Which would be precisely never, if I’d understood this properly.
It was absolutely horrifying. Poor Boyd, poor Boyd’s wife, poor Jonah, poor Ella. So much damage, so much shame, so many secrets.
As soon as I’d seen Boyd off the premises, I went to a consulting room, and locked the door, as I tried to breathe through a stabbing pain in my ribs. When he had started talking about visiting hotel doctors, a memory – appallingly vivid – had landed wholesale in my head, of a time I’d gone to one of those doctors.
What was astonishing was that until now I’d managed to forget it completely.
It had been some time during those terrible months after Yara – late autumn, probably. I remembered how cold I’d been. My supply of Ambien had run low at an alarming speed and I was in a panic, wondering how to get more.
I couldn’t ask Carlotta, it was too soon for yet another visit to Dr Gagnon, but then I remembered a doctor that Dad had visited a few years earlier when he’d been visiting New York with Mum. Dad had had an upset stomach – like I said, something always happened – and he’d gone to a nearby GP who serviced the hotels in midtown Manhattan.
In the speediest consultation of all time, the doctor had given Dad a prescription for several strong drugs, relieved him of a couple of hundred dollars and bounced him back out into the street.
With the aid of Google, it was remarkably easy to track down the doctor and even easier to bag an appointment for later that day. Getting showered and dressed was a bit of a big deal, but I’d caught the subway into the city, sat in the chair and told the doc I was visiting New York for five weeks. ‘The jet lag has triggered my insomnia. And I need to be on top of things for my job.’
‘That’s too bad.’ He was all unctuous sympathy, as well he might be, considering how expensive he was.
‘I’ve used Ambien in the past,’ I said. ‘It’s always worked well.’
‘Okay.’ He scribbled something on a pad. ‘Five weeks, you said? Should I also give you some Xanax?’
A powerful longing seized me, but very quickly, I said, ‘Oh no. No thank you. No.’
I couldn’t let sleeping tablets be a gateway to any other drugs. Staying clean was vital. The Xanax – or Valium or any kind of benzo, really – would have taken the hard edges off the world. I couldn’t truthfully say that I wouldn’t have enjoyed it but I didn’t need it the way I needed Ambien.
As I handed over my credit card – issued from a New York bank, not that the doctor was in any way bothered – the high cost almost cancelled out my relief.
Because I was a ‘tourist’ it couldn’t be claimed back on my insurance and I wondered what to say to Luke if he saw it on the statement. Maybe I could pretend it was dental work? Or … Botox?
He’d freak out at Botox.
But not as much as he’d freak out at Ambien.
Even so, I’d managed to make the whole thing small and not important: I’d needed to sleep, I’d been resourceful.
But sitting in the Abbot’s Quarter, quizzing Boyd, the memory of what I’d done suddenly astounded me. I’d gone to a doctor – the third doctor I’d seen in perhaps two months – and lied.
Even at the time my crappy, bullshit story had embarrassed me, and it was obvious that the doctor hadn’t believed it either. We’d both come away sullied by the charade.
Luke had asked me what I’d think if a client told me my story. I had to admit that visiting more than one doctor, lying to them and hiding it all from my husband was addiction 101.
As the knowledge settled, my whole body went cold. Goosebumps broke out on my skin.
Back then, I’d taken my sanctimonious spurning of the offer of Xanax as proof that I was in control. Certain that if I simply decided to not get addicted to sleeping pills that I wouldn’t.
But I had.
… or had I?
69
I couldn’t think about it. Not now. I was going to Barcelona with Quin, I needed to be together. I’d think about it when I got back. I’d worry about it then.
Although maybe there wasn’t anything to worry about. Maybe everything was fine.
At home, Kate and Devin were all glee and hilarity because Crunchie was wearing a bonnet.
‘She wanted to wear it,’ Kate insisted. ‘She pulled it out of the drawer.’
Crunchie seemed happy enough, which was a relief because Kate and Devin were babysitting her for the weekend and I didn’t want them treating her as a dressing-up doll. ‘Are they laughing at you?’ I asked in my special Crunchie voice. ‘Are they making fun of you?’