‘Trassa,’ I said. ‘Your life story, please.’
It was the first written exercise the patients did and usually kick-started their thawing out.
‘It’s not finished yet.’ Her smile was sweet. ‘Might I remind you I’m sixty-eight, I don’t have the energy these young ones do.’
‘Have it ready tomorrow.’ I was stern. ‘In the meantime, why don’t you tell us again exactly why you’re in rehab.’
‘Well …’ A wide smile creased her soft, powdered features. There was something about her that always reminded me of a bap. ‘Ronan, my young fella, overreacted.’
I let that hang in the air for several long moments – then pounced on Dennis. ‘I’ve seen you having chats with Trassa. What has she told you?’
‘Hey!’ Chalkie jumped in. ‘Don’t make a snitch of him!’
‘No, you’re all right.’ Dennis was confident. ‘No one is snitching. Poor Trassa was unlucky, is all. Took cash out on a credit card for a dead cert on the Grand National. Never saw the bills from the bank because they sent them online. The interest mounted up – the rates are criminal, as I needn’t tell any of ye – and first thing Trassa knew was when debt collectors arrived at her front door, upsetting her husband, Seamus Senior. Who’s in a wheelchair.’
Yes, this sounded familiar. Except in the version I’d been told, the race was the Kentucky Derby.
‘By then the amount she owed had trebled. How could the poor woman pay it? She’s on a pension! One of her sons said he’d cover it, but that she had to “go to rehab”。 Same as meself, we’re both here to please another person.’
A rhythmic, high-pitched squeaking noise was now emanating from Giles. He didn’t know how to cry properly because he’d had no practice. Before last weekend, he hadn’t cried in forty-five years. Really, he should have been howling and banging on the floor, mourning his lost decades and the trail of abandoned women and children he’d left in his wake, but he was too repressed. Still, it was encouraging that he was crying at all.
‘Trassa?’ I asked. ‘How much money did your son pay off for you?’
Sharply, she said, ‘That’s private.’
I gave her a look. ‘You’re in rehab. Nothing’s private in here. How much?’
I knew that Trassa had, without mentioning sums, given the impression that it was about fifty euro.
‘I took, I think it was … two thousand euro out from the cash machine.’
Shock bounced around the room. Two thousand? Even Roxy, who was far enough along to understand denial, hadn’t expected that.
‘Two thousand?’ I asked.
‘Oh, look, I don’t know.’ Trassa went the full-on, dithery granny. ‘My old head.’
‘It was four thousand.’ She knew it. I knew it. And now everyone else knew it too. ‘How did you get the credit card?’
‘The bank offered it to me.’
‘The bank offered it to you?’
Pink heat spread across her face.
‘You mean you applied for it?’ I said.
‘Yes, yes.’ She was desperate to shut me up.
‘In your husband’s name. Because your personal credit is shot to pieces.’
The mood in the room was dismayed – Trassa was regarded with great fondness – and this story didn’t fit their picture of her. Dennis in particular looked desperately confused.
At lunchtime I stuck a hopeful head into the admin office, hoping to see a Fedex box in the corner, but Brianna said, ‘Nothing. Sorry. What have you ordered this time?’
‘Trainers.’
‘More trainers? Anyone would think you were an addict.’ We both did fake-wheezy laughs.
Like any sensible person with a job, I got my online purchases delivered to work. Brianna was as good as a personal concierge. Ted disapproved: our personal lives shouldn’t overlap with our professional lives. If any of my ducklings stumbled across me gleefully tearing boxes open and shrieking with delight, it might be difficult to retain their respect in group.
But what was the alternative? Arriving home from work to find a little card bearing the dread words, ‘Go to depot’？ I don’t think so.
Despite the disappointment, I got on with my day and around 5 p.m. I was in the office typing up the daily notes when my phone rang. As soon as I saw who was calling, my heart nearly stopped. What on earth …？ Joey. Narky Joey? Why was he …？ He would never be ringing for a friendly chat.