all are. And that’s okay. I don’t know why that helps me so much but just knowing I can call her any time of the day or night has been great. Marla and Thomas, I recommend you get a sponsor. Mine is my angel.’
The audience clapped Cherie with the same gusto as they had Marla.
Graeme was next. He was a gruff-speaking, tough-looking man in his thirties with a lovebite on his neck. He also had some advice for the new members. ‘The hardest part is over, recognising you have a problem, admitting you are powerless over alcohol. We aren’t like most of the population who can have a drink now and then. We have a screw loose,’ he declared. ‘When I feel that urge for a drink come, that craving, I stop and let it just wash over me. I don’t fight it or suppress it. I just feel it. I know from experience that it is just a craving and it will pass, whether I have a drink or not.
‘I got sober by taking myself off into the bush and camping. It was a two-day drive to the nearest pub so I gave myself no choice. And what I discovered was that those cravings have a certain life span. They pass, even without being satisfied. They come back of course, but then they go again. I relax and let them come then go. It works for me. I wish you both luck.’
As Graeme finished Isaiah stood up again, reading from The Big Book, written by AA founder Bill W. Everyone listened attentively. And then it was over. Within seconds the members were out of their seats and helping themselves to coffee, leaving Gwennie alone up the back, feeling conspicuous and unsure what she should do. Isaiah was making his way towards her, his face beaming with a welcoming smile. It was all the impetus Gwennie needed. She stepped out of the other end of her row and made her way towards the hot water urn.
Marla was surrounded by half-a-dozen men. Thomas stood awkwardly to one side, part of the group but not quite. The men were full of advice for Marla, which she listened to politely. Gwennie studied her. Obviously she was accustomed to being the centre of male attention and quite comfortable with it.
She must have been very beautiful as a younger woman. Up close the years were starting to show. And the drinking. She was wearing a lot of makeup, more than any other woman in the room, but still her skin had the flushed rosy look of a drinker. And fine lines around her eyes and mouth suggested she was a smoker. Her figure was superb, long legs ensconced in tight, faded jeans. She was the most casually dressed woman in the room and yet the most elegant.
To Gwennie’s eye she looked like the woman at the funeral. Perhaps Gwennie had got the name wrong. But then she lived at the same address. They must be related. The other woman in the carmust have been Clare. Or maybe Clare was this woman’s middle name. Or maybe she had used a false name because she was at AA. Maybe all of them gave false names.
The men flirted with Marla, not-so-subtly competing with each other to engage her in conversation. It didn’t matter that a couple of them were almost young enough to be her son. She was that kind of woman. Men would always buzz around her.
‘One of the best things about AA I have found is the mentoring process. When you feel that urge to have a drink, you just ring your AA sponsor and talk it through with them. Really, it works,’ said a man with spiky blond hair.
Another man agreed. ‘Yes, that’s the best thing. It worked for me. When you feel it come on, ring one of us.’
You are so transparent, thought Gwennie. You are all just angling for her telephone number. No-one noticed Gwennie, standing quietly, sipping tea from her polystyrene cup.
Gwennie wondered which would be Marla’s type. Big beefy Graeme, shy self-effacing Thomas, Mr Spiky Blond or one of the others. AA certainly attracted a cross-section of people. Anyone, it appeared, could be an alcoholic. Maybe she should try it, thought Gwennie. Drown her sorrows. Drink away her grief. The
The audience clapped Cherie with the same gusto as they had Marla.
Graeme was next. He was a gruff-speaking, tough-looking man in his thirties with a lovebite on his neck. He also had some advice for the new members. ‘The hardest part is over, recognising you have a problem, admitting you are powerless over alcohol. We aren’t like most of the population who can have a drink now and then. We have a screw loose,’ he declared. ‘When I feel that urge for a drink come, that craving, I stop and let it just wash over me. I don’t fight it or suppress it. I just feel it. I know from experience that it is just a craving and it will pass, whether I have a drink or not.
‘I got sober by taking myself off into the bush and camping. It was a two-day drive to the nearest pub so I gave myself no choice. And what I discovered was that those cravings have a certain life span. They pass, even without being satisfied. They come back of course, but then they go again. I relax and let them come then go. It works for me. I wish you both luck.’
As Graeme finished Isaiah stood up again, reading from The Big Book, written by AA founder Bill W. Everyone listened attentively. And then it was over. Within seconds the members were out of their seats and helping themselves to coffee, leaving Gwennie alone up the back, feeling conspicuous and unsure what she should do. Isaiah was making his way towards her, his face beaming with a welcoming smile. It was all the impetus Gwennie needed. She stepped out of the other end of her row and made her way towards the hot water urn.
Marla was surrounded by half-a-dozen men. Thomas stood awkwardly to one side, part of the group but not quite. The men were full of advice for Marla, which she listened to politely. Gwennie studied her. Obviously she was accustomed to being the centre of male attention and quite comfortable with it.
She must have been very beautiful as a younger woman. Up close the years were starting to show. And the drinking. She was wearing a lot of makeup, more than any other woman in the room, but still her skin had the flushed rosy look of a drinker. And fine lines around her eyes and mouth suggested she was a smoker. Her figure was superb, long legs ensconced in tight, faded jeans. She was the most casually dressed woman in the room and yet the most elegant.
To Gwennie’s eye she looked like the woman at the funeral. Perhaps Gwennie had got the name wrong. But then she lived at the same address. They must be related. The other woman in the carmust have been Clare. Or maybe Clare was this woman’s middle name. Or maybe she had used a false name because she was at AA. Maybe all of them gave false names.
The men flirted with Marla, not-so-subtly competing with each other to engage her in conversation. It didn’t matter that a couple of them were almost young enough to be her son. She was that kind of woman. Men would always buzz around her.
‘One of the best things about AA I have found is the mentoring process. When you feel that urge to have a drink, you just ring your AA sponsor and talk it through with them. Really, it works,’ said a man with spiky blond hair.
Another man agreed. ‘Yes, that’s the best thing. It worked for me. When you feel it come on, ring one of us.’
You are so transparent, thought Gwennie. You are all just angling for her telephone number. No-one noticed Gwennie, standing quietly, sipping tea from her polystyrene cup.
Gwennie wondered which would be Marla’s type. Big beefy Graeme, shy self-effacing Thomas, Mr Spiky Blond or one of the others. AA certainly attracted a cross-section of people. Anyone, it appeared, could be an alcoholic. Maybe she should try it, thought Gwennie. Drown her sorrows. Drink away her grief. The
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