Cold Bath Lane

by Lorna Dounaeva

  I tried not to gawk but oh, the state of them! Their faces were grim and grey, with eyes like dustbin lids. These were real addicts, crackheads and winos. Skeletal fingers raised shaky forks to lips that were bruised and broken. Their teeth were jagged and yellow, as if they’d been using them to open bottles. One poor creature was missing the bridge between her nostrils. She just had a gaping hole there.

  “Is anyone sitting here?” I asked, before I plonked myself down.

  A couple of addicts shook their heads, and one even looked up and smiled, which was disappointing. I would have quite welcomed a fight.

  My stomach rumbled at the sight of the food and I lifted the fork to my mouth, but then my gag reflex set in and I had to run to the bog. I heaved into the toilet bowl, but there wasn’t anything to bring up. The genie nurse handed me a cup of water, which I drank but the bad taste lingered like vile mouthwash.

  It wasn’t until the next morning that I was able to eat without a technicolour yawn. Then I gorged on chunks of melon and pineapple, like I hadn’t eaten in weeks, which I probably hadn’t. Once again, the mood of the table was very subdued as the addicts stared down at their food, rather than at each other.

  After breakfast, we were all hustled into a quiet area, where we were supposed to sit and reflect. A nurse sat at the front, watching us all to make sure we were all doing it right. After a while, her face faded into the background and I saw Julio instead, smiling back at me, as if I was the only girl in the world.

  Group therapy followed. I sat in silence, while the others talked about their lives. Terrible lives, as it turned out. There was this one woman, Philomena, who had grown up in a fancy house, but her mother had kept her locked up, never letting her go out or see anyone, until she finally escaped when she was thirteen.

  “I lived on the streets after that,” Philomena said. “It was rough. I constantly had to watch my back, and I was soon hooked on crack,” she looked down at her lap for a moment. “But even my worst days…” she gulped. ”Even my worst days on the street were better than living at home.”

  There were murmurs around the room. People nodded their heads, and I was surprised by how everyone was affected by Philomena’s story. It was strangely comforting to hear I wasn’t the only one who had had a crappy life.

  “I’m sorry that happened to you,” Ranji, the group leader told Philomena, and she smiled through her tears.

  Ranji moved on to another woman, who was less forthcoming than Philomena.

  “Kirsten, do you know why you take drugs? I mean, what motivates you?”

  When Kirsten didn’t answer, he looked around the room. “Anyone?”

  “Because it’s fun,” a woman called Sarah said. “At least, it was, to begin with.”

  A few people murmured in agreement.

  “Because I like it,” said a woman with no hair.

  “Because I thought I had it under control,” Kirsten said, without looking up.

  “Because I was bored,” somebody offered.

  “I hoped it would kill me.”

  “I wanted to die.”

  “Because I couldn’t stop,” I answered, surprising myself. I hadn’t intended to join in, but the conversation was so interesting that it was hard to keep quiet. “My Dad is a drunk. And now I am…here. It runs in the family. It’s in my blood.”

  I got a round of applause for that. It was peculiar, how happy that made me. Why did I care what this bunch of rejects thought? They were all broken, screwed up, like me. But seeing their nods of agreement made me feel like a person again.

  39

  A month later, I was released back into the wild.

  “How do you feel?” Sam asked, when he came to pick me up.

  “Wonderful.”

  I was in control of my life again, even if that meant returning to Cold Bath Lane, at least until I worked out what I wanted to do. I was still an addict, but I had the strongest of reasons never to use again. I wasn’t going to be like Dad. No way. Whenever I had to look at him, I would remind myself that he was everything I didn’t want to be.

  “Glad to see you’ve fattened up a bit,” Alicia greeted me at the door.

  She was all but grown up now, although she stood no taller than me. We were like carbon copies, with our wild black curls and short limbs.

  “How dare you!” I said, dumping my bag down in the living room.

  My eyes flickered over Dad. I couldn’t believe he was still there.

  Seven years had passed since Dad was diagnosed with cancer. He had confounded doctors, again and again. They prodded and poked him and had groups of student doctors gather round to stare at him. They even had him on centre stage at a medical conference once, and there were gasps and whispers from the audience, as doctors clamoured to solve the mystery of why he was still alive. I listened, closer than most, desperate for a clue as to what I could do to speed up his path to death. But not one of them had any answers. And so, he continued on in all his splendid ugliness. Circling the drain, day after day.

  The house was as disgusting as I had left it. Dad’s piss-soaked blankets stinking up the room. I was glad to see he was asleep in front of the TV. I tiptoed towards the stairs and gestured for Alicia to follow me.

  We went into her room, which had wall to wall posters of all her favourite bands.

  “So,” she said, leaning back against the bedpost. “Are you really clean now?”

  “I am,” I said, earnestly. “I haven’t taken nothing stronger than an aspirin for a whole month.”

  “How does it feel?”

  “It feels bloody fantastic, actually.”

  I gazed out at the rooftops, drinking in all the familiar sites. The factory that used to pollute the street had closed down now, and I could finally see the greenery of the park beyond.

  “When was the last time we cleaned these windows?” I said, jumping off the bed and fetching a cloth. I began wiping away at the filth, amazed that I had put up with it for so long.

  “Sam and I did a few jobs while you were away,” Alicia said. “You know that mill down by the canal? That was us.”

  “Great,” I said, scrubbing harder. The window squeaked in protest.

  “Jody, will you stop that? That noise is doing my head in.”

  I paused, horrified to see a fag between her lips.

  “You can’t smoke that in here!”

  Alicia’s eyes widened. “It’s only a bloody fag! You’re not going to get high.”

  “All the same, I don’t want you smoking around me. Since when did you smoke anyway?”

  “Just when I feel like it.”

  She was doing it deliberately. Bating me, to see what I would do.

  “I want to get my life together,” I told her. “Get a proper job. Something I can be proud of.”

  “You’ve got a job. I need you to set fires with me. Plus you’re Dad’s carer, that’s a nice little earner, that.”

  I pulled a face. “I ain’t doing none of that no more. I want a real job, working with children.”

  Alicia laughed. “Do you think they’d let you work with children now? With a criminal record?”

  I sighed. “Maybe, maybe not. All I know is that I have options. I don’t have to keep doing what I’ve always done.”

  “Oh, come off it, Jody. You sound like one of those self-help twats.”

  “I don’t care if I do. I’m going to go down the job centre tomorrow and see what’s out there.”

  Her face clouded over. “Do what you want.”

  “Why don’t you come, too? It’s about time you looked at your options. Surely you don’t want to be stuck starting fires all your life?”

  She puffed on her fag and let out her breath in a big, smoky cloud.

  “We’ve got a big job coming up. Maybe I’ll think about it after that.”

  “What’s the job?”

  “It’s in the south of France. I was thinking we’d make a holiday of it.”

  “Really?”

&nb
sp; “Some geezer wants us to burn down his place. Acres and acres, he’s got. He’ll pay our costs in return.”

  “Sounds amazing.”

  “There is one catch, though,” she said, stubbing out her fag. “We’ve got to bring Dad along.”

  I thought of Dad, stewing in his own piss downstairs.

  “What? Why?”

  “This geezer is old school. He’s more comfortable dealing with a bloke.”

  “We’ll take Sam, then.”

  “He’s old. I really think he’d prefer Dad.”

  “Some holiday!”

  A draft blew up my back as we stood on the platform at Waterloo Station, the following Thursday. I had just been and bought myself one of those fancy coffees with the hazelnut syrup, but I should have known better than to leave Dad alone on the platform. When I came back, I found him trying to strike up a conversation with a woman who had her feet resting on a suitcase.

  “Got room for me on there?” he said.

  I cringed as he loomed over her, his crotch far too close to her face. She glanced up and shuddered at the bare flesh that bulged between his shirt and tracksuit bottoms.

  “Only room for one, I’m afraid,” she said firmly, and she turned the page of her paper.

  A normal person would have given up, but Dad stuck his bulbous nose right in her face.

  “You don’t need to read that, my lovely. I can tell you the news myself.”

  He grinned inanely, as if he thought he was being smooth and seductive.

  “How helpful,” she said. “Tell me, are the markets up or down this morning?”

  “Up, down, what does it matter? I can tell you what’s really important. There are things going on, things you won’t read about in there. Did you know there are Satanists in the very highest levels of government? The Prime Minister himself might even be one.”

  He glanced to the left, and then the right. “Satanists are all around us.”

  “I know,” she said, coolly. “In fact, you’re looking at one right now.”

  Dad leapt away like his feet were on fire. If the train hadn’t come at that moment, he might have jumped right onto the track.

  “He’s out of his tree,” Alicia commented, as we took our seats at the other end of the carriage. We did not want to hear Dad’s ravings for the whole journey, nor did we want to hear him snore. Let Sam deal with him.

  I slept all the way to Paris and staggered out, confused by the number of people wheeling bicycles. We stopped for some croissants, which would have been divine, if I hadn’t had to sit opposite Dad and watch him scatter crumbs all over his shirt.

  “We’ll have to get you a bib,” I told him. “I bet Boots do them.”

  Dad didn’t say jack squat, but when I came back from the bog, Alicia told me he had flobbed in my coffee.

  We caught a second train that took us deep into the countryside. The views were incredible, as were the smells. I sniffed the air as the train arrived at our destination. There was a distinctive, fruity flavour to the air. The smell grew stronger as the bus took us the last few miles of our journey. What Alicia had failed to tell me was that the place we had been commissioned to burn down was a vineyard, and we were going to be staying in a cottage on the grounds.

  “Do you really think it’s wise, bringing me to a vineyard?” I asked, as we walked up the path to the house. “And Dad, with all his history?”

  “It will be fine,” she said breezily. “I’m not going to let you drink. Either of you. We’re just here for a holiday, so bloody well relax and enjoy it, will you?”

  “Well we’re here now,” I said, setting my bags down. “So it’s not like I have a lot of choice.”

  “Dad needs his rest. The journey has taken a lot out of him,” said Sam, as we unpacked our things.

  “Good,” I said under my breath.

  I loved the house, with its terracotta floors and lime-washed walls. There was a small, shady garden, with a round table and a parasol. There were even chickens scratching in the dirt. I didn’t know what to make of them at first. The only times I’d ever seen a chicken before, it was either in the pot, or on my plate.

  “Do we have to feed them?” I wondered.

  “Can we eat them?” Alicia asked.

  I looked at her, appalled.

  “What? It’s all going to be gone at the end of the week.”

  “I can’t believe anybody would want to burn this place down,” I said. From the window, we had the most incredible view. I thought back to the litres of cider I once drank and steeled myself. I was a different person now. I did not need alcohol, or any other substance, to get me through the day.

  “Come on,” I said to Sam and Alicia. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  “Sounds nice,” Dad said, appearing in the doorway.

  “I thought you’d gone for a nap?”

  “Oh no. I want to see the vineyard.”

  Alicia bounded along like a dog off its lead, her nose in the air as she breathed in the delicious aromas.

  “Smells good, doesn’t it?” I said.

  Dad walked slowly behind us, picking his way along the valley with the aid of a stick. Sam walked beside him, humouring his never-ending stream of conspiracy theories. How I wished he would find something else to obsess over.

  “The bloke who owns this place has got himself into a bit of debt,” Alicia told me. “His wife doesn’t know, that’s why he wants us to deal with it.”

  “Hey, Jody Bear, why don’t you pick me a nice bunch of grapes?” Dad called, interrupting our conversation.

  “Why me?”

  “Because I said so. I’m the head of this family.”

  “You?” Alicia spluttered. “You’re head of nothing. You’re lucky we even brought you on this trip, you demented old codger.”

  It was the usual banter; half joking, half meant. But it made Dad see red.

  “Why, you ungrateful wretch!”

  His hand shook so much he could barely hold his stick.

  “If I’d had my way, you’d have never been born. I told your mother to dispose of you, before it was too late.”

  He turned to me. “And you need to show me some respect.”

  “You don’t even know who I am half the time,” I snarled.

  “You ain’t even my Dad!” Alicia said, laughing.

  I jolted, shocked to see Dad’s expression. He leaned heavily on his stick, and Sam had to support him.

  “Easy, come on, let’s take a break.”

  I could see that Dad wanted to say something more, but Alicia had taken the wind out of him.

  “Let’s leave him to it,” I said. “We can take a wander further up the road. Give him time to calm down.”

  I didn’t care if Alicia’s words had hurt him, I was glad. He must have known it all these years, or at least suspected.

  “You don’t know for sure,” I said to her, as we walked on.

  “Yes, I do.”

  I turned to look at her. “How? Have you done a DNA test?”

  “Don’t have to. I can feel it in here.”

  She placed her hand on her chest. I was relieved that was all it was. I didn’t want to know the truth. I didn’t think I could bear it.

  “Well, whatever you do, don’t mention Richard. Dad would have his guts.”

  I didn’t know where Sam and Dad wandered off to, but we were the first back to the house.

  “Maybe Dad’s had a heart attack,” Alicia said, hopefully.

  “Don’t I wish,” I said, but I felt oddly guilty. I still wanted him to die, but not because of us. We were supposed to be here on a job. The last thing we needed was to have to call the Gendarmes in and explain in, broken French, why a fat, hairy English corpse was polluting their valley.

  I covered my head as a pair of birds flew over our heads and up into the rafters.

  Alicia didn’t flinch in the slightest.

  “Get out!” I screeched at them, waving them away with my hands. But the birds cackled and clun
g to their perches.

  “God, I hate birds. Where’s a cat when you need one?”

  I made myself a cup of coffee and enjoyed the caffeine coursing through my veins. I rather liked that caffeine high. I wondered if I should buy some caffeine pills to increase the pleasure. Or would that count as a backslide?

  I didn’t have a sponsor, as such, but I was still in touch with some of the others from the rehab centre, and we all messaged each other from time to time. Sarah had dropped off quite abruptly, so I assumed she had relapsed. But maybe Philomena would be online.

  “Come on, let’s go to a club,” Alicia said. “I feel like dancing.”

  “What, round here? I doubt there’s anywhere to go.”

  But Alicia had it all planned. She made me change into a dress and heels, and we caught the bus into the nearest big town, where there was a nightclub called Pamplemouse.

  The music was way too loud. I couldn’t hear a word Alicia said, even when she talked right into my ear, and I worried that the thud of the base would make my bones crack. But the worse part was the bar. There were colourful bottles of vodka and gin, and entire shelves devoted to wine. So many different wines. And beers. And shots, already laid out on the bar for people to taste.

  “I’m not sure this is such a good idea,” I said, looking at it all. My resolve was beginning to weaken.

  “Relax, we’re just going to dance,” Alicia said. “I’m not going to let you drink.”

  I followed her onto the dance floor and we swayed in time to the music. Alicia never needed anything to get her high. She was so confident. The other dancers moved back to give her room. She didn’t care what anyone thought of her. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be like that. I pretended I didn’t care, but deep down, I cared too much.

  I stood on the sidelines, swaying a little, feeling embarrassed. I didn’t get what Alicia enjoyed about all this. The dancing, the socialising. It wasn’t fun, it was knackering. I felt old and out of place. I didn’t recognise any of the music, even though the songs were mostly in English. There was too much bass. Too much noise, and my feet were killing me.