Wrong Room, Right Guy

by Liam Livings

  He shrugged me off. 'No. I said no. It won't end well.'

  'You're gonna have to say more than that. I need something else to go by. You've said that?. Anyway, why, who?'

  'You should know this. The group. Cocaine Anonymous, did you miss the week when Jay, told us about dating a women he'd met at rehab?'

  'That I'd have remembered.' Buggeration, some more material for the story I'd missed. No, that's not the issue. I shook that from my mind and stared at Darren hopefully.

  'It's not officially banned at the support groups, like having special relationships is in rehab. But it don't mean it's not a bad idea. Once out of rehab, they were soon egging each other on with their addictions. They thought once out they'd be fine. But one of them almost gave in, the other one said it was okay to give up. So they both did. It's the worst thing we could do.'

  'That. Yeah, I vaguely remember Jay mentioning something about it, early days.'

  'It's never been a problem before. It always tends to be all blokes, dunno what that's about. Says it's open for women too, but it's always been blokes at our one. And until you turned up, I knew they was all straight. I mean, there was the odd story, doing stuff to get the next line, but that's not really gay. That's an addict doing whatever he needs to, to get his next hit.' He started rocking on the floor, hugging his legs to his chest.

  'It can't be all that bad, surely? They must have some flexibility I bet.'

  'If I start using again, 'cause you let me, they'll throw me out of the group. I can't stop coming. It's the only thing that keeps me from going back to it. Knowing I'd have to tell the whole room the next week that I'd fucked up - that's what stops me. And Jay's been great, given me his phone number, and he's talked me off a ledge a few times. I got pissed one time, had a shit day at work. Like, really shit. And I thought, fuck it, I deserve this. I'm going to get myself a bag and I'm going to have it all to myself tonight. He told me if I did that, it wouldn't be the last bag, there'd be more and more and more until I was back to square one. That's why I stopped drinking, see? The group is about staying free from cocaine and all mind altering substances. I can't be with someone who's into it too. That's what went wrong with the ex - we used to egg each other on, just one more line, just another one, we deserve it. That's what we used to say. I ain't doing it again. I've tried to stop loads of times before, and this is the first time it's stuck. I can't go through it again. This is it. For me and you. This is where it stops.'

  'Right.'

  'I'd have thought you'd be a bit more upset than that. Ain't you bothered that we can't be together? I mean, never mind that, aren't you even a bit pissed off that we can't strip off and shag like animals all over this little house of yours? 'cause that's what I'd been thinking about. I had plans for us, which would make those clubs in Vauxhall look like a teddy bears picnic.'

  'What if I have an idea, which means we don't need to worry, that you won't go back to the bad old days? That all the things Jay warned us about won't come true?'

  'I can't stop going to the group. I tell you, without that group I don't stand a chance of staying clean. I've got no will power, none at all.' His eyes were filled with tears.

  'You have got some, judging by how you were tenting those jeans earlier, and you've managed to stop yourself. I'd say that's not bad will power actually.'

  'Suppose. So what's this big idea?'

  I asked if he remembered about the writing, and that I was looking for new ideas, ideas to give my writing a bit of realism and guts.

  'Course I do.' He nodded, smiling.

  I took a deep breath and began my confession. 'That's why I came to the group. I'm not a recovering cocaine addict at all. It's all pretend, to help my writing. I haven't told you about it recently have I? Well, it's going well. It's going really well.' I started to talk about the magazine work, Clara-Bell had got me, and the stuff I was writing for the school, and Darren stood. 'Where you going?'

  'Home. I never want to see you ever again.' He walked to collect his shoes and jacket.

  I ran after him. 'It was only a bit of fun. It sort of got out of hand. I only wanted to come for one group, but you were there and I couldn't stop going until I knew - whether you were. Or not.'

  'What else have you made up? Are you really called Simon? Is this really your house, or is it actually a film set? If I went out the back, there's no more rooms than this one?'

  I blocked the door now as he tried to leave. 'Nothing. I promise, nothing else isn't true. That's the only thing I made up. It was from a celebrity autobiography. I'm surprised no one realised. She's a local girl actually, comes from this bit of Essex, she talked about it in her book.'

  'Great. I'm well pleased for you. So pleased you got yourself some good stuff for your little stories. You and your autobiography, I hope you're happy together, 'cause me, I don't wanna see you ever again.' He tried to open the door, but I stood solid against it. I'd locked it and put the key in my pocket.

  'No wonder you never showed me any of your stories. I really wanted to see them. I couldn't wait to read them, but you were always vague about them, saying I wouldn't like it, like I was too thick to read it. Turns out I was too thick, just not for that reason. I was too thick to see who you really are - a liar and manipulator. I won't be lied to again, not after Chris, not after the last time.'

  I tried to apologise again and he started scrabbling at the door handle behind me. 'Are you a teacher, or did you make that bit up too? Get out my fuckin' way. I don't want to look at you any more. Move it.'

  I moved to the side, and he started jiggling the handle up and down.

  'Gimme the key.'

  'Come on, you've got to see the funny side of it a bit, no? I read the autobiography of Daniella Westbrook - I've never seen an hour of the soaps she's been in. I'm not a soap person. I'm not an autobiography person either really. Someone from round her must have read it, I mean, that's a bit funny isn't it? I'm surprised no one caught me out.'

  'Key!'

  I handed the key to him.

  He unlocked the door. 'Do you know what I really want now? Now that I realise you've lied to me about something so basic and simple, about something which I thought we had in common?'

  'A hug?' I asked quietly.

  'A big fat line of lovely white powdery coke. That's what I want now, to blow out the cobwebs and make me forget all this, you, everything.' He slammed the door behind him, the key in the lock now the only sign he'd ever been here.

  Chapter 19

  I went back to the writers group. I thought, I might as well return, since that was the whole purpose of going to the Cocaine Anonymous meetings, and I'd pretty much fucked that up. At least I've still got the writers group. I shaved off my beard - that at least was a relief, something towards getting back to the person I really was. I put my contact lenses on, and left my large glasses behind. Again, another step towards normality.

  Olive handed me a mug of tea and plate of chocolate fairy cakes. 'You been writing much, love?'

  I nodded. 'I have actually. I've written lots and lots, now I'm not at the school any more.'

  'Blimey. You have been a busy boy. Did you 'ear this, you lot, 'e's jacked 'is job in at the school.'

  Olive leant across and sipped from her mug. ''ave you? Really? Gone and done that?'

  I nodded. 'I have indeed.'

  'You'd better start, hadn't he, Clara-Bell? He'd better go first, sounds like we've got a lot to catch up with for Simon.'

  Clara-Bell banged her mug with a spoon to get everyone's attention. 'I do know some of what he's been up to, but I think it would be sensible if he started, since he's not been here for a while.' She nodded at me to start.

  I told them about the change of job, the freelance work, and the magazine work Clara-Bell had helped me get. They all nodded with interest, asking if I now had more time to do 'my writing' around the other bits. I said I had done, before things had changed with this guy I was seeing.

  They all leant forward at
that bit.

  Clara-Bell, who'd been flicking through her phone, since she knew all of my story up to that point, looked up. 'Go on, Simon, go on.' She waved her hand at me.

  I told them where I'd met Darren, and how it had all been leading to that one night, a few days ago, and how it had all stopped, so I told him I wasn't really a recovering cocaine addict, so it would be okay for us to be together.

  'And how'd he take that?' Olive asked, who'd been writing notes on her notepad, perched on her knee, throughout my story.

  'Not well. It was the lies he was most upset about. His ex had lied to him, so he's really sensitive about it.'

  'Well, you couldn't have known that could you, love?'

  'I did actually, he told the group about this ex - without telling us it was a man - but he said his ex had lied to him and gambled away their savings.'

  'Oh.'

  'Yeah. It's a bit of a mess isn't it?'

  Shirley, who'd been listening intently throughout, jumped in. 'Sounds a bit far-fetched don't you think? Bit unbelievable, eh?'

  'What do you mean? This is my life. It's not a story I've made up, this is what's actually happening to me now. It has to be realistic, because it's real. I'm living it as we speak.'

  'Shame you can't use it for your writing. I wouldn't believe it if I read that story.' She uncrossed and crossed her legs, her blue skirt crumpled and her brown tights revealed a wrinkle, which she pulled up.

  Clara-Bell tapped her mug. 'That's enough of Simon, let's move onto the next person. Now, Shirley what have you been writing since we last met, what's been going on in your life you could use in your writing? Anything, dear?'

  I sat in a daze during the rest of the session. Clara-Bell announced it was time, by clapping and I returned to the here and now, in that little room in that shabby village hall in Essex.

  I stood to take my mug to the sink and felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned. It had long red nails and three large costume jewellery rings. Clara-Bell. 'Met him at the gym. You must think I was born yesterday.' She adjusted her bright silk scarf around her neck. 'I knew there'd be something else going on when you told me about this man. You, young man, are coming back to mine. I take it you have no other pressing plans, any reasons you must return home?'

  I shook my head.

  'Then it's settled. Put the chairs back against the wall, I'll tidy up the mugs, and meet me by my car in five minutes.'

  I started to do as asked.

  'And darling … '

  I mumbled.

  'It will all be fine. Trust me. It'll all be fine. Nothing a bit of a sit down and a think can't sort. You need to lick your wounds at the moment. And he needs to not see you. The space will do both of you the world of good, trust me. As someone who was married for nearly forty years, I can tell you a thing or two about space in a relationship.' She left the room, gathering her enormous pink carpet bag on the way. The posters on the wall swirled and moved in her wake, like the wake a large ship leaves through the water.

  I stacked the chairs and left the room as asked.

  'Have you eaten?' She settled me into a chair by the wood stove in the kitchen and started bustling about, preparing food.

  'When?'

  'Today, yesterday, whenever? You've lost weight, I can see it in your face. Gaunt. And it's not a good look on someone your age, trust me.'

  Charming. 'I had a bowl of cereal yesterday.'

  'And since then?'

  'There was some chewing gum in my bag.'

  'I knew it. You can't expect to think, to know what to do next, or even to write about what's happened, anything, if you're half starved, and having to lie down from feeling faint.'

  'I've really fucked it up haven't I? This is it, there's no going back from a lie like that, is there? And I left the only thing which was consistent amid all this mess, the job at the school. What a complete and utter pillock I am.'

  She walked to me with a tray of soup, large chunk of bread and cheese. 'Eat and then we can talk.'

  I followed her instructions, and oddly, as soon as I started to eat, as soon as the food touched my mouth, I felt hungry. I had only remained not hungry, disinterested in the rigmarole of food because I hadn't had any for almost twenty four hours. I finished, noticing my stomach had a strange feeling. Now what was that? Fullness.

  'Now, tell me about the lie.'

  I explained how upset Darren had been, and that really I should have known since that's what his ex had done. 'It was a stupid mistake to make.'

  'But by then, you'd already told the lie. By then you had gone to the group - or you wouldn't have met him - and lied. Even at that point that ship had sailed, my dear. And unless you'd never gone back, there was nothing you could do from that moment forward.'

  'I wasn't going to stop going. Not when there was so much I could write about. And I thought I might see him again.'

  'Of course, darling, of course. It's only natural a man like you has urges, an inquisitive nature, an enquiring mind, or you wouldn't have become a teacher.'

  'Exactly!' I brightened for a moment. 'Still fucked it up though haven't I?'

  'Right, that's enough of that. Quite enough.' She handed me a fountain pen and a pile of paper in various shades of pastel. 'Pick a colour and write him a letter. Go on, do it.'

  'I don't know what to say. There's so much.'

  'Then start at one bit, then move onto the next. Come on. Come on, get it out, get it onto paper. More coffee?'

  I nodded and started to write. Once I started the first sentence, it just flowed onto the page. I had filled two pages by the time she returned with coffee.

  She sat at the table, watching me write as hard as my hand could keep up with my mind. 'At the very least, darling, you'll get a few good stories out of this whole thing. Feel the pain, revel in it. Wallow, embrace it, write about how your heart feels. That's what I did when The Colonel went and died on me.'

  I looked up from the scribbles and shouted. Suddenly I couldn't keep it inside me any longer. 'I don't want the story, I want him. I want Darren!'

  'Marvellous, darling, that's exactly what you should be doing. Let it all out, go on, shout again, let it fill the room. It's called the primal scream don't you know. No one can hear you here. Trust me, I've wailed and moaned plenty of times and no one's come round to rescue me. Embrace it, feel the pain in your heart, write about the pain you're feeling, why you did it, everything. The emotions, that's what people want in stories - emotions, heart, guts. Spit them up onto the page. They want to see your heart beating on the page.'

  I shouted. 'Fuck's sake. Fucking fucking fuckety fuck. I fucking love that fucking man and I've fucking fucked it all up.' I took a deep breath and wiped my eyes. I looked at Clara-Bell. 'I'm never going to see him again am I? I know it. All because of my solid platinum twattery.'

  'Stuff and nonsense, darling. Stuff and nonsense. The only time that would be unequivocally true is if he'd died, or you'd died. And at the moment, from what I can gather, you're both very much in the land of the living. Time and distance, that's what you both need, time and distance.'

  'That simple, eh?' I shrugged, not convinced at all by what she'd said.

  'In my experience, there's not much in life which can't be sorted with a good feed or a good fuck. You've had the food, why don't you get yourself out to those clubs in London for a good fuck?'

  'Because I don't want to, that's why. I want ... '

  ' ... him, yes I get the picture. I do understand. Look, you've done an awful lot more than I had the guts to do, an awful lot earlier. You left the job which you couldn't bear. I stayed at mine, right until I retired. I waited to write until I was twice your age, that's thirty years of wasted time, not writing. How do you think that makes me feel. A silly fool, that's how. You've had the guts to do what you knew you needed to.'

  'I couldn't carry on with it. I just had to leave.'

  'Same with me, darling, but I just KBO'd until the end?'

  'KBO?'


  'Churchill, he used to say it all the time. Keep buggering on.'

  'I see.'

  'And that's what I did. It's the British way, it's the Clara-Bell way, but sometimes it's much braver to admit to yourself something isn't working and stop. Although it feels like you're giving up, you're not, you're actually stopping something so you can do something else much better for you. And that's what you did. So don't feel everything you've done has been a mess. It simply hasn't, darling. Not at all.'

  We stayed up late into the night talking about what I'd done, whether I should call Darren, how I should focus on what I had in my life to be thankful for. She said her editor, Jenny Sinatra-Hamilton was very pleased with 'her letters' and had asked if she'd like to write a regular opinion piece once a month about a subject of her choice, related to being the agony aunt. 'I told her yes, I'd be delighted. She gave me some ideas for the first one, which is due end of this week. You could write about lies in relationships, darling. Use it, take the feelings and spread them onto the page. It's the only way you'll heal, trust me.'

  Chapter 20

  Since the night the lie was revealed, I hadn't had time to speak to Lucy. Normally she'd have been the first person to call, but since she'd warned me this may happen I had been avoiding her calls. She'd seen the iceberg and I'd ignored it, right from the start. I kept on charging towards the iceberg, doing nothing about it, thinking I wouldn't hit it. Until I had. Until I'd hit it face on and it had sunk my boat of love with Darren.

  I reminded myself not to use that metaphor in my writing about how awful this had all been. Awful.

  Lucy leant back in one of my comfy chairs in the living room. 'Best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.'

  'That's your advice? After all that, that's what you've got to say to me?'