Again, Rachel, page 37
‘I hated having to do it.’
‘You hated it?’
‘Rachel, please. Listen to me. Please. My baby died – she was my baby too. And my wife, the woman I adored, had relapsed –’
‘– I hadn’t –’
‘– I was broken, the loneliness was killing me and you were gone, Rachel. You might as well have been dead too.’
‘However bad it was for you, it was worse for me.’
He pulled in a deep suck of a breath. ‘I believe you. But you’d always told me that I should leave if you relapsed.’
‘But I hadn’t relapsed. That’s not the word –’
Ignoring me, he continued speaking. ‘For the longest time I couldn’t imagine it – you were so committed to staying clean. Then it happened and it was a fucking nightmare. How often did I beg you to quit? And you just lied.’ His face spasmed. ‘All your girls – Claire, Anna, Nola, Brigit and Olga Mae, I rang them so often, they stopped taking my calls. I kept doing sweeps of the apartment and finding more stashes of the pills. I was wondering about cancelling your cards –’
I’d have found the money somewhere.
‘– but forcing you to stop wouldn’t have gotten you clean. You had to be the one who decided. It took me nearly six months to face it, you didn’t love me enough –’
‘Of course I loved you!’
‘You loved the pills more. That’s a fact, Rachel. I couldn’t cure you. Just by being there, I was allowing it. If nothing in an addict’s life changes, they won’t change – how often had I heard you say that? If I left, I hoped it might shock you into getting clean.’
‘Wait, now –’ This was so confusing.
‘But I couldn’t move just eight blocks uptown. I wouldn’t be able to stay away from you.’
‘You really wanted to get far, far away from me.’
‘I didn’t want to leave you at all. But, you know, Rachel, I wasn’t exactly sane around then.’
He looked so distraught that suddenly that was easy to believe.
‘In the years since, it’s obvious I overreacted … But at the time it seemed like the only choice left to me. I’d run out of road.’
For the first time I had a sense of how he might have felt.
‘To do it right, you had to be out of reach. And I was terrified, Rachel. My life was in Brooklyn with you. At the best of times, I hate change. I picked Denver because I knew two people there – two more than any other place. I had to start a new job, find a place to live and get up every morning and go through the motions like a dead man walking. No one wanted to hang out with me, not even Johnno and Elaine after a while, I must have been too … depressed, whatever the word is. I couldn’t connect with other people, their lives seemed so stupidly light-hearted …’ He looked at me, a shiny-eyed glare. ‘That morning I left, I’ll never forget it, the way you pleaded, it tore me to shreds. I nearly gave in.’ He clapped a hand over his mouth. ‘I didn’t want to go, but I felt I had to.’ The words were muffled. ‘Because –’
To my shock, I saw that he was crying.
‘– by staying, I was only making everything worse.’
67
‘Luke!’ I moved towards him.
‘No.’ He swung away from me. ‘Don’t.’ Stepping well back, he wiped his eyes with a rough swipe of his jacket sleeve. ‘I’m fine. I’ll leave now.’
‘Don’t. Please. Wait a moment. Just until you’re okay.’
‘I’m grand.’
It suddenly seemed wrong to be carrying out this intense, emotional discussion on my doorstep, on a dark, chilly night. ‘Luke, hey, would you like to come in?’
He met my eyes. He looked worn out – and something else. Unlikely as it seemed, he might have been amused. ‘Yeah,’ he said, hinting at irony. ‘Yeah, Rachel, I would.’
I stood aside. ‘Come on then.’
With a small smile, he shook his head. ‘I should go now.’
… What the hell? Yes? No?
He was definitely leaving, backing away towards the big motorbike parked on the kerb. Baffled, I watched him.
Over his shoulder, he clicked his key fob and the bike behind him chirped into life. ‘Bye, Rachel,’ he called, his voice carried by the night air.
Inside, I tried FaceTiming Quin but he didn’t answer. I felt desolate – his common sense, his lack of sentimentality, was very grounding.
Because I didn’t know what else to do, I went to bed. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, a question jolted me awake: If you hadn’t asked Carlotta for sleeping pills, would you still be married to Luke? With another child?
Had that one request triggered a domino effect which had completely altered the path of my life, of Luke’s life?
But who ever knew what was in store for us? And considering that we’d lost a child, it was remarkable that both Luke and I had gone on to rebuild good lives and be happy again. It wasn’t what we would have chosen but we were okay now.
It was all fine.
68
‘Harlie Clarke?’ Hector said. ‘Been crying nonstop since yesterday afternoon. Didn’t want any dinner. Went to bed early. Chalkie came down around 1 a.m. and complained that the crying was keeping them awake.’
‘Excellent,’ Ted said approvingly.
‘Good stuff.’ There was general agreement around the table.
‘Ella has been very quiet, Dennis is in good form again, Chalkie is still raging, Bronte seems calm and happy, Trassa the same, and Lowry, your newbie, has been telling everyone his sad stories – cruel father, ungrateful girlfriend, you know how it goes.’
In the Abbot’s Quarter, Chalkie was already there, surrounded by a force field of fury. Then in came Dennis.
‘Bee-soo, Rachel.’ He blew me a kiss. ‘Bee-soo, Chalkie.’
Chalkie glanced up. ‘Bee-soo yourself, you fucking loon.’
‘Oy, oy, oy!’ Dennis recoiled. ‘No need for that sort of talk. I’m smartening up my act. Bronte has inspired me. She’s classy, so she is, fierce classy. And here’s the woman herself! Bee-soo, Bronte.’
Bronte seemed startled, then began to laugh – the first time I’d seen her do that. ‘Bisous, Dennis, bisous.’ She blew kisses at him, he returned fire and they grinned at each other.
‘See,’ Dennis said to Chalkie. ‘It’s nice to be nice. Here’s Harlie. Bee-soo, Harlie.’
Harlie was weeping openly.
‘Ah, now, now, now.’ Gingerly Dennis patted her on the back. ‘Still crying about your man? Jez, who’d blame you, he’s a hunk, that lad, a hunk and a half. Anywan’d be boolie-versay about him.’
That just made Harlie cry more and as soon as everyone was settled, I started with her.
‘We were really in love, me and Cal,’ she said. ‘You know how you see other couples and they don’t even like each other? But me and Cal were best buds.’ As the tears seized her once more, she squeaked out the next five words. ‘He was my best friend.’
We let her cry.
‘I’d always wanted to meet the perfect man,’ she said. ‘And he was it. But he still wasn’t enough.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I thought he’d turned into this boring fucker who interfered with my drinking. But I was the one who had changed. I preferred drinking to him. And still, I hated him for fucking off and leaving me. I thought he was really selfish. Now I sort of get it.’
‘What do you get?’
‘He left me because he thought it would help me.’
All the downy hairs on my arms stood up – this was exactly what Luke had said to me last night. If I believed Caleb – and I did – surely I should believe Luke?
If my ducklings thought they’d get an easy afternoon because it was Friday, they were in for another think: Ella’s boss, Boyd Heffernan, had arrived.
Late thirties, dressed in a suit and tie and already balding, he was a very different proposition to Ella’s boyfriend Jonah.
From the couple of chats we’d had, Boyd struck me as a man who’d expected great things from his life, only for it all to veer off into tedious mediocrity. Whatever dysfunctional thing he had going on with Ella, he was hanging a lot of hope on it.
When I led him into group, Ella’s head snapped up and visible sweat popped on her skin. From the looks of her, there was a real chance she might faint.
I asked Boyd to introduce himself.
‘I’m Ella’s line manager at work,’ he said. ‘We’re also in a relationship.’
An audible shock moved through the group and Dennis blurted out, ‘What about the other lad?’ Then, with a mortified squeak, ‘Sorry, son, don’t mind me.’
‘Are you talking about Jonah?’ Boyd asked. ‘Because they’ve finished. She’s just waiting for the right time to leave.’
I was certain that that would have come as news to Jonah.
Boyd looked at Ella, waiting for her to back him up, but she was slumped and floppy, unable to speak.
‘Has she ever asked you to get sleeping tablets for her?’ I asked.
‘Um, yeah. You know she was mugged and then she couldn’t sleep? So about five months ago her own doctor cut off her supply.’
That wasn’t true but I let it pass for the moment.
‘About five months ago, wasn’t it, hon?’ Boyd consulted Ella, who managed a dazed nod.
‘She couldn’t cope without the tablets – she asked if I could get some. I went to my GP, said I couldn’t sleep, got a two-month supply. Gave them to her. I know it sounds wrong, but she was suffering and I could help. I’m okay with it.’
‘Did you do it with other doctors?’
‘No …’
‘“But”?’ There was something there that I hadn’t expected.
‘… not in Ireland. But I travel a lot for work, often to cities in the US. There are doctors who take care of hotel guests and they’re okay about giving out prescriptions for sleeping pills.’
Out of nowhere I went hot-cold. ‘How, erm …?’ Panic flashed through me. ‘How often did you do this?’
From a long way away, I watched Boyd shrug. ‘I think, five times.’
‘Those doctors …’ I had to clear my throat and start again. ‘Those doctors are expensive, though?’ I was freestyling now, we hadn’t rehearsed this. And whatever was going on with me had to be parked for the rest of this session; my duty was to Ella.
With an enormous effort, I pulled myself back into my body, back into the room.
‘Who paid the doctors?’ I asked Boyd.
‘Ah, yeah, I did.’
‘Did Ella pay you back? No? Why was that?’
Everyone turned to Ella, who said, ‘Mmm, I don’t … Boyd, did you ever ask me for the money?’
‘I don’t know.’ His cheekbones pinkened. ‘Maybe I forgot.’
I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He was crazy about her. She had no interest in him but as long as he continued to be useful, she’d keep sleeping with him. The most painful part was that he suspected it himself.
‘Boyd, you did several things of dubious legality.’ Now I was back in my groove. ‘Which cost you a lot of money. Why was that?’
‘Because I love her. We love each other. She was in a bad way and I was able to help. It was a no-brainer.’
‘Ella was taking pills which hadn’t been prescribed by her doctor. No single doctor knew the quantity she was taking. She could have accidentally overdosed. Weren’t you worried?’
‘I was more worried about what would happen if she didn’t have the tablets. She talked about suicide.’
‘Boyd, you’re under no obligation to answer.’ I tried to be gentle. ‘But are you married?’
‘Y-yes.’ He cast a look at Ella. ‘Yes. But I’m leaving my wife.’
‘When?’
‘When Ella is …’ He watched Ella, searching for a sign from her. But her eyes remained downcast. ‘When Ella is … ready?’
Which would be precisely never, if I’d understood this properly.
It was absolutely horrifying. Poor Boyd, poor Boyd’s wife, poor Jonah, poor Ella. So much damage, so much shame, so many secrets.
As soon as I’d seen Boyd off the premises, I went to a consulting room, and locked the door, as I tried to breathe through a stabbing pain in my ribs. When he had started talking about visiting hotel doctors, a memory – appallingly vivid – had landed wholesale in my head, of a time I’d gone to one of those doctors.
What was astonishing was that until now I’d managed to forget it completely.
It had been some time during those terrible months after Yara – late autumn, probably. I remembered how cold I’d been. My supply of Ambien had run low at an alarming speed and I was in a panic, wondering how to get more.
I couldn’t ask Carlotta, it was too soon for yet another visit to Dr Gagnon, but then I remembered a doctor that Dad had visited a few years earlier when he’d been visiting New York with Mum. Dad had had an upset stomach – like I said, something always happened – and he’d gone to a nearby GP who serviced the hotels in midtown Manhattan.
In the speediest consultation of all time, the doctor had given Dad a prescription for several strong drugs, relieved him of a couple of hundred dollars and bounced him back out into the street.
With the aid of Google, it was remarkably easy to track down the doctor and even easier to bag an appointment for later that day. Getting showered and dressed was a bit of a big deal, but I’d caught the subway into the city, sat in the chair and told the doc I was visiting New York for five weeks. ‘The jet lag has triggered my insomnia. And I need to be on top of things for my job.’
‘That’s too bad.’ He was all unctuous sympathy, as well he might be, considering how expensive he was.
‘I’ve used Ambien in the past,’ I said. ‘It’s always worked well.’
‘Okay.’ He scribbled something on a pad. ‘Five weeks, you said? Should I also give you some Xanax?’
A powerful longing seized me, but very quickly, I said, ‘Oh no. No thank you. No.’
I couldn’t let sleeping tablets be a gateway to any other drugs. Staying clean was vital. The Xanax – or Valium or any kind of benzo, really – would have taken the hard edges off the world. I couldn’t truthfully say that I wouldn’t have enjoyed it but I didn’t need it the way I needed Ambien.
As I handed over my credit card – issued from a New York bank, not that the doctor was in any way bothered – the high cost almost cancelled out my relief.
Because I was a ‘tourist’ it couldn’t be claimed back on my insurance and I wondered what to say to Luke if he saw it on the statement. Maybe I could pretend it was dental work? Or … Botox?
He’d freak out at Botox.
But not as much as he’d freak out at Ambien.
Even so, I’d managed to make the whole thing small and not important: I’d needed to sleep, I’d been resourceful.
But sitting in the Abbot’s Quarter, quizzing Boyd, the memory of what I’d done suddenly astounded me. I’d gone to a doctor – the third doctor I’d seen in perhaps two months – and lied.
Even at the time my crappy, bullshit story had embarrassed me, and it was obvious that the doctor hadn’t believed it either. We’d both come away sullied by the charade.
Luke had asked me what I’d think if a client told me my story. I had to admit that visiting more than one doctor, lying to them and hiding it all from my husband was addiction 101.
As the knowledge settled, my whole body went cold. Goosebumps broke out on my skin.
Back then, I’d taken my sanctimonious spurning of the offer of Xanax as proof that I was in control. Certain that if I simply decided to not get addicted to sleeping pills that I wouldn’t.
But I had.
… or had I?
69
I couldn’t think about it. Not now. I was going to Barcelona with Quin, I needed to be together. I’d think about it when I got back. I’d worry about it then.
Although maybe there wasn’t anything to worry about. Maybe everything was fine.
At home, Kate and Devin were all glee and hilarity because Crunchie was wearing a bonnet.
‘She wanted to wear it,’ Kate insisted. ‘She pulled it out of the drawer.’
Crunchie seemed happy enough, which was a relief because Kate and Devin were babysitting her for the weekend and I didn’t want them treating her as a dressing-up doll. ‘Are they laughing at you?’ I asked in my special Crunchie voice. ‘Are they making fun of you?’
‘We’re totally not,’ Devin said. ‘She looks like a wise woman –’
‘– from a Jane Austen series,’ Kate finished.
‘Yeah!’ Devin high-fived Kate.
Maybe she did. Crunchie’s brown eyes were very kind and perhaps shrewd.
Or, much more likely, I was just biased.
Up in my bedroom, I finished packing, throwing a couple of short, going-out dresses and a pair of teetery-heeled shoes into my wheelie case. The night at Jake’s Place, when Quin had complained that he never saw my legs, I’d felt bad for him.
There was no harm in being nice, especially at the moment.
Which was why I also flung in some expensive knickers and bras.
‘Crunchie! Let’s go!’ She came running for her last walk of the night. ‘Let’s just take off that fecking bonnet.’
Out in the woods, the torch lighting our way, Crunchie and I in perfect harmony, my head suddenly said, You relapsed and ruined everything.
Terrified, I tripped over a root. Even after I’d steadied myself I still felt like I was falling.
I needed to get home.
But once I was there I didn’t want to stay. So I made the impulsive decision to surprise Quin by being in his bed when he arrived home at 5 a.m. I had a key, the alarm code and an open invitation, so why not?
Keen to leave, feeling slightly panicky, I threw the last few things into my carry-on, said goodbye to Crunchie, Kate and Devin and off I went.
But it was strange, being alone in Quin’s house. Every time a floorboard creaked or a pipe banged, I thought it was a burglar or a ghost – something bad anyway.
I’d want to get used to it, though. This could be my home soon enough. Which was good. Proof that no matter what had happened with Luke – even if I had relapsed – I’d survived and built a new life. Quin’s noisy pipes, possible burglars, these were real, tangible markers of progress.
