Chapter 3
Twenty minutes later, SJ was outside again.
The roadworks team had downed tools and disappeared.
People in suits were hurrying along the pavements, juggling their mobiles with takeout coffees – lunch on the run.
A Big Issue seller was arguing with a black cab driver about change.
On the opposite side of the street, a man with mad black hair and a scruffy denim jacket was staggering out of The George.
When she’d phoned the helpline, the receptionist had told her the drop-in centre was opposite a pub. ‘Bit ironic,’ she’d said.
Ironic wasn’t the word for it. SJ gazed back at the drunk. He could hardly stand up and it wasn’t yet one o’clock. He lurched against the wall of the pub.
She felt an unexpected wave of sympathy, which she hastily suppressed. He was a proper alcoholic – she didn’t even think about drinking in the day. How could she possibly be the same as him?
Everything around her looked normal, but she didn’t feel normal inside.
She felt as though part of her world had been jolted off its axis.
It was ridiculous; she was still the same person she’d been before she went into SAADD.
She didn’t ever have to go back. Even though she’d made another appointment – she could cancel it – they just needed twenty-four hours’ notice.
Then someone more in need of their services could take her place.
Like that man across the street. Perhaps she should go back in and tell someone and they could hook him in and dry him out or whatever they did to people with real problems.
Remembering her mobile, she switched it on and a message flashed up on the screen.
Hi hun, long time no see. When can you do lunch? Tanya Xx
She lit a Silk Cut and phoned her. It was a relief to hear her friend’s voice, a thread of normality through the weirdness of the day.
‘So how’s it going, SJ?’
‘Fine, absolutely fine,’ she replied, knowing she’d have said that if her leg was dropping off. ‘How’s you? Keeping busy?’
‘Not too bad.’ Tanya was an accountant, although she was as far from the stereotype as it was possible to get. ‘How about you? You up for lunch some time?’
‘Yeah. Sure. Hey, I don’t suppose you fancy lunch now, do you, Tanya? Are you in your office? I’m near Chinatown – say if you’re busy.’
‘I’m never too busy for a girlie lunch.’ Her friend laughed throatily.
She had the sexiest laugh on the planet and it wasn’t a cultivated thing.
From her wild red hair to her outrageously short skirts, nothing about Tanya was cultivated.
Tanya’s laugh put some perspective back into things and SJ relaxed a little.
She hadn’t realised she was so tense until she felt her neck muscles unknot.
‘I’ll meet you at All Bar One in New Oxford Street in around ten,’ Tanya was saying. ‘Mine’s a white wine if you get there first. Standard – not one of those bucket-sized glasses you drink. I’m seeing a client this afternoon.’
‘Okay,’ SJ said, feeling guilty and thinking of the form she was supposed to fill in.
She was pretty sure people with drink problems, even minor ones, shouldn’t go into wine bars.
It was the equivalent of a dieter going into a cake shop and drooling over the cream donuts – far too much temptation.
Bollocks, she could have a Diet Coke. It wasn’t like she needed to drink.
Minutes later, she went through the plate-glass doors of the bar.
To be honest, she didn’t much like All Bar One.
It was a bit too well-lit, a bit too fresh faced and samey.
She preferred old-fashioned pubs like The Red Lion in Dagenham, which was where she taught Poetry and a Pint on a Wednesday night.
A-Level English and writing features for the glossies was her day job. Poetry and a Pint was a fun extra.
The Red Lion was all beams and dark corners, with a landlord called Brian who was a bit grumpy but let her have the room upstairs dirt cheap on the proviso she encouraged her students to drink as many pints as possible without falling over.
Maybe she didn’t like All Bar One because she was too old, SJ thought with a pang.
The place was staffed by pimply lads who didn’t look old enough to be serving and bored-looking teenage girls who made her feel about a hundred.
She went to the bar, dry-mouthed and tense, and heard herself ordering two dry white wines.
‘Yes, that’s standard ones, please.’ How had that happened? She’d meant to order Diet Coke.
She fumbled for her debit card – that damn Tampax had escaped again.
Her rummaging caused it to spring to the top of her bag and poke out like some proud paper erection.
Shoving it back down and ignoring the barman’s smirk, she pinged her card against the reader.
She’d save a fortune if she only drank what she’d said she would this week.
If she gave up smoking too, she’d be a millionaire.
There was always a bright side, wasn’t there?
Not that she paid for much of the wine she drank at home. Tom ordered it by the case and refilled the fridge every time it was empty. He never complained she drank too much. He only complained if she opened one of the reds he was saving for a special occasion.
‘That was good timing,’ Tanya said from behind her. ‘Thanks – shall we find a table? Are we eating? Shall I grab a menu?’
Handing them leather-bound menus, the ten-year-old barman stared at Tanya’s legs.
Oblivious to his gaze, Tanya sashayed across the room like a catwalk model.
SJ wished she had legs like Tanya’s – the two women were the same height, but while Tanya had legs to die for, hers were too thick – and hairy if she didn’t shave them constantly.
The downside of having nearly black hair and olive skin – SJ wished she was red-haired and glamorous like Tanya.
High-maintenance legs, like hers, were best kept covered up, although slightly less floral overload would have worked better. Nevertheless, no one should be subjected to her legs without a government health warning.
‘So what’s new?’ Tanya pulled out two stools at a table near a window. ‘You sounded weird on the phone.’
‘Did I?’ SJ stared at her drink. The pale liquid glowed enticingly in reflected sunlight. Never had it looked so much like nectar but, inexplicably, she was scared to take a sip.
‘Yes, you did. Are you all right? What’s up? Is it work?’
SJ looked into Tanya’s concerned green eyes and frowned.
She thought she’d hidden her feelings better than that.
She had no intention of telling Tanya where she’d just been.
Already, the shame of her appointment was sliding into the past. She’d just go there for a few sessions, get some tips on how to cut down and then, with luck, she’d be sorted and there’d be no need to tell anybody – ever.
She took a sip of her drink and glanced around.
It wasn’t busy for a Tuesday lunchtime. No one was near enough to overhear.
‘I’m fine, work’s fine. I’ve just got another commission for Good Housekeeping. Then another three weeks and the summer is mine – well, apart from Poetry and a Pint, but that’s a walk in the park compared to Macbeth and Wuthering Heights. Everything’s cool.’
She stretched her hands above her head to demonstrate how utterly cool everything was and narrowly avoided falling off her stool, which was designed for perching on and looking good, but not relaxing.
But Tanya, who was one of the most perceptive people she knew, wasn’t easily deflected.
‘You’re a rubbish liar, SJ. Come on, I’m your best friend.
Tell me what’s up. I might be able to help.
And even if I can’t – well…’ She spread her hands apart.
Her fingernails were painted white with little red crosses – in honour of the England football team who were playing someone or other on Saturday.
Another contrast, SJ thought uneasily, glancing at her own chewed nails before hiding them in her lap.
Not that she’d have painted her nails with red crosses even if she’d had any to paint.
Most of the black cabs sported flags sticking out at right angles.
She was surprised there was no big screen in here – you couldn’t usually get away from the football when England were playing.
‘Something’s obviously wrong. You’re not having problems with Tom, are you?’
SJ shook her head and put her glass back on the table – it was empty, she realised with a small shock.
Tanya followed her gaze. ‘You needed that, didn’t you? You little alky…’ Many a true word spoken in jest. ‘…Want another?’
‘No!’ SJ knew the ‘no’ had come out as a yelp. ‘I can’t, I’m working later. Tanya – do you think I drink too much?’
‘Sometimes maybe, but no more than anyone else we know. Why? Are you worried?’
SJ took a deep breath. Tanya was bound to worm it out of her sooner or later and to her surprise she had a strong urge to confess.
This morning’s honesty, even though she’d lied about her name, had been cathartic.
‘I’m a bit worried. I’ve just been to an alcohol advisory place. I wanted to get some reassurance.’
Tanya rested her chin on her hands and looked interested and concerned simultaneously. ‘And were they reassuring?’
‘No, they seemed to think I am drinking too much.’
‘So what did they suggest?’
‘That I cut down.’ SJ stared at her empty glass and wished she didn’t want a refill so badly.
‘That’s going well then.’ Tanya gave her a wry smile. ‘Do you want to cut down?’
‘What I really want to do right now is get absolutely blotto. I think it’s the stress. It was a shock finding out that I might have – you know – a problem.’
‘Why did you go there in the first place?’
‘Because a few weeks ago when Tom was away I got so drunk I couldn’t remember what happened. It was awful.’