‘Rachel!’ And there was Priya.
In the front office, she brought me up to speed on Ella Black. Ella had kicked up about surrendering her phone for the duration of her stay – nothing unusual there. They all did – I’d have done it myself if I’d had a mobile back then.
Nor was it a surprise to hear that Ella had asked about yoga classes – nearly all the women admitted here were obsessed with exercise, thinking that the real benefit of rehab would be the chance to drop a dress size. Like, never mind learning the tools to overcome an addiction, what really got them excited was six uninterrupted weeks to get strong-not-skinny. （That had been me.）
Discovering that we had no gym, no pool, nothing, was usually quite a moment – high-pitched, angry objections where phrases like ‘natural high’， ‘keeps me sane’ and ‘human rights’ were flung about. （Also me.）
Funnily enough, though, when they discovered they’d be getting plenty of exercise scrubbing bathrooms, hoovering hallways and generally keeping the entire house clean and sparkling, they were even more furious. （Me again.）
Ella’s bags had been searched and the inevitable contraband seized. （Once again me. When I’d arrived at the Cloisters, I’d tried to smuggle in a jar of Valium.）
‘But her bloods came back clean,’ Priya said. Which meant she was in.
In the dining hall was a young woman with her arm in a sling – this had to be Ella. In yoga pants, trainers and a raggedy-edged jumper that I owned in a different colour, there was a real bloom about her: shiny dark hair and freckles, she was pretty and wholesome-looking.
‘Ella? I’m Rachel, your therapist. Come with me, we’ll have a chat.’
In a consulting room, we sat opposite each other. ‘How are you doing?’ I asked.
‘Oh, you know.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘This was hardly part of my life plan.’
‘Getting addicted to sleeping tablets?’
‘No, I meant … I mean, ending up in rehab.’
‘What about getting addicted to sleeping tablets? Was that part of your life plan?’
‘Well, no, because I’m not.’ She was clear-eyed, earnest. ‘I haven’t.’
‘So …？’ I feigned confusion. ‘Why are you here?’
‘My boyfriend and my best friend, they kind of had a freak-out. There was a thing with Jonah’s car – they overreacted.’
‘And Boyd, your boss?’
She seemed startled that I knew who he was. ‘He overreacted too.’
‘That’s a lot of people who’ve overreacted.’
‘I know how it looks.’ She was so keen to explain. ‘On paper, the facts are bad. But I know myself fairly well – I’d know if I had a problem. And believe me, if I had one, I’d want to deal with it.’
‘So why are you here?’
‘I thought if I came in for a few weeks, they’d stop freaking out.’
‘Riiiight. So you’ve come here to prove you’re not an addict?’ I could play good cop now and again.
She met my eyes. ‘And I know how that sounds too. But they were on my case so much it just seemed easier to give in.’
They never stopped amazing me, my clients. They could convince themselves that day was night, in order to keep on using. Now and again reality might break through but in most cases, they truly believed they could justify drinking or taking tablets or placing bets or making that booty call. Reasonable people, intelligent people, educated people – it made no difference. Addiction was the wave that washed away facts, common sense, kindness, everything good.
‘Okay. So I’d like you to start writing your life story,’ I passed her a printout. ‘This is a template. As you can see, we’d like particular emphasis on your relationship with drugs.’
‘But I’m not a –’
‘But do it anyway.’
‘Sure!’ She was so perky and positive. ‘Why not?’
‘You can head back to the dining hall and I’ll see you in group in fifteen minutes.’
No sooner had I secured the best seat in the Abbot’s Quarter than Ella tumbled in, commandeered by Giles. No surprise there, he womanized as automatically as breathing.
Singling out my wonky-legged chair from Wednesday morning, he instructed Ella, ‘Avoid that seat at all costs. And that one too. This is fine, though.’
Almost as soon as she was seated, Dennis barrelled through the doorway. Here less than a week, he already had ‘his’ chair; he stopped short at the sight of Ella sitting in it. Ella – keenly attuned to the moods of others – sprang up. ‘Sorry! Is this your spot?’