Chapter 19
Leo
Why is this woman making her life sound like a shit poem?
Jesus Christ, she’s laying it on thick.
I glance at the clock. Ten minutes left. I need to fucking go.
Come on, just get the fuck on with—
‘Now it’s newcomers’ time. Would anyone like to share?’ No. No, I do not want to fucking share, Janet. Just bang your little gong, pass the bucket and let’s all be on our way. ‘Leo, was it?’
Damn. ‘Yeah.’ Don’t tell them to fuck themselves. Say something that they would say. Use the posh voice. Blend in. ‘I don’t think pressurising people into talking is morally acceptable.’ That sounded good.
The room goes still. No. I shouldn’t have done that. I really shouldn’t.
Hold it in. Bottle the little fucker up. Just get through. Get to the bucket. ‘Sorry, I’m just feeling a bit scratchy.’
Everyone nods.
‘That’s OK, Leo.’
Fuck’s sake, fine.
I slide my phone into my pocket and lean forward, elbows on my knees, like Dez did, then breathe out loudly a few times, so they can see this is very difficult for me.
‘I’m sick of having to have sex to buy a sandwich.
’ They stare back at me, eyes wide in shock.
Right where I want them. ‘Sweaty, gross men who just wanna fucking use me.’ Mouths start to hang open.
I can see their sad little faces. You can’t say that in Muswell Hill!
‘All this happened to me at the hands of people who use me.’ I take off my cap, so they can see my bruises.
The mess. Sally – the one who looks like she works in a bank – puts her hand to her mouth.
‘Ply me with drugs. Take advantage. I can’t do this anymore,’ I say.
‘I just need some help. I’ve fucked it so many times now.
I just think I can’t do it. Sobriety. I think I’m the only one who can’t do it.
I walk down the street and I look at each face that passes me and I think, I’d rather be you, I’d rather be you, I’d rather be you.
’ I’m pointing at them now. I hadn’t planned to, but fuck it.
I continue my spiel about being bad and sad and lonely blah blah blah.
I don’t want to be with these idiots. Time is ticking on – fuck me – I just need to get to the end of this.
I try and put a croak in my throat: I can’t cry on cue but I can make it look like I’m a sad little vulnerable fucker.
It’s easy. I bang on about how much I hate myself, how disgusted with myself I am, that if anyone knew the thoughts I had they would want to die too.
I end with a bit about how useful these meetings are, how much I need them, just to keep them onside.
Then I stop, put my head in my hands and make my body shudder a bit, to say, This is too much.
This is all too much. They lap it up. I’ll end with desperation. ‘I need help.’
‘It’s OK, Leo,’ someone whispers. ‘Well done for sharing.’
I nod sadly.
Fucking idiots.
‘OK,’ Janet says in her patronising voice.
‘That brings us to the end of the meeting...’ And in the blur that follows, all the fucking speaking in unison, the holding hands bollocks, the serenity prayer, there is a ringing in my head.
When the bucket comes I manage to grab a tenner without being seen.
Fast fingers.
I make a beeline for the door. Can’t be arsed speaking, although I know they’ll want to. They like to give me their numbers. Tell me they’ll take me for a brew or some lunch to make themselves feel better. Sometimes I’ll take the offer if I’m starving, but that’s not what I need today.
‘Leo?’ Fuck off fuck off. ‘Leo can I just have a word?’
I turn to see the sunglasses lady stood behind me.
She looks momentarily confused. Or scared.
But she keeps looking at me. There’s something about her that’s off.
Making me feel like she can see through me or something.
Up close, I can see her hair is a little grey at the roots.
Her clothes are clean in a way that annoys me, but I can’t deny she smells well nice, like lavender soap.
I note her pearl earrings, which I reckon are more expensive than they look.
A loose shirt and fitted jeans. And Birkenstocks on her feet, which make me immediately hate her.
Dunno why. I nicked a few of them once from a Schuh, made a mint.
She’s wearing socks in them too. Maybe it’s that.
This woman’s had it easy, I can tell. Seen her type so many times.
Not one of the real alcoholics. One of the ones that slept through her alarm a few too many times, and vomited in the bathroom at work. Probably sent here by her life coach.
‘Yeah?’ I say. I put my dirty hand out to see if she’ll shake it.
She does.
Fine. Still hate her.
‘I was just thinking about what you were saying – about needing a place to vent. To get it out—’
Oh God, here she goes. ‘I don’t need a sponsor – I’ve got one,’ I lie.
‘No – not that.’ She lowers her voice, stepping towards me. ‘I’m actually a licenced therapist and I’m using some of my slots to work pro bono. That means for—’
‘I know what it means.’ These fucking people. I live my life for pro bono, hun.
‘Right. Of course. Well, I thought maybe I could give you my number – and if you’re interested you could give me a text? We can meet at a café – somewhere safe – I could help you work through what has happened?’
‘I’m good, ta.’ I turn to leave.
‘Or,’ she says. ‘Or you could swing by my office. I’d be happy to see you as a client. The space is very private and comfortable – it’s at my house—’
‘I said—’ Wait. At her house. At her massive house. ‘Sorry. What did you say your name was?’
‘Mandy.’
‘Right,’ I say. Middle-class boring Mandy, desperate to use me to fill the void. That could work. ‘Can I think about it?’
‘Sure!’ she says brightly.
I get my phone out of my pocket to see Mo has texted a rope emoji. Jeez. ‘Go on then, what’s your number?’
She gives it to me, and I smile. ‘Thanks. That’s dead kind.’
‘Not to worry, Leo. It sounds like you’ve been through a lot. I’d love to help you process things if you’d like to.’
These people. Rich and stupid. ‘That’d be great,’ I say.
‘Well, I look forward to hearing from you.’ She nods, then leaves.
Still in her stupid sunglasses.
I follow behind her but wait in the car park until everyone has left.
Then I take my tenner and go to Mo.
He’s weird this time, and it hurts. He wasn’t kidding when he sent the rope emoji. I have to close my eyes. Just think of the gak I’ll get with the money, and wait.
And when it’s over, I go to the hardware store – something I need – then to the bridge, and score.
I get so much into me that I can’t think straight.
And I arrive.
Here.
Home.
My own little slice of heaven.