Rachel's Holiday

by Marian Keyes

  ‘Of course,’ I said, nervously. ‘If you’re an alcoholic, or a drug addict, then coming here is the best thing for you.’

  ‘Do you think it’s the best thing for you?’

  What could I say? I decided to be honest.

  ‘Look,’ I said, conspiratorially, ‘I shouldn’t be here at all. My father just overreacted. I only came here to please my parents.’

  Mike’s face dissolved and he laughed and laughed.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ I was annoyed.

  ‘Because that’s just what I said,’ he grinned. ‘I came here to please my wife, Chaquie’s in to get her husband off her back, Don because of his mother, Davy so that he wouldn’t lose his job, Eamonn because of his sister, John Joe’s here because of his niece. We’re all in here to please someone.’

  I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t help it if all of them were in denial.

  21

  It was Monday morning.

  I’d had a terrible night’s sleep, constantly dreaming of Luke, then waking up sweating and heartbroken. We were just about to go into group and apparently Neil’s ISO, whatever that was, was coming.

  ‘It stands for Involved Significant Other,’ Mike said. ‘Someone like your wife or your friends or your parents. They come along and tell the group how bad you were when you were drunk or stoned or eating them out of house and home.’

  ‘Really?’ I had a throb of voyeuristic anticipation.

  A real life Irish Oprah. I should try and get Mum and Helen along for a session, they’d appreciate it.

  ‘And who are your ISOs?’ Mike asked drily.

  ‘I haven’t got any,’ I said in surprise.

  ‘No one ever saw you when you were on drugs?’ he said. He sounded sarcastic.

  I felt despair. How could I ever get these eejits to understand that taking recreational drugs was normal? That if any ISO of mine came to group they’d have nothing to report other than ‘She enjoyed herself.’

  ‘I’ve lived away from home for the last eight years,’ I said. ‘And I hardly think my flatmate’s going to jump on a plane from New York.’

  Mike gave another knowing laugh.

  ‘Neil’s wife is his ISO,’ he said. ‘ISOs are usually wives.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know what Neil’s wife is doing coming here,’ I said. ‘He’s not an alcoholic’

  ‘Is that right?’ asked Mike. I detected scorn. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Because he told me.’

  ‘Did he indeed?’

  Neil and his wife were already in the Abbot’s Quarter, as were the others – Misty, John Joe, Vincent, Chaquie and Clarence.

  Neil looked as sweet and neat as a little boy who’d just made his Confirmation. I gave him a reassuring smile, not that he needed it. He gave me a kind of downturned clown’s smile back. I knew it would be a very dull session and I was slightly disappointed. I’d been so looking forward to finding out about John Joe shagging a sheep.

  Neil’s wife, Emer, looked even duller and plainer than she had the day before. I automatically despised her because she’d kicked up such a fuss about Neil’s drinking, or lack of. I couldn’t bear killjoys. I was prepared to bet she was another member of Right-wing Catholic Mothers Against Pleasure, just like Chaquie. She was damn lucky Neil hadn’t told her to feck off for herself.

  Josephine came in and made us all introduce ourselves. Then she thanked Emer for coming, and started asking her questions.

  ‘Would you like to tell the group about Neil’s drinking?’

  I sighed, four pints on a Saturday night wasn’t much of a story. Josephine looked at me. I was afraid.

  ‘Well,’ Emer said in a quivery voice, ‘he wasn’t that bad, I suppose.’ She looked at the lap of her skirt as she spoke.

  He wasn’t bad, at all, you stupid cow, I thought. I gave her a dirty look.

  ‘Was he often drunk?’ asked Josephine.

  Emer gave Josephine a big, rabbit-caught-in-the-head-lights stare. ‘No,’ she said, her voice wavering. ‘Hardly ever.’

  She shot Neil a look, then went back to her skirt.

  My contempt for her increased.

  ‘Did he behave badly to you and your children?’

  ‘No, never.’

  ‘Did he ever disappear for days at a time?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did he ever keep you short of money?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did he ever verbally abuse you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did he ever hit you?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Was he ever unfaithful to you?’

  ‘No.’

  I started to sigh to convey my boredom with what Emer wasn’t saying, then remembered Josephine and thought better of it.

  Josephine spoke again. ‘He must have been bad sometimes, otherwise he wouldn’t be in here.’

  Emer shrugged her bony shoulders and didn’t look up.

  ‘Are you afraid of your husband?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’m just going to read something out for the group,’ said Josephine. ‘The questionnaire you filled out when Neil first came in.’

  ‘Don’t!’ Emer exclaimed.

  ‘Why not?’ Josephine was gentle.

  ‘Because… because it’s not true!’

  ‘So it’s not true that Neil…’ Josephine picked up a sheet of paper ‘… that he broke your nose on three occasions, broke your jaw, fractured your arm, burnt you with cigarettes, put your fingers in the joint of a door and slammed it, threw your youngest child down the stairs where she went through the glass panel of the front door and had to have forty-eight stitches…’

  ‘DON’T!’ she screamed, her hands up to her eyes.

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It was one thing to lie about how much he drank, but I was shaken by the horrors she had accused him of.

  Neil glared at Emer as she sat sobbing.

  Everyone looked as shocked as I felt.

  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat – not just because I’d chosen one of the crappy ones – but because I didn’t like the psychotherapy game so much any more. It had been such fun to start with, but it had become serious and frightening.

  ‘What do you have to say to this, Neil?’ Josephine asked quietly.

  I breathed out. Thank God Neil was getting a chance to defend himself.

  ‘She’s a lying bitch,’ he said slowly and thickly. He didn’t sound like such a nice man, the way he said it.

  ‘Are you?’ Josephine asked Emer conversationally.

  There was another silence which stretched on and on unpleasantly. I could hear my own ragged breathing.

  ‘Are you?’ Josephine asked again.

  ‘Yes,’ Emer said. Her voice was shaking so much she could hardly talk. ‘None of what I wrote on that thing is true.’

  ‘Still protecting him?’ said Josephine. ‘You’d rather put him ahead of yourself?’ I wished Josephine would shut up. Emer had said none of it was true and I wanted it left there.

  I yearned for group to be over so we could do something nice and normal like go for a cup of tea.

  ‘Ahead of your children?’ Josephine said softly, as Emer sat hunched over in her chair.

  Another of those lengthy, excruciating silences. My shoulders were almost up around my ears with tension.

  ‘No,’ came the muffled reply.

  My heart sank.

  ‘What’s that Emer?’ said Josephine kindly.

  Emer looked up. Her face was red and wet.

  ‘No,’ she said tearfully. ‘Not ahead of my children. He can belt me but I want him to leave the kids out of it.’

  I looked at Neil and his face was suffused with rage. He was unrecognizable as the friendly, twinkly man he’d been twenty minutes before.

  ‘So, it is true, isn’t it?’ Josephine asked with infinite compassion. ‘Neil did all those things you said on the questionnaire?’

  ‘Yes.’ The word came out as a wail.

&
nbsp; ‘I quite agree,’ said Josephine. ‘And I have police and hospital reports here to back it all up.’

  She turned to Neil. ‘Perhaps you’d like to have a look at them, Neil?’ she said pleasantly. ‘Maybe you’d like to refresh your memory about what you did to your wife and children.’

  My head snapped from Emer to Neil while I tried to figure out who was telling the truth. I was no longer so sure it was Neil. If Josephine said she had police reports, then it probably was true.

  Neil was on his feet, swaying around like someone with mad cow disease. ‘Look at her,’ he shouted and slurred. ‘You’d hit her too, married to a stupid bitch like that.’

  ‘Sit. Down. Neil.’ Josephine was like a blade of steel. ‘And how dare you use language like that in my presence.’

  He wavered. Then he sat down heavily.

  Josephine turned to Neil. ‘Why did you hit your wife?’

  ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ he shouted. ‘I was drunk.’

  Then he looked stunned at what he’d said, as if he hadn’t meant to say it.

  ‘When you were admitted here,’ Josephine rustled another piece of paper, ‘you told Dr Billings you drank an average of four pints a week…’

  We all jumped as a strange noise came from Emer. A shocked snort.

  ‘It has become clear today that you drank much more than that. Tell the group about it, please.’

  ‘That’s all I drank,’ Neil swaggered. ‘Four pints.’

  Josephine looked steadily at Neil with a don’t-push-your-luck expression.

  ‘Maybe a bit more,’ he mumbled hastily.

  Josephine said nothing, just kept giving him that look.

  ‘All right, all right,’ Neil said resentfully. And in mumbly fits and starts, he told us how he drank four pints a night, then in response to Josephine’s scorn said it was a bottle of vodka a week, then eventually admitted it was half a bottle of vodka a day.

  ‘A whole one,’ interrupted Emer, a lot braver now, ‘a litre bottle. And wine and beer and whatever cocaine he could get his hands on.’

  Cocaine, I thought in shock. Him? To look at him you’d think he wouldn’t even know what cocaine was. I must ask him where you could buy it in Dublin.

  ‘OK, Neil,’ said Josephine, with the patience of a woman who had done this sort of thing many times before, ‘let’s start again. Tell the group how much you really drink.’

  Reluctantly Neil reiterated what Emer had just said.

  ‘Thank you, Neil,’ said Josephine. ‘Now will you please tell the group how much you really drink.’

  ‘But I just…’

  ‘Not at all.’ Josephine smiled. ‘You’ve only told us about the drinking Emer knows about. What about the bottles you keep in your car, the drink you have in your office?’

  Neil stared at her, with a what-do-you-want?-blood? expression.

  His eyes were sunk in his head and he looked exhausted.

  ‘Because your business partner is coming in on Friday and he’ll tell us then,’ she said nicely. ‘And,’ she added, ‘your girlfriend is coming later this week.’

  Shortly afterwards group ended. Josephine said to Neil ‘Stay with the feelings’, whatever that meant. Then she and one of the nurses took Emer away. The inmates and I were left in the Abbot’s Quarter, looking uncomfortably at each other. Chaquie and Clarence disappeared, muttering something about laying the table.

  Neil sat with his head resting on the arm of his chair. He looked up, straight at me, with a beseeching expression on his face. I threw him a glare of scorn and disgust and turned away.

  ‘Are you all right, Neil?’ I was astonished to hear Vincent ask him.

  Fuck Neil, I thought in a rage. Fuck Neil the piss-head, the wife-beater, the liar. I thought back to how he had tried to manipulate me into thinking that his wife was mad and that Josephine was a brainwasher and that he was such a nice guy.

  At Vincent’s question, Neil proceeded to have a hairy fit. He thumped the arm of his chair and started to bawl. But it was tears of rage, not tears of shame. ‘I can’t believe what that bitch wife of mine just did! I just can’t believe it!’ he screamed, tears pouring down his contorted face. ‘What the fuck did she have to say all those things for? Why? Oh, Jesus Christ, WHY?’

  ‘Come on for a cup of tea,’ Mike suggested gently.

  ‘She’s making it up, you know, the fucking bitch,’ Neil insisted. ‘And to see her sitting there,’ he gestured wildly at the chair that Emer had just vacated, ‘looking like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, well, I’m telling you that that woman has made my life hell for the past fourteen years. But it’s always me, Neil did this, Neil did that…’

  He became more and more incoherent. I threw my eyes to heaven while Mike, Vincent and Misty, of all people, made soothing noises. Even John Joe hovered awkwardly, looking as if he’d like to say something nice, if only he knew the words.

  ‘What’s happened to my life?’ Neil demanded. ‘Why has it all gone so wrong? And how did she know about Mandy? Can you believe she’s had the nerve to meet up with her? I bet they talked about me, the pair of bitches.’

  ‘Come on to the dining-room,’ Mike suggested again. I didn’t know why everyone was being so nice to Neil.

  ‘I can’t,’ Neil muttered. ‘I can’t face anyone.’

  ‘Yes, you can,’ urged Mike gently. ‘You’re among friends.’

  ‘Sure, it’s happened to us all,’ said Vincent, in a strange, unaggressive way. ‘And we hated it too.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Misty giggled in a sweet way at Neil. ‘It’s par for the fucking course in here.’

  Not my fucking course, I thought grimly.

  ‘And it was good for us, it worked. Look at how well and normal we are now.’ Misty gestured at herself, Vincent and Mike. (She swept her arm almost as far as John Joe, then hesitated and let it drop.) All of them burst out laughing, even Neil, between his sniffles.

  I was baffled.

  ‘Seriously,’ said Mike, ‘you’ll look back at this day and you’ll be glad. That’s what someone told me the day my wife made shit of me in here. That having to face the truth was the start of my recovery.’

  ‘But it’s not the truth,’ Neil said. ‘She’s a lying bitch.’

  I wanted to drive my fist into his face. But no one even rebuked him.

  Mike, Vincent, Misty and John Joe helped Neil up and led him gently from the room.

  22

  I had promised myself that Monday would be the day I’d get organized and start exercising. Once I was making myself skinny and beautiful I’d feel more hopeful about winning Luke back.

  I decided to ask Chris to show me the gym. There are some women, who, when heart-broken, have no interest whatsoever in other men. I wasn’t one of them. On the contrary, I yearned for male approval as a form of restoration. Call me shallow, call me needy, call me whatever you like so long as you call me.

  After lunch, for once, Chris wasn’t deep in conversation with a brown jumper. He was reading, his foot up on his opposite knee, deliberately looking sexy just to scare me away.

  He wore an impressive pair of boots – black, square-toed, lizard-skin chelsea boots that would have given him the freedom of trendy New York City. While I was thrilled to be in close contact with such a well-shod man, it had the double-edged effect of scaring me away. I was so in awe of his footwear that I feared I wasn’t worthy to talk to him.

  I was afraid the other inmates would deduce that I fancied Chris. Luckily their attention was elsewhere, as Neil loudly held court, a circle of sympathetic nodding dogs around him. But I still couldn’t get off my arse and approach Chris.

  Just get up, I urged myself, walk four paces across the room and speak to him.

  Right you are, I replied with conviction. But I remained superglued to the chair.

  I’ll count to five, I bargained. And then I’ll do it.

  I counted to five.

  Ten! I’ve changed my mind. I’ll count to ten and then I’ll talk to hi
m.

  Just as I felt my bum lift off the chair to begin my cross-room odyssey, I froze with fear. My make-up! I hadn’t checked it since that morning. I scurried along to my room and brushed my hair and retouched my make-up in a fierce, mascara-blobbing, lipstick-swerving hurry.

  If he’s still there when I get back, I swear to God I’ll speak to him, I promised myself.

  When I got back down, he was exactly where he’d been, still unencumbered by middle-aged men. I had no excuse.

  Just pretend he’s hideous, I advised myself. Try to imagine him with no teeth and one eye.

  So, shaking slightly, I found myself making my way across the floor to him.

  ‘Er, Chris,’ I said. The words surprised me by sounding normal. And not an adolescent boy’s voice-breaking soprano.

  ‘Rachel.’ He put his book down and looked up at me, his the-sun’s-too-bright, blue eyes burning. His beautiful mouth was turned up in a slight smile. ‘How’s it going? Sit down.’

  I was so thrilled that he hadn’t slammed his book down on the table and thundered ‘What?!’ that I beamed at him.

  ‘Will you show me something?’ I asked.

  ‘Wehay.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘My luck is in.’

  Flustered and flushed, I couldn’t think of anything witty to say, so I just said ‘Er, no… I mean, I didn’t mean… will you show me the sauna?’ I felt safest asking to see the sauna, because I knew for sure there really was one.

  ‘Certainly,’ he replied. ‘Do you want to get your stuff?’

  ‘Not yet, I just want to see it, for the moment.’

  ‘Right,’ he said, putting down his book. ‘Off we go!’

  ‘Mind them lovely boots, Chris,’ Mike called in a camp voice. ‘You don’t want to get them muddy’

  ‘Peasants,’ I clicked, with a heavenward roll of my eyes. But Chris just laughed.

  ‘John Joe wanted to know where I got them,’ he grinned. ‘He thought they’d do for milking the cows.’

  Out we went into the freezing weather. The trees were swaying in the high winds and my hair whipped round my face. As we skidded across a fifty-yard patch of muddy grass I wondered about faking a slip and, when Chris went to help me up, pulling him down on top of me and… Before I got my chance we arrived at a little outhouse.