‘Maybe you should think about it. As you say, all your kids have left now.’
‘Oh Electra, I’m not far off fifty! It’s too late for me now.’
‘But you’re so clever, Lizzie. You shouldn’t let your brain go to waste. That’s what my father always said to me.’
‘Did he?’
‘Yeah. I know he thought I was selling out when I became a model.’
‘Electra, you were only sixteen! From what you’ve told me, you didn’t choose modelling, it chose you, and before you knew it, you were on a rollercoaster that you couldn’t get off. Goodness, just twenty-six now – only a year older than my eldest, and he’s still in med school.’
‘At least he knew what he wanted to do. I’ve never known.’
‘Well, whatever it is, you have the luxury of choice. And someone with your profile could really make a difference.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know, being an ambassador for those who don’t have a voice. Like Vanessa, for example. You’ve experienced first-hand what drugs can do. You could help.’
‘Maybe,’ I shrugged. ‘But models don’t have voices or brains, do they?’
‘Now you’re being self-indulgent and if you were Rosie, my daughter, I’d give you a good telling-off. It’s obvious to me – and to your pa – that you are very bright indeed. You have all the tools necessary, so use them. I mean, look at what you’ve drawn during our conversation just now,’ she said, pointing to my sketchbook as I cradled it protectively against my chest. ‘You’re so talented, Electra. I’d buy that jacket in a heartbeat.’
I looked down at my sketch of a model in a cropped leather jacket and asymmetrical dress.
‘Yeah, whatever,’ I said. ‘I think I need some sleep now, Lizzie. Goodnight.’ I reached over to turn off my lamp.
‘Goodnight,’ Lizzie said as she opened the book she was reading about how diets could make you fat. I snuggled down under the duvet and turned over.
‘Oh, just one more thing,’ she said.
‘Yup?’
‘It takes strength to admit you’ve got a problem, Electra. It is not a sign of weakness – quite the opposite. Goodnight.’
I woke up naturally with the sunrise the following day, which was a sensation that was new to me – for years I’d had to drag myself out of bed, take a handful of painkillers and uppers to stem the headache and give me a lift. I’d discussed my sunrise wakings in group therapy (it was something innocuous to make me look like I was briefly engaged without giving anything away) and a number of people had told me it was the natural rhythm of my body clock returning after years of being suppressed by booze and drugs. And now I came to think of it, I remembered that I had always been the first to wake as a child at Atlantis. I’d be bouncing around, full of energy, while all my sisters slept on, so I’d creep downstairs to the kitchen where Claudia was the only other soul up in the house. She’d give me a slice of her newly baked bread, still warm from the oven and dripping with butter and honey, while I waited impatiently for the rest of my siblings to wake up.
I put on a pair of shorts, laced up my sneakers and set off for a run. Nobody was around, other than the group of Buddhists who sat in the Serenity Garden with their legs crossed and eyes closed, welcoming in the new day. I reached the nature trail and as my feet pounded the red soil beneath them, I thought about Lizzie and our conversation last night. And the fact that it wasn’t a sign of weakness to admit you needed help. Well, I’d gotten this far – I was here, getting the help I needed, wasn’t I? Ironically, the easy bit (comparatively anyway) had been coming off all that shit I’d been taking. As my doctor, then Fi had explained to me, I’d been caught in time, when many others weren’t. If I stayed clean from now on, I’d have made no dent on my long-term health, unlike Vanessa.
The hard bit was confronting myself, which would explain the why of my substance abuse. It wasn’t good enough just to say I’d stop taking alcohol and drugs – it had only been three weeks, for Christ’s sake, and the euphoria of getting clean and the safe environment I was living in would disappear like mist once I was forced back into the never-ending circuit of my ‘real’ life. I’d start having the odd drink, then maybe taking a line socially, and then eventually, I’d end up back here, but probably worse off, and maybe eventually wind up like Vanessa. But until I acknowledged all my angst and let it out, I knew I would always be in danger.
As I was thinking all this, I had the oddest instinct that I was being followed. Luckily, I was hanging a right around the circuit and was able to look back and see that the edible guy I’d seen in the canteen was maybe a hundred yards behind me and catching up fast. Well, he wouldn’t, because I didn’t want him to for all sorts of reasons I couldn’t work out, so I upped my pace and stretched out the gap. But he was still closing in on me, even though I was now running as fast as I could. The end of the trail was only a couple of hundred yards away, so I put my feet down to maximum and headed full pelt for it.
Reaching the finish line, I ran for the water cooler, desperate for a drink and panting heavily.
‘That’s some gas you’ve got in your tank,’ a rich, well-modulated voice said from behind me. ‘Excuse me,’ it added as a large hand with long, elegant fingers – the pinkie adorned with a gold class ring – reached for a cup as I moved out of the way. ‘I ran the five thousand metres for my college and never got beat. You run for yours?’
‘I didn’t go to college,’ I said as I lifted my head to look up at him, which was an unusual feeling.
‘Hey, that’s not an all-American accent, is it?’ he asked me as I took another cup of water and poured it over me. Even though it was early, the sun was already beating down.
‘No, it’s kind of part-French. I was raised in Switzerland.’
‘Oh really?’ he said as he eyed me more closely. And then, ‘Do I know you? You seem familiar somehow.’
‘No, we’ve never met before.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’ He smiled at me. ‘But you sure do look like I know you. I’m Miles, by the way. You?’
‘Electra,’ I sighed, waiting for recognition to dawn on his face. Which it did.
‘Wow . . . okay,’ he said, throwing his cup into the trash and digging his hands into his shorts pocket. ‘I was looking at a twenty-foot-high billboard of you when I drove to the airport last week.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Well, I gotta get back now.’
‘Sure, so have I.’
We walked back towards The Ranch in silence. Something about this man was making me feel shy and girly. I guessed he was in his late thirties by his confidence and the grey that peppered the tightly curled hair on his scalp.
‘Is it okay to ask you what you’re in for?’ he said.
‘Yeah, there are no secrets here, are there? Alcohol and substance abuse.’
‘Ditto.’
‘Really? I saw you in the canteen last night and you didn’t look like a guy who’d just gone through detox.’
‘I haven’t, I’ve been clean for over five years now, but I just come back here every year to rest and remind myself what’s at stake. It’s easy to think you can handle everything when you’re here with support all around you, but out there in the big bad world, it can close in on you again.’
‘What do you do?’
‘I’m a lawyer,’ he said. ‘The pressures build up and . . . I want to make sure I never explode and end up back where I was, but hey, you must know all about that.’
‘Yup,’ I said as we arrived at the entrance to The Ranch.
‘All I can say is, don’t rush it, take your time. It’s a disease we can never be cured of; the answer is to learn how to manage it properly. Listen to what the people here say, Electra, because they know how to save your life. See you around.’ He gave me a small wave and marched off along the corridor on a pair of toned legs that were even longer than my own.
‘Well,’ I whispered to myself, feeling shell-shocked. Miles had an air o
f gravitas about him that reminded me of my grandmother. In any court, I’d want that guy on my side, I thought as I walked in for breakfast, feeling hot and bothered. And it wasn’t just from the run.
‘God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.’
I chanted the serenity prayer that signalled the end of the meeting, along with the five others in the small AA circle. I was holding hands with Ben, a bass guitar player in a band I’d never heard of, and a new woman called Sabrina on the other side of me. I could see Sabrina was still tearful – she had just shared her story with us.
‘I had everything, and then I threw it away down the neck of a bottle,’ she’d said, her hands clenched together in front of her. She was a petite Asian woman and her black hair hung in a shiny curtain around her thin face. ‘I’ve lost my job, my husband, my family . . . I stole from everyone I knew – even my kids’ piggy banks – just to buy more liquor. It was only when I ended up in the ER because I’d passed out in my work restroom that I decided to come here.’ She bit her lip. ‘I can’t mess up or take my life for granted any longer.’
It struck me as I left the meeting that I too had taken my life for granted. I’d been so desperate for an escape, I had almost thrown it all away . . .
‘So, Electra, how have the last twenty-four hours been?’ Fi asked me later that morning.
‘Interesting,’ I said as I rubbed my nose.
‘Good, good.’ Fi smiled. ‘Can you tell me why?’
‘I . . . well, I don’t know exactly, but a lot of things seem to be coming into focus. It’s like I’ve been in a dream for the past year.’
‘In a sense, you have. That’s what substance abuse creates, except of course it all ends in a nightmare, as you know. So how does this clearer sense of reality make you feel?’
Here we go again . . .
‘Well, um, I feel euphoric that I’m clean, but ashamed because I’m remembering all the bad stuff I did to people and the way I was with them, and scared of falling back into the same pattern when I leave.’
‘Great, that’s just great, Electra!’ Fi gave me a smile. ‘You’re really making progress, and all these emotions you’re feeling at this stage are completely natural. Taking accountability for yourself and your behaviour towards others is a big step forward. You’re no longer a victim.’
‘A victim? Hell no, I was never a victim.’
‘You were, Electra, a victim of the abuse you were subjecting yourself to,’ Fi countered. ‘But now you’re dealing with it, fighting it and not being victimised by it, do you see?’
‘Yeah, I do, but I drank and took all that stuff to help me deal with my life, so no one would see me as a victim.’
‘Does the thought of being seen as a victim – as weak – scare you?’
‘Yeah, it sure does,’ I nodded vehemently. ‘Something my dorm mate said last night made me feel better, though.’
‘And what was that?’
‘That I stopped being weak when I asked for help.’
‘Do you think she was right?’
‘Yeah, but I don’t want to get all needy or anything. I can take care of myself.’
‘Perhaps the point was that you couldn’t and didn’t. Would you agree with that?’
‘Well, yeah, I suppose,’ I said.
‘As the saying goes, no man – or woman for that matter – is an island.’ Fi smiled. ‘But you’re not alone. The world we live in is full of people who are too scared or embarrassed to ask for help.’
‘Or too proud,’ I added. ‘I’m very proud.’
‘I can see that,’ Fi said. ‘Do you think it’s a good quality?’
‘I don’t know; whether it is or it isn’t, it’s just part of who I am. Maybe it’s a bit of both.’
Fi nodded and scribbled something on her pad. ‘You know what, Electra? I think you might be ready for a visit. What do you think?’
‘I . . . I don’t know.’
‘Would you like a member of your family or a friend to come and see you?’
‘Can I think about it?’
‘Of course you can. Showing off the new you and having contact with the outside world via someone close can be frightening. Do you feel frightened at the thought?’
‘Yeah, I do. I mean, you know how much I didn’t want to come in here, but I’ve met some great people and I kind of feel safe here, you know?’
‘We’ve never discussed when you might want to leave, because both of us have known you haven’t been ready to go yet. You have seven days left until your thirty-day treatment programme is over. You’ve come on in leaps and bounds in the past few days, but would you agree you’ve still got issues that need to be sorted out before you go?’
‘Probably,’ I said.
‘How are the cravings at the moment?’
‘Much better when I’m active, like when I’m running, then I don’t think about it.’
‘Then one of the tools you can take out of here is that physical activity helps. How are your mood swings? You mentioned last week you were experiencing feelings of anger and “blackness”, as you described it. Are you still experiencing those?’
‘No . . .’ I swallowed. ‘Those negative thoughts have gotten better . . . yes, they’re better.’
‘So, how do you feel about a visit?’ Fi asked again.
‘Maybe next week?’ I said.
‘Okay. And who would that person be, do you think?’
Aye, there’s the rub, I thought, one of Pa’s favourite Shakespearean quotations floating into my brain. Sadly, the list of potential visitors reflected the low point my life had come to: there was only Ma, who was my mom of sorts, or Maia, or Stella, a grandmother who I’d only met a couple of times when I’d been completely wasted . . .
‘Can I think about that one?’ I said.
‘Of course you can. Is the list quite small?’
‘Very,’ I admitted.
‘How many?’
‘Three.’
‘Well, you may not think that’s a lot, Electra, but I can tell you that by the time most people get here and sit in this room with me and I ask them the same question, they struggle to name anyone. They’ve isolated themselves – pushed people they love and who love them away. Alcohol and drugs have become their only friends. Would you agree with that?’
‘Yup,’ I said, hearing the fear in my voice. ‘I would. Actually, there’s probably a fourth person.’
‘Even better,’ Fi smiled. ‘Who would that be?’
‘Mariam. She’s my PA, but, well, I really, like, admire her.’
‘Does she like you too, do you think?’
‘I . . . I’ve behaved real badly to her, but yes, maybe.’
‘Sometimes it can be good to have someone who is not so directly emotionally attached to you as your first contact. Anyway, you think about it, Electra, and tell me tomorrow.’
‘Okay,’ I agreed.
‘Great, well, keep up the good work,’ she said as I stood up.
‘Thanks. Bye, Fi.’
I walked out of her office feeling almost high and like a child who had just received a gold star from her teacher.
‘Any news on Vanessa?’ I asked Lizzie in the dorm later on that day.
‘No, even I couldn’t prise any information out of the nurse, so I guess not good. You look sparkly today, Electra,’ Lizzie commented as I grabbed my towel from the peg and prepared to go into the shower. ‘What’s been going on?’
‘Like, nothing,’ I said as I stripped off my clothes and pulled the towel around me.
‘Gosh, of all the dorm mates to get in rehab,’ sighed Lizzie, ‘I get stuck with one of the world’s most beautiful women. You seriously have a body to die for. And you eat like a horse and never put on an ounce of weight. I should hate you,’ she chuckled as I walked into the shower and shut the door behind me.
As I stood under the water, I thought about what Lizzie
had said just now; I mean, it was hardly anything new, being told that I had a fantastic body. So if I did, why had I been so keen on abusing it?
Maybe it was because I hated it, because it had made others hate me. Most women didn’t trust me, and if they were with a man, I could almost sense their lacquered fingernails tightening their hold on their male as I approached. Besides, I didn’t even think I did have a beautiful face or body – it just happened to look nice in the clothes that were fashionable right now. I’d grown up with a sister who had always been known as the beauty of the family, and if I was asked to describe my image of a perfect woman, it would almost certainly be Maia with her curves, full breasts, glossy dark hair and stunning features.
While I brushed my teeth, I looked at myself in the mirror and decided I definitely had nice eyes, great cheekbones and a pair of lips that would never need fillers. The colour of my skin would never change. And that was one of the things that marked me out as a successful model. I only hoped that a time would come soon when there were more dark-skinned models. As a little girl, I’d never given much thought to the fact that I was black and the rest of my sisters were differing shades of brown (Maia and CeCe) to white (Star, Tiggy and Ally). Each one of us had looked different from the others so it was just my ‘normal’. It was only when I’d gone to boarding school, where I’d been the only black girl and also a good head and a half taller than the other girls, that I had become self-conscious about my outer self.
‘Electra, have you finished in there? I’m desperate for a wee.’
‘Coming,’ I said, opening the door to let Lizzie in. She’d obviously been on one of those juice regimes that filled you up with liquid, but meant you spent the rest of the day peeing.
When she reappeared, she regarded me as I sat on the bed in my track pants and hoodie.
‘You know it’s a Tuesday Night Out tonight, don’t you?’ she asked me, with her arms folded. ‘We’re all off to go bowling in town.’
‘Yeah, I do, but it isn’t my scene.’
‘I didn’t think it was mine either when I first came here, but actually it’s really fun. We’re going for a pizza afterwards – well, for everyone other than me – and I think you’d enjoy it. It’s a chance to get to know the other residents, have a chat out of school, if you know what I mean.’
The Sun Sister Page 26
