‘They’re Swedish.’ Stanley, a new client, a beardy, bear-like man, one of Yasmine’s charges, called out.
‘So’s ABBA, but I don’t want to ate them ayther!’ Then he muttered, ‘Except maybe the blondie wan …’
‘Nomnomnom,’ Ella said. ‘Daims are gorgeous.’
‘Hard on the dentures, though.’ Trassa threw in a note of caution.
‘My teeth are my own!’ Dennis insisted.
‘Yeah, you bought them in Dealz for a tenner.’
‘A tenner? He was robbed.’
‘Hahaha. Ah no, it cost extra for that lovely yellow colour!’
‘Lookit,’ Dennis said. ‘I’m just asking for something that – what’s the thing they say? “Sparks joy”。’
‘Joy!’ Chalkie scoffed. ‘A middle-class thing if ever I heard one. In Maslow’s hierarchy of needs –’
‘Dennis, hear me out,’ Trassa said. ‘How about Wispa Caramel!’
‘Nomnomnom.’
‘There’s no such thing,’ Giles said loftily. ‘It’s called Wispa Gold.’
‘How the fuck would you know, Mr Green-and-Black?’ Chalkie asked.
They called on Stanley to adjudicate – but Stanley took offence. ‘Hey!’ he said. ‘You’ve got me all wrong.’ He gestured at his chunky physique. ‘I’m here for steroids, not food, okay?’
‘Jez,’ Dennis murmured, ‘for a lad who doesn’t have a grá for the chocolate, he knows an awful lot about it.’
‘Anyway, yeah.’ Stanley was suddenly more peaceable. ‘Wispa Gold is a Wispa with caramel running through it. Giles is right, Wispa Caramel isn’t a thing.’
A grumbling mutiny broke out around Trassa.
‘Hey, hey, hey,’ Stanley said. ‘Everyone be cool, it’s an easy mistake to make.’
God, I wouldn’t have minded a Wispa Gold myself. But I couldn’t possibly ask. For the briefest moment I wished I was a client here, then several things shifted in me, like planks collapsing, and the thought got banished.
‘Look,’ Dennis said. ‘I like a Bounty –’
A hue and cry rose. ‘Bounties are rotten!’
‘Like eating air freshener!’
‘Coconut-flavoured mould!’
‘Nomnomnom.’
‘Not gonna lie.’ Harlie didn’t even look up from her diligent nail-painting. ‘I’d take a bullet for a Bounty ice-cream.’
‘Okay,’ Giles said. ‘Work with me here – what about a red Bounty?’
‘Nomnomnom.’
‘What’s the difference?’
‘Red is dark chocolate.’
‘Christ!’ Chalkie declared. ‘Bounties are bad enough but dark chocolate?’
‘Nomnomnom.’
Startling me, Harlie leapt to her feet and exploded at Ella, ‘Would you stop saying “NomnomfuckingNOM”！’
‘Nomnomnom.’
Thanks to Patch Fecking Dooley, I was mortified going back into group for the afternoon session, afraid that none of them would have any respect for me, ever again. But fake it to make it, so I put on my impervious face. As they all filed in, Dennis paused to wink – wink! – in my direction.
I managed a small smile, while thinking, I’ll fucking get you, you charming, loveable bastard. Then my focus switched to Trassa.
In the wake of yesterday’s revelations from Ronan, it was time for the mop-up operation. Most people in rehab are broken open by a public airing of their wrongdoings, but the first reaction tends to be defensive rage.
‘Trassa,’ I asked, ‘how did you feel when Ronan was talking?’
She gave a twisted smile. ‘He was always disloyal. A coward. But I’ll still be signing the house over to him.’
‘Hey! He’s no coward,’ Chalkie said. ‘The poor lad was in bits.’
It was interesting – heartening, actually – how most of the people here could challenge each other in group, go in hot and heavy at times, then traipse back out into the dining hall, the best of friends.
‘A coward,’ Trassa said. ‘And he’ll get his money back.’
‘It’s not just about the money, Trassa.’ Giles sounded shocked. ‘Debt collectors visited your home.’
‘And scared your husband,’ Chalkie said. ‘He’s not a well man. Holy fuck. I’m agreeing with Giles. Get me out of here.’
‘Seamus Senior will outlive us all.’ Trassa gave us an I’ve-got-an-apple-tart-in-the-oven smile.