leave the children sleeping.
‘Feel free to use my bed to grab some more rest,’ says Karen, rushing out of the door.
She drives along the A27 as fast as her ancient Citroen will allow.
What if he’s dead by the time I get there, she thinks.
And she presses the accelerator to the floor, heedless of her own safety.
II
Winds of Change
13
You can tell it’s a private clinic, thinks Michael, as he makes his way upstairs from the dining room. Look at these exotic flower arrangements – orange-tongued
birds of paradise, cream calla lilies, towers of green orchids. I wonder who has the contract? Must be worth a fortune.
On the landing wall is a series of watercolour paintings of the countryside around Lewes – the dramatic chalk cliffs of Seven Sisters, a panoramic vista from high on the South Downs,
rowing boats reflected in the water of the River Ouse. Michael supposes they’ve been chosen to convey peace and being at one with nature, but he still feels like he’s been through a
war.
He’s not slept properly in weeks, so he asks a woman vacuuming the hall carpet where he can get a coffee, and she directs him to a kitchen. He presses the button that says
Espresso
and is watching the cardboard cup fill with black liquid when there’s a whisper in his ear.
‘If you’re hoping for caffeine, I’d go downstairs.’
Michael turns to see a young man with a pierced eyebrow and a Mohican. ‘Sorry?’
‘The coffee in that machine is all caffeine-free.’
‘What, even the espresso?’
‘Yup. Promise you. Teabags too.’ The young man jerks his head towards the boxes of Earl Grey, English Breakfast and Peppermint. ‘You’re new, aren’t you? What
programme are you on?’
Michael can’t remember much of his arrival, let alone what he’s supposed to be doing day to day. ‘Sorry, mate, I’m not sure.’
The Mohican sniffs. ‘Well, you’d know if you were an addict, for sure. You’d be detoxing if you’ve just arrived, and that’s hell.’ He shudders. ‘Anyway,
downstairs in reception the stuff in the machine is different – us addicts aren’t allowed there.’
‘Er . . .’
‘Past the door with the coded lock, you must have seen that?’
Michael nods, though he’s seen no such thing.
‘Anyway, you want a blast of caffeine – that’s where you’ll find it.’
‘Thanks. I think I’ll give this coffee a miss then,’ says Michael, and chucks his espresso down the sink.
* * *
‘I need the loo,’ says Abby. ‘Do you have to accompany me there too?’
‘Afraid I do.’ The nurse winces, apologetic, but Abby doesn’t feel much sympathy. She doesn’t feel much at all. Vague anxiety, misty unhappiness, but mainly she’s
numb.
‘I want a pee,’ she says when they reach the Ladies. ‘I hope you’re not coming inside?’
‘No, but don’t lock the door.’
Abby resists an urge to do exactly that. This woman following her around everywhere is getting on her nerves. She’s not at all clear why she’s doing it. If only the last few days
weren’t such a blur.
She’s only been in the cubicle a couple of minutes when there’s a tap on the door.
‘You OK?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘It’s just the group begins at eleven, and I think it could be really good for you to be there.’ Abby can tell the nurse is trying to keep her voice soft and calm, but she
sounds simpering instead.
‘I’ll come in a minute.’
‘They like to start on time.’
‘I’m peeing as fast as I can,’ snaps Abby. She’s no desire to join in the session – she’s no desire for anything. Oh well, she thinks, emerging, it’s
not as if I’ve anything better to do. She allows herself to be led down the corridor and into the lounge, where she and the nurse sit down on a sofa.
An older guy in a suit appears at the door. Maybe he’s the man who helped with my admission last night, thinks Abby, vaguely recalling his goatee beard. Her head is in such a muddle she
isn’t sure. He is followed
‘Feel free to use my bed to grab some more rest,’ says Karen, rushing out of the door.
She drives along the A27 as fast as her ancient Citroen will allow.
What if he’s dead by the time I get there, she thinks.
And she presses the accelerator to the floor, heedless of her own safety.
II
Winds of Change
13
You can tell it’s a private clinic, thinks Michael, as he makes his way upstairs from the dining room. Look at these exotic flower arrangements – orange-tongued
birds of paradise, cream calla lilies, towers of green orchids. I wonder who has the contract? Must be worth a fortune.
On the landing wall is a series of watercolour paintings of the countryside around Lewes – the dramatic chalk cliffs of Seven Sisters, a panoramic vista from high on the South Downs,
rowing boats reflected in the water of the River Ouse. Michael supposes they’ve been chosen to convey peace and being at one with nature, but he still feels like he’s been through a
war.
He’s not slept properly in weeks, so he asks a woman vacuuming the hall carpet where he can get a coffee, and she directs him to a kitchen. He presses the button that says
Espresso
and is watching the cardboard cup fill with black liquid when there’s a whisper in his ear.
‘If you’re hoping for caffeine, I’d go downstairs.’
Michael turns to see a young man with a pierced eyebrow and a Mohican. ‘Sorry?’
‘The coffee in that machine is all caffeine-free.’
‘What, even the espresso?’
‘Yup. Promise you. Teabags too.’ The young man jerks his head towards the boxes of Earl Grey, English Breakfast and Peppermint. ‘You’re new, aren’t you? What
programme are you on?’
Michael can’t remember much of his arrival, let alone what he’s supposed to be doing day to day. ‘Sorry, mate, I’m not sure.’
The Mohican sniffs. ‘Well, you’d know if you were an addict, for sure. You’d be detoxing if you’ve just arrived, and that’s hell.’ He shudders. ‘Anyway,
downstairs in reception the stuff in the machine is different – us addicts aren’t allowed there.’
‘Er . . .’
‘Past the door with the coded lock, you must have seen that?’
Michael nods, though he’s seen no such thing.
‘Anyway, you want a blast of caffeine – that’s where you’ll find it.’
‘Thanks. I think I’ll give this coffee a miss then,’ says Michael, and chucks his espresso down the sink.
* * *
‘I need the loo,’ says Abby. ‘Do you have to accompany me there too?’
‘Afraid I do.’ The nurse winces, apologetic, but Abby doesn’t feel much sympathy. She doesn’t feel much at all. Vague anxiety, misty unhappiness, but mainly she’s
numb.
‘I want a pee,’ she says when they reach the Ladies. ‘I hope you’re not coming inside?’
‘No, but don’t lock the door.’
Abby resists an urge to do exactly that. This woman following her around everywhere is getting on her nerves. She’s not at all clear why she’s doing it. If only the last few days
weren’t such a blur.
She’s only been in the cubicle a couple of minutes when there’s a tap on the door.
‘You OK?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘It’s just the group begins at eleven, and I think it could be really good for you to be there.’ Abby can tell the nurse is trying to keep her voice soft and calm, but she
sounds simpering instead.
‘I’ll come in a minute.’
‘They like to start on time.’
‘I’m peeing as fast as I can,’ snaps Abby. She’s no desire to join in the session – she’s no desire for anything. Oh well, she thinks, emerging, it’s
not as if I’ve anything better to do. She allows herself to be led down the corridor and into the lounge, where she and the nurse sit down on a sofa.
An older guy in a suit appears at the door. Maybe he’s the man who helped with my admission last night, thinks Abby, vaguely recalling his goatee beard. Her head is in such a muddle she
isn’t sure. He is followed
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