‘And remember, Giles,’ I said, ‘addiction is a parasite that never quits. Nail that to your heart. The second it spots weakness, it’s right back in, as strong as ever.’ Briefly, I had a moment of strange confusion, something like déjà vu, then reality returned. God, I was really stressed. ‘You need to work on your firewalls every single day. You can never drop your guard. Okay?’
‘Okay!’
I stood up. ‘Time for cake.’
Sadly, no homemade Gateau Diane for Giles, he hadn’t been popular with the catering staff. But there was a long-life Victoria sponge from Spar and a healthy turnout to heckle him.
‘Six weeks ago, I could not believe that I was a patient in such a dreadful place!’ He was up on a chair, delivering his farewell speech. ‘The only reason I was here was to get my job back …’
Approaching from behind, Brianna grabbed my arm and hissed, ‘Drama. His first wife has turned up to take him home. So has his third wife. They’re both up in the office, looking like it’s Staplers at Dawn. What’ll I do?’
‘Nothing.’
Giles could take care of it. Telling the two women that actually he’d be living with his second wife could be his first clean and sober challenge. Hit the ground running, as it were.
When he climbed down from the chair, people queued up to hug him. It always made me teary that despite every harsh word said in here, at the end of it all, everyone wished everyone else well.
I watched him hugging Trassa, then Dennis, people the likes of whom he’d probably never crossed paths with before.
Oh, and here came Chalkie. He and Giles faced each other and, for a moment, neither man moved. A tense energy pulsed between them, then they fell into a tight bear hug.
‘Stay safe, bud,’ Chalkie said with a sly smile. ‘Go to your meetings.’
‘You go to your meetings.’
‘If we both go to our meetings, we’ll probably run into each other. Imagine that. You and me, hanging out, having the chats. Jaaaaaayzisss.’
‘Or,’ Giles twinkled, ‘we could have a game of tennis?’
‘Ah, Gilesy man, that’s enough to send me back on the gear.’
57
Switching my phone on after work, I’d expected a missed call from Luke – but nothing. I should have been relieved but waiting for the other shoe to drop was unbearable. I’d rather get it over and done with.
However, Helen had texted, asking if I wanted to get what she described as ‘evening food’。
I assumed she meant dinner but that the word ‘dinner’ was on her Shovel List. God only knew why, but it wasn’t as if any of her pet hates were rational.
I rang her and, after a long time, she answered. ‘You couldn’t have texted?’
‘It would have taken too long. But here’s what I would have texted: Yes, thank you, Helen, I would like to get “evening food” with you. I’m going to a meeting in Stillorgan at eight o’clock, so a place nearby would be good. I’ve taken a quick look and there are three restaurants with tables available at six thirty, which is when I’d arrive –’
‘– but not a place with an Early Bird Menu! That boasts about it. Rachel, I couldn’t! I’d be too irritated to eat.’
‘Way ahead of you.’ I was smug. ‘See you at Chopping Block at six thirty.’
Of course, there was always a chance that Chopping Block might be on her list for some other reason – perhaps the name was infuriating? Or misleading? Perhaps because it wasn’t an actual chopping block?
To my relief, she said, ‘Okay!’ Then, ‘Why can’t everyone be as reasonable as you, Rachel? This is why you’re my favourite sister.’
‘I am? Thanks.’
‘Apart from Anna, like.’
At Chopping Block, I found her deep in conversation with a waiter. I guessed they were discussing coleslaw. Helen liked coleslaw. Cheese and coleslaw sandwiches were about all she ate.
‘Howya!’ she cried when she saw me. ‘Sit down. This is Ultan, he’s sorting me out with cheese and coleslaw sandwiches – and a pint of Diet Coke. Did I say that, Ultan?’
‘You did.’ He consulted his pad. ‘Room temperature. No lemon or lime or any fruit, especially no pears, cranberries or kiwis.’
‘Good man. But Rachel will order normal food.’
‘Fine.’ Ultan gave me a menu and skedaddled off to do Helen’s bidding.
‘So?’ I asked her. ‘How are things?’