My plan for the afternoon had been to focus on Dennis but something made me decide to take a punt on Bronte. ‘Bronte, tell us about your relapse.’
‘My um, relapse …’ She hadn’t been expecting this. ‘I’m writing my life story, don’t you want to wait? No? Oh. Well. It was … I didn’t plan it. It was an accident.’ She waited a moment. ‘I’d been doing so well. I never missed drugs, my life was good, then my horse threw me. Broke my ankle. First time to break a bone, the pain was much worse than I’d ever expected. I asked for painkillers.’ She paused.
‘And then? Did you tell your doctor that you were a heroin addict?’
‘Yes. He gave me ordinary painkillers, but they didn’t work. They were literally aspirin. I couldn’t bear it, I needed something a lot stronger.’
Giles leant forward in his chair. ‘I have to ask – did you exaggerate how bad the pain was? For the doctor.’
Something small and strange zipped through me.
‘Oh … ah … No!’
‘But did you, Bronte?’ I asked. ‘Did you think – Here’s a chance to take opiates again and for it to be legitimate?’
‘I promise you, the pain really was awful.’
‘Both can be present – the pain and the temptation. In the four years of your recovery, you’d been going to meetings?’ I asked. ‘Had a sponsor? Did the steps? Accepted you were an addict? Accepted you’d never be cured?’
She nodded.
‘Accepted that relapse was always possible?’
After a pause, she said, ‘Maybe not. Four years was a long time. I think I’d forgotten about relapsing.’
‘So you were in pain and your doctor had offered you opiates – did you call any of your recovery friends to tell them about your dilemma? Or your counsellor in your old treatment centre?’
‘… No. The pain was so bad I couldn’t think straight.’
‘There are lots of ways to manage pain. Hot and cold compresses, acupuncture. You had options, Bronte.’
‘But you didn’t want them,’ Harlie said, dripping with judgement. ‘You wanted an excuse to go back on the drugs.’
‘You!’ Bronte dripped with disdain. ‘You’re hardly a –’
‘Bronte,’ I interrupted. ‘How soon after you began taking the medication did the physical compulsion flare back into life?’
‘Soon.’ Her face was bleached of colour. ‘Very soon, really.’
‘How did it feel?’
‘I –’ She clenched her jaw. ‘I felt so guilty, but –’
My body was tense. The answer to this question felt important in ways I didn’t understand.
‘– it was like coming home.’
40
‘… and then I wanted to get stoned and dance with him on his deck –’
‘No!’ Brigit cut me off. ‘It wouldn’t be sexy and lovely, not for you. You’d end up toppling off the deck or passing out in a planter. Something bad would happen because once you start you can’t stop.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, quietly, all of my giddiness leaking away. ‘Okay.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No. You’re right.’
‘But you never have a hangover. You never have to wake up and think, Oh Jaaaaaaaaaayzis, what did I do last night? Rach, being you is the best!’
It was, I supposed. I just needed to reconnect with the grateful part of me.
After we hung up, I was in the utility room, checking on the health of my next batch of potted seedlings when Kate arrived home.
‘Well?’ I asked. ‘What did you decide about the party dresses?’
She laughed. ‘Seriously. No. The one I liked? The cape dress? Rachel, the price. I honestly can’t.’
‘But –’
‘I know. Mum says she has the money. But it costs twice as much as I earn in a month and …’ She made a face. ‘I need some self-respect. Anyway! I met Devin’s grandad today. He said to tell you he … what was it? “Sends his regards”。’
‘… Is it just me or does that sound slightly threatening? Like when the Mafia man says, “You have a beautiful daughter, it would be a shame if anything happened to her”？’
‘He said you’re to come to his birthday thing.’
‘A birthday thing? But … his wife has just died.’
Kate looked anxious. ‘All I know is, it’s Saturday teatime, at Devin’s parents. Pizza and prosecco. So what’ll I tell him?’