Chapter 16 #2
Suddenly a gong sounds, surprising me. I turn to see an earnest-looking woman with cropped grey hair and sad eyes holding one, hitting it with a wooden mallet.
She is sat behind a small fold-out table.
I assume this is the leader. She is, to be fair, a little Tilda Swinton-y (in The Beach), based on her lacy sandals and pinched features.
Perhaps her cult style icon? She looks like she cares about rules – she thinks they are important for everyone.
That type. She waits for the dommm of the little gong to stop – which takes a painfully long time – then places it back on the table.
She says, ‘Hello, my name is Janet, and I’m an alcoholic.’
Everyone speaks in response. ‘Hi, Janet.’
Janet continues in her softly spoken but precise and clipped voice. ‘In this meeting we go around the circle and introduce ourselves.’ Oh, Lord. ‘So, I’ll start. Hello – I’m still Janet, and I’m still an alcoholic.’
The circle ripples with a laugh that is gentle yet knowing, which is oddly peaceful, but also completely bizarre. I suddenly feel very much like I am outside of the joke and become astutely aware I need to be very much inside it, in order to pull this off. To appear authentic.
I make myself laugh, copying their tone, glancing round the group hoping they notice.
Hoping Leo notices. But his head is still down, hiding his face.
A woman with a cloud of grey hair, a headscarf and large wrist bangles catches my eye and nods approvingly.
I nod back, in what I hope is a gentle and knowing way.
I notice she is wearing pink fluffy slippers.
A rush enters my system. God, this is actually exciting. I’ve not felt this electricity, this freedom, since—
‘Hi, I’m John, and I am also an alcoholic.’ John is on the right of Janet and looks like he is straight out of a Dickens novel. Slender, tall, messy grey hair, wrinkled eyes, wearing a waistcoat, with a trace of dirt on his collar.
‘Hi, John,’ the group chimes.
I missed that one, but I’ll get the next.
‘Hi, I’m Pat, and I’m an alcoholic.’
‘Hi, Pat,’ I say confidently with the rest of them.
Next to Pat is Mia. Mia looks no older than fifteen and has the poshest accent I’ve ever heard.
She resembles a supermodel. Perhaps the daughter of one?
That would make sense. In fact, I wonder if there are famous faces amongst this candle circle.
The postcode and the demographic might suggest it, not to mention the creative pressure on celebs.
It makes perfect sense. I quickly scan the group again.
Alas, no one famous. Not even one early nineties pop star.
That I know of. Facial surgery does change people these days.
Speaking of, Janet has definitely had her forehead done.
Maybe we are all in disguise. Maybe I am with my people.
Leo looks fidgety now. Picking at his nails.
‘I’m Dez, and I’m an addict,’ the man who whispered to me says.
I notice people look at Dez a little differently, with a little more reverence and respect.
I wonder if being an addict – I assume a much more hard-core version of an ‘alcoholic’ – determines status within a group.
No one else has identified as an addict.
He even holds himself differently. Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his brow furrowed.
The weight of his addict past on his back – heavier than for the rest of us.
I wonder if I should identify as an addict.
I do think it holds itself open to a wider interpretation, and is certainly more obscure.
I wonder if it will give me more intrigue.
It has certainly made Hugs-Not-Drugs Dez more intriguing.
He is actually saying more things now, too.
About being grateful and recovering. Apparently he will never be recovered, and that’s the key.
Fascinating.
Dez is fascinating.
They all are.
Then Brenda speaks. Brenda is just an alcoholic, unlike Dez, but she still seems very wise, in a very wholesome way. She has very pink cheeks and looks absolutely knackered, and like she owns an allotment and gives massive courgettes to her neighbours.
I’m a little jealous of her.
Then Kima identifies herself. Kima looks like a yoga teacher in her Sweaty Betty leggings and vest, with hair that belongs in California.
Then Peter and Asha and Sally all tell us they are alcoholics.
Sally is interesting. She is seemingly calm and together, wearing a very beautiful dress, and has the air of someone with a very high-powered job in the city.
How did Sally get here? She looks a million dollars.
Maybe she’s not really one, like me? Maybe she just needs friends?
(Like me?) Somewhere to go while the kids run riot on a Saturday morning?
Next to introduce herself is another very interesting woman who calls herself Aphrodite.
I love the name, and actually it really suits her.
She has a tie-dye vest on, short wavy hair and a quality of calmness that seems entirely authentic.
I am immediately enamoured. I watch her plump rosy lips – without lip gloss but still amazingly hydrated – as she speaks, going a little off script, telling us that she is a lover of the moon and at one with nature.
I don’t really understand how it makes her an alcoholic, but she seems to think it does, and because of the way she says it – gently moving her hair out of that face with the intensely thoughtful auburn eyes – I fully believe her.
I instinctively laugh when she tells us her Venus is in orbit this month and so she’s more prone to relapse and is being watchful, but no one else does.
No one even cracks a smile. It throws me a little, as I realise I am still grasping the etiquette and response decorum happening around me. It is very left field at times.
But I am a quick learner.
The self-identification of the participants quickly gathers speed until the man on my right, who is still sobbing, says he is called Brian and he is currently a little drunk – he had a can of cider to steel his nerves – to which Leader Janet responds, ‘Sorry, Brian, you can’t share if you’ve had a drink today.
’ This seems a little brutal, but hey, I don’t make the rules, and leads Brian to sob even more, step out of his chair and leave through the front door.
I watch him, shaking my head sadly, like I assume other people are doing.
When I turn back into the circle, I realise everyone is looking directly at me. Expectantly. Nodding encouragingly.
Tilda appears like her eyes might explode with the anticipation of hearing the name of a new member.
It’s my turn.