Ella was really set on leaving, I couldn’t stop her, so I had to channel Scary Rachel hard. ‘Everyone who cares about you wants you to be here,’ I said. ‘Not just Jonah and Naaz, but your mum and dad and brothers. And the rest of us here in the group? Right?’
‘Yeah,’ Chalkie said. ‘Yep.’ Trassa, Bronte, Giles, even Harlie made agreeing noises. Poor Dennis, still in bits after his going-over on Monday, was the only one who couldn’t muster enthusiasm.
Ella hovered, torn with indecision. I knew where she was at: utterly adamant that this was an outrageous travesty, but afraid that something strange and terrible was taking place which everyone other than her was in on.
‘At least stay for your lunch?’ Chalkie cajoled. ‘’Mon, Ella, who else will do the crossword with me?’
‘Do, good girl,’ Trassa threw in.
‘Okay,’ Ella mumbled. ‘But I’m leaving this afternoon.’
That seemed like a good place to end things. The group rose and surrounded Ella, ferrying her off for tea and chocolate biscuits. She would rant and rave over the next couple of hours, but from my past experience, I was fairly sure she would stay.
39
And she did. At two o’clock, she slunk back into the room, looking wiped out. A confrontation like the one she’d had this morning was a total head wreck. Not to mention that all her private fears and suspicions about her tablet habit had cracked open, demanding attention. The next few days would be rough for her.
My plan for the afternoon had been to focus on Dennis but something made me decide to take a punt on Bronte. ‘Bronte, tell us about your relapse.’
‘My um, relapse …’ She hadn’t been expecting this. ‘I’m writing my life story, don’t you want to wait? No? Oh. Well. It was … I didn’t plan it. It was an accident.’ She waited a moment. ‘I’d been doing so well. I never missed drugs, my life was good, then my horse threw me. Broke my ankle. First time to break a bone, the pain was much worse than I’d ever expected. I asked for painkillers.’ She paused.
‘And then? Did you tell your doctor that you were a heroin addict?’
‘Yes. He gave me ordinary painkillers, but they didn’t work. They were literally aspirin. I couldn’t bear it, I needed something a lot stronger.’
Giles leant forward in his chair. ‘I have to ask – did you exaggerate how bad the pain was? For the doctor.’
Something small and strange zipped through me.
‘Oh … ah … No!’
‘But did you, Bronte?’ I asked. ‘Did you think – Here’s a chance to take opiates again and for it to be legitimate?’
‘I promise you, the pain really was awful.’
‘Both can be present – the pain and the temptation. In the four years of your recovery, you’d been going to meetings?’ I asked. ‘Had a sponsor? Did the steps? Accepted you were an addict? Accepted you’d never be cured?’
She nodded.
‘Accepted that relapse was always possible?’
After a pause, she said, ‘Maybe not. Four years was a long time. I think I’d forgotten about relapsing.’
‘So you were in pain and your doctor had offered you opiates – did you call any of your recovery friends to tell them about your dilemma? Or your counsellor in your old treatment centre?’
‘… No. The pain was so bad I couldn’t think straight.’
‘There are lots of ways to manage pain. Hot and cold compresses, acupuncture. You had options, Bronte.’
‘But you didn’t want them,’ Harlie said, dripping with judgement. ‘You wanted an excuse to go back on the drugs.’
‘You!’ Bronte dripped with disdain. ‘You’re hardly a –’
‘Bronte,’ I interrupted. ‘How soon after you began taking the medication did the physical compulsion flare back into life?’
‘Soon.’ Her face was bleached of colour. ‘Very soon, really.’
‘How did it feel?’
‘I –’ She clenched her jaw. ‘I felt so guilty, but –’
My body was tense. The answer to this question felt important in ways I didn’t understand.
‘– it was like coming home.’
40
‘… and then I wanted to get stoned and dance with him on his deck –’
‘No!’ Brigit cut me off. ‘It wouldn’t be sexy and lovely, not for you. You’d end up toppling off the deck or passing out in a planter. Something bad would happen because once you start you can’t stop.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, quietly, all of my giddiness leaking away. ‘Okay.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No. You’re right.’
‘But you never have a hangover. You never have to wake up and think, Oh Jaaaaaaaaaayzis, what did I do last night? Rach, being you is the best!’
It was, I supposed. I just needed to reconnect with the grateful part of me.
After we hung up, I was in the utility room, checking on the health of my next batch of potted seedlings when Kate arrived home.
‘Well?’ I asked. ‘What did you decide about the party dresses?’
She laughed. ‘Seriously. No. The one I liked? The cape dress? Rachel, the price. I honestly can’t.’
‘But –’
‘I know. Mum says she has the money. But it costs twice as much as I earn in a month and …’ She made a face. ‘I need some self-respect. Anyway! I met Devin’s grandad today. He said to tell you he … what was it? “Sends his regards”.’
‘… Is it just me or does that sound slightly threatening? Like when the Mafia man says, “You have a beautiful daughter, it would be a shame if anything happened to her”?’
‘He said you’re to come to his birthday thing.’
‘A birthday thing? But … his wife has just died.’
Kate looked anxious. ‘All I know is, it’s Saturday teatime, at Devin’s parents. Pizza and prosecco. So what’ll I tell him?’
I was astonished. ‘No, Kate. You tell him no.’
What the hell did he want with me? He’d once been my father-in-law – he’d been pleasant, certainly, but it’s not as if we’d been close. Even when things were good with Luke, Mr Costello and I had lived on different continents.
And after Luke had left, shame had stopped me from keeping up with the Costellos.
‘Oh, yeah.’ Kate fished something from her bag. ‘Do you need anything from Zara? I’ve a credit note.’
‘How come?’
‘I lent Kallie fifty euro. She repaid me with this credit note, it’s for sixty-seven euro. But I can’t afford to buy clothes right now.’
I put out my hand. ‘Can I see?’
I looked up the item code on the credit note and discovered it was the dress Kallie had worn to the restaurant last night. Trying to make sense of things, I concluded she’d bought it, worn it, returned it and for some reason – maybe because it was obvious she’d worn it? – they wouldn’t give her a cash refund.
So … Kallie was short of money? She’d wanted a new dress and she’d scammed Zara? It was hard to summon any real outrage about that, but to fob Kate off when she really needed cash – that wasn’t cool.
‘I was looking at a shirt in Zara, I’ll buy this off you,’ I said.
‘You will?’ Her face lit with relief. ‘Thanks, Rachel!’
Just before bedtime, my phone rang – Luke.
‘It’s my dad’s birthday on Saturday,’ he said. ‘Sarina is doing a thing in the house – pizzas, cake. Around twenty, twenty-five people. Dad would like you to come. Quin too.’
‘But … why?’
‘To tie up loose ends, he says. You were part of his family, then you weren’t.’ Defensively, he said, ‘That’s what he’s told me. Make whatever you want of it.’
‘It’s only been two weeks since your mum died.’
Sounding weary, Luke said, ‘Yeah. He’s gone a bit … Look, we’re all slightly insane right now. He’s adamant he wants this, says it might be his last-ever birthday … A dab hand at emotional blackmail.’
Go.
No.
Go!
I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what I wanted. All these long-buried feelings and memories breaking the surface was exhausting.
‘I’d find it very hard, walking into a house filled with your family. It would be …’ I blurted, ‘After everything, I’d find it humiliating.’
A pause. A sharp intake of breath. ‘If it’s any help, they all blame me. Everyone’s still very fond of you.’
WhatShouldIDo? WhatShouldIDo? ‘Do you want me there?’
‘It would make my life easier. I’d appreciate it, he’s driving me up the wall with this.’
‘Would Kallie mind?’
He paused for slightly too long. ‘Why would Kallie mind?’
Grand, be like that.
‘I’ll have a think. I’ll let you know.’
41
As soon as I hung up, I was flooded with memories. Of an evening, more than seven years ago, when Luke came in from work.
‘Guess what!’ I called.
‘What?’ His face flashed white with anxiety.
‘No, Ridey-Man, it’s good. Guess. Fucking. What!’
His eyes widened, then he crossed the room and took my hands in his. ‘Are you …?’ He swallowed hard. ‘Really?’
‘I’ve done four tests, they were all positive!’
‘Babe! This is … Are you sure? How do you know?’ He pulled his hands from mine, shaping them around my body. ‘Should you be … standing? Sit down, sit down, you need to sit.’
Just for the novelty, I let him steer me to the couch. I was a pregnant woman and my husband wanted me to sit!
‘Wow,’ he said. ‘It’s hard to believe it’s finally …’
It had taken a lot longer than envisioned when we’d been starting out. When we’d first gone to see Dr Solomon, I’d naively imagined we’d be parents by the age of thirty-four. But between studying, qualifying, then working two jobs each to pay back student loans, we discovered that somehow we were thirty-six.
The next logical step was to buy an apartment. I wasn’t so bothered but Luke said, ‘I don’t want to be still living in a tiny one-bed rental in the Lower East Side at the age of fifty.’ Engaging with the purveyors of New York real estate was a bruising experience and when we eventually bagged ourselves a two-bed in a brownstone in Boerum Hill, we were thirty-seven. (Also, exhausted and with our faith in human nature somewhat diminished.)
Then we were all set to commence our round-the-clock riding when, unexpectedly, Luke got an opportunity to buy his own accountancy practice, which would give more security than we’d ever dreamt of. But we needed a bank loan and by the time we were on top of the repayments, both of us were thirty-eight.
During those years of Waiting For The Right Time, I was mostly happy, often very happy. I loved being clean, I loved my husband, I loved my job, I had a busy, fulfilling life full of great people.
But there were still agonizing spells of doubt. About once every six months, I’d ring Nola and ask, ‘Should we not just chance it and hope for the best?’
Her answer – always – was to Golden Key it: if we were meant to have children, we’d have them. ‘You want guarantees but that’s not going to happen. You have to learn to live with uncertainty.’
‘But what if I’m too old?’
‘But what if you’re not? Dr Solomon says you’re looking good – honestly, I feel like I know that woman as well as my own doctor – and you’ve got to remember that you’re not like other people. You can probably have everything you want, so long as you wait. If you launch into it all at once, you could bring your whole life crashing down on your head. Too much stress puts you in danger of relapse.’
The mere suggestion that I might ever relapse made me huffy – there was no chance! – but she was right that I didn’t want my life to be a bodge job.
Luke tended to agree with Nola. ‘Babe, look at our lives! A lot of plates are spinning here. If one falls, so will some of the others. If you get pregnant now, you’ll have to stop working, at least for a few months, and we just don’t have the money.’
If we’d had an accident with contraception, we’d have gone ahead and had the baby. But there were no accidents. And that, in its way, was telling me plenty, I decided.
However, the day did finally dawn when we were both qualified, our college loans had been repaid, Luke had a small but solid business, doing personal accounting, tax returns, etc., and I’d finally been made a staffer in Hope House, a rehab facility in New Jersey.
‘Look at us!’ I declared. ‘Adulting like no one’s business!’ Then, seized with anxiety, ‘What if we’ve left it too late? What if my ovaries have shut up shop?’
‘What if they have?’ Luke asked. ‘We have a good life. Don’t we?’
‘Luke … if you’re having second thoughts, now would be a good time to mention it …’
‘Not having second thoughts,’ he said.
So I came off the pill, downloaded an ovulation app, bought a thermometer and drew up a sex schedule.
Being me, with my penchant for dramatics, I was convinced that it had worked the very first month. ‘I feel pukey. And my boobs feel sore.’
‘Your period isn’t even due for three more days,’ Luke said.
‘Yeah, but …’
He was right, of course. I wasn’t pregnant that month. Or for many more.
Seven or eight months in, Luke found me crying because – once again – I’d got my period.
‘What if it never happens?’ I asked him.
Gently he said, ‘We can have a good life without kids.’
But by then, I was obsessed. ‘We can’t. I’m going to look into IVF.’
His face became solemn. Shake and his wife Melanie had spent tens of thousands of dollars on IVF which hadn’t worked. They had just got divorced.
‘In the meantime,’ I said, ‘the sex will continue until morale improves.’
