Rachel's Holiday
Page 36
Something was worrying me. There was a thought in my head that I couldn’t quite get a hold on, it kept slithering away.
19
In the afternoon a nice man I hadn’t seen before came and spoke to me.
‘Howya,’ he said. ‘Neil’s the name and I’m in Josephine’s group too. I didn’t meet you yesterday because I was at the dentist.’
Normally I wouldn’t give the time of day to anyone who introduced themselves by saying ‘Neil’s the name,’ but there was something about him I liked.
He was twinkly, smiley and quite young. I found myself sitting up straight and making a bit of an effort for him. Although, even before I saw the wedding ring on his finger, I knew he was married. It was something to do with the smoothness of his jumper and the uncreasedness of his trousers. I had a strange pang of disappointment.
‘How are you getting on with this crowd of headcases?’ He jerked his head round the room at the brown jumpers.
A warmth filled me. A normal person!
‘They’re OK,’ I giggled. ‘For a crowd of headcases.’
‘And what did you make of Josephine?’
‘She’s a bit scary,’ I admitted.
‘Ah, she’s another headcase,’ he said. ‘She puts thoughts in people’s minds, makes them admit to things that aren’t true.’
‘Really?’ I said. ‘You know, I thought she was a bit odd.’
‘Yeah, you’ll see for yourself,’ he said intriguingly. ‘Anyway, what are you in for?’
‘Drugs.’ I made a rueful face to let him know that there wasn’t really anything wrong with me.
He laughed understandingly. ‘I know what you mean, I’m in for alcohol myself. My poor deluded wife doesn’t drink and she thinks that because I have four pints on a Saturday night it makes me an alcoholic. I came in here to get her off my back. At least now it’ll prove to her there’s nothing wrong with me.’
And we laughed together conspiratorially at other people’s foolishness.
A couple of times during the day, I noticed the Sour Kraut and Celine the day nurse talking about me. At tea-time, just before the chips-fest, Celine appeared and said ‘Can I have a word, Rachel?’
Impending doom descended. While the inmates shouted ‘Oooh, Rachel, you’ve done it now’ and ‘Can I have your chips?’ Celine took me, head lowered, to the nurses’ room.
It was like being taken to the Principal’s office at school. But, to my surprise, Celine didn’t seem to be annoyed with me.
‘You don’t look well,’ she said. ‘You haven’t looked well all day.’
‘I didn’t get much sleep last night,’ I exhaled, euphoric with relief. ‘And I think I might still be jet-lagged.’
‘Why didn’t you say anything?’
‘I don’t know,’ I grinned. ‘I’m used to feeling terrible, I suppose. Most days in work I feel like hell on wheels…’ I stopped abruptly when I saw the expression on her face. This was not the right woman to discuss wild nights out on the town with.
‘Why do you feel bad in work?’ she asked, and for a moment her easy-going voice nearly had me fooled. But not quite.
‘I’m not a morning person,’ I said briefly.
She smiled. She passed judgement on me with that one look. My euphoria dissipated. She knows, I thought uncomfortably. She knows everything about me.
‘I think you should go to bed after tea,’ she said. ‘The counsellor on duty and I have discussed it and we think it’s OK if you miss the games this evening.’
‘What games?’
‘Every Saturday night there are games. Musical Chairs, Twister, Red Rover, that kind of thing.’
She can’t be serious, I thought. It was the most squirmy thing I’d ever heard.
‘It’s marvellous fun.’ She smiled.
You poor, sad woman, I thought, if that’s your idea of fun.
‘Everyone lets off a bit of steam,’ she went on. ‘And it’s the one time in the week when there are no nurses or counsellors present, so you can do impersonations of us…’
When she said that, I realized one of the things that had niggled me all day. The inmates were rarely alone. Even at mealtimes, one of the staff sat quietly in their midst.
‘So after tea, go straight to bed,’ she ordered.
Maybe I could have a sunbed or a massage first, I thought hopefully.
‘First, could I…?’ I asked.
‘Bed,’ she interrupted firmly. ‘Tea, then bed. You’re tired and we don’t want you getting sick.’
It felt all wrong to find myself in bed on a Saturday night at seven o’clock. You’d usually only find me in the scratcher at that hour when I still hadn’t got up from the night before. (Not that rare an event, actually. Especially if it had been a late one and strong cocaine had been taken.)
The sensations of isolation and alienation that I’d had all day intensified as I sat in bed, listlessly leafing through Chaquie’s magazines, the rain cracking against the rattly, draughty window. I was lonely and afraid. And a failure. It was Saturday night and I should’ve been dressing up and going out and enjoying myself. Instead I was in bed.
My big worry was Luke. I had never felt so powerless in my life. I knew he’d be going out tonight and having a good time without me. He might even – my insides shrank with fear – he might even meet another girl. And take her back to his apartment. And shag her…
At this thought, an almost uncontrollable urge seized me, to jump out of bed, pull on some clothes and somehow get to New York to stop him. Frantically I grabbed a handful of Pringles and stuffed them into my mouth and the panic abated slightly. The Pringles were a great comfort. Neil had donated them when he heard I was being sent to bed early. I had only meant to eat a couple but I ended up ploughing my way through the lot. I can’t sleep easy if there’s an open container of savoury snacks in the house.
I would have loved a couple of sleeping tablets. Or Valium. Anything to calm the terrible fluttery anxiety about Luke that so tormented me. It was inhumane to expect me to get through such heartache without chemicals to ease my pain, I thought in anger. No one should be expected to suffer this way. In the real world no one would put themselves through this. Abstinence had gone too far in the Cloisters.
19
In the afternoon a nice man I hadn’t seen before came and spoke to me.
‘Howya,’ he said. ‘Neil’s the name and I’m in Josephine’s group too. I didn’t meet you yesterday because I was at the dentist.’
Normally I wouldn’t give the time of day to anyone who introduced themselves by saying ‘Neil’s the name,’ but there was something about him I liked.
He was twinkly, smiley and quite young. I found myself sitting up straight and making a bit of an effort for him. Although, even before I saw the wedding ring on his finger, I knew he was married. It was something to do with the smoothness of his jumper and the uncreasedness of his trousers. I had a strange pang of disappointment.
‘How are you getting on with this crowd of headcases?’ He jerked his head round the room at the brown jumpers.
A warmth filled me. A normal person!
‘They’re OK,’ I giggled. ‘For a crowd of headcases.’
‘And what did you make of Josephine?’
‘She’s a bit scary,’ I admitted.
‘Ah, she’s another headcase,’ he said. ‘She puts thoughts in people’s minds, makes them admit to things that aren’t true.’
‘Really?’ I said. ‘You know, I thought she was a bit odd.’
‘Yeah, you’ll see for yourself,’ he said intriguingly. ‘Anyway, what are you in for?’
‘Drugs.’ I made a rueful face to let him know that there wasn’t really anything wrong with me.
He laughed understandingly. ‘I know what you mean, I’m in for alcohol myself. My poor deluded wife doesn’t drink and she thinks that because I have four pints on a Saturday night it makes me an alcoholic. I came in here to get her off my back. At least now it’ll prove to her there’s nothing wrong with me.’
And we laughed together conspiratorially at other people’s foolishness.
A couple of times during the day, I noticed the Sour Kraut and Celine the day nurse talking about me. At tea-time, just before the chips-fest, Celine appeared and said ‘Can I have a word, Rachel?’
Impending doom descended. While the inmates shouted ‘Oooh, Rachel, you’ve done it now’ and ‘Can I have your chips?’ Celine took me, head lowered, to the nurses’ room.
It was like being taken to the Principal’s office at school. But, to my surprise, Celine didn’t seem to be annoyed with me.
‘You don’t look well,’ she said. ‘You haven’t looked well all day.’
‘I didn’t get much sleep last night,’ I exhaled, euphoric with relief. ‘And I think I might still be jet-lagged.’
‘Why didn’t you say anything?’
‘I don’t know,’ I grinned. ‘I’m used to feeling terrible, I suppose. Most days in work I feel like hell on wheels…’ I stopped abruptly when I saw the expression on her face. This was not the right woman to discuss wild nights out on the town with.
‘Why do you feel bad in work?’ she asked, and for a moment her easy-going voice nearly had me fooled. But not quite.
‘I’m not a morning person,’ I said briefly.
She smiled. She passed judgement on me with that one look. My euphoria dissipated. She knows, I thought uncomfortably. She knows everything about me.
‘I think you should go to bed after tea,’ she said. ‘The counsellor on duty and I have discussed it and we think it’s OK if you miss the games this evening.’
‘What games?’
‘Every Saturday night there are games. Musical Chairs, Twister, Red Rover, that kind of thing.’
She can’t be serious, I thought. It was the most squirmy thing I’d ever heard.
‘It’s marvellous fun.’ She smiled.
You poor, sad woman, I thought, if that’s your idea of fun.
‘Everyone lets off a bit of steam,’ she went on. ‘And it’s the one time in the week when there are no nurses or counsellors present, so you can do impersonations of us…’
When she said that, I realized one of the things that had niggled me all day. The inmates were rarely alone. Even at mealtimes, one of the staff sat quietly in their midst.
‘So after tea, go straight to bed,’ she ordered.
Maybe I could have a sunbed or a massage first, I thought hopefully.
‘First, could I…?’ I asked.
‘Bed,’ she interrupted firmly. ‘Tea, then bed. You’re tired and we don’t want you getting sick.’
It felt all wrong to find myself in bed on a Saturday night at seven o’clock. You’d usually only find me in the scratcher at that hour when I still hadn’t got up from the night before. (Not that rare an event, actually. Especially if it had been a late one and strong cocaine had been taken.)
The sensations of isolation and alienation that I’d had all day intensified as I sat in bed, listlessly leafing through Chaquie’s magazines, the rain cracking against the rattly, draughty window. I was lonely and afraid. And a failure. It was Saturday night and I should’ve been dressing up and going out and enjoying myself. Instead I was in bed.
My big worry was Luke. I had never felt so powerless in my life. I knew he’d be going out tonight and having a good time without me. He might even – my insides shrank with fear – he might even meet another girl. And take her back to his apartment. And shag her…
At this thought, an almost uncontrollable urge seized me, to jump out of bed, pull on some clothes and somehow get to New York to stop him. Frantically I grabbed a handful of Pringles and stuffed them into my mouth and the panic abated slightly. The Pringles were a great comfort. Neil had donated them when he heard I was being sent to bed early. I had only meant to eat a couple but I ended up ploughing my way through the lot. I can’t sleep easy if there’s an open container of savoury snacks in the house.
I would have loved a couple of sleeping tablets. Or Valium. Anything to calm the terrible fluttery anxiety about Luke that so tormented me. It was inhumane to expect me to get through such heartache without chemicals to ease my pain, I thought in anger. No one should be expected to suffer this way. In the real world no one would put themselves through this. Abstinence had gone too far in the Cloisters.
