This Charming Man

‘A drunk.’

  A drunk. The word conjured up a vision of half-human types warming themselves around a brazier and fighting over a bottle.

  ‘What?’ Guy asked. ‘You don’t like that word?’

  ‘It sounds… rough.’

  ‘Rough?’ Guy looked pointedly at her broken ribs. ‘Okay, like you, my mother was an alcoholic. That any better?’

  ‘Please.’ She was so weary from it all. ‘I’m sorry, Guy. I’m so terribly terribly ashamed and sorry and I promise you it’ll never happen again.’

  ‘Can I tell you some things? Some truths?’

  She took a deep, deep breath – why did everything have to be so hard and painful and brutal? – and sighed, ‘Go on, Guy, if it makes you feel better.’ He deserved to have his say.

  He watched her; she could see that he was deciding whether or not to let her have it.

  ‘You don’t wash enough,’ he said.

  She felt nothing. Nothing, nothing. Thousands of miles away, a different Marnie was on fire with shame, but this one felt nothing.

  ‘You’re wrong,’ she said.

  But he was right, she didn’t shower daily, not any more. Some days, getting out of bed and putting on clothes burnt up so much of her will to live that there was no endurance left over for the nails of water on her cold, cold body.

  He said, sounding almost kind, ‘But that’s part of alcoholism.’

  She winced.

  ‘I’ve seen it with my mother,’ he said. ‘The depressions, the lying, the self-pity –’

  ‘Self-pity?’

  ‘You’re riddled with it. Something else, Marnie – whoever told you that vodka doesn’t smell, misled you. One final thing: stay away from Rico. Or you’ll both be out of a job.’

  ‘Hey, now, Guy, just one moment! I’m a grown woman. What goes on with Rico is none of your business.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m your employer. It is my business.’

  ‘It’s not –’

  Guy sighed. ‘You do understand that Rico is an alcoholic too?’

  Marnie didn’t know why, but that frightened her to her core. Rico wasn’t an alcoholic, he just liked to drink. Like her, exactly like her.

  Indignantly she asked, ‘Assuming that’s true, which it’s not, why do you keep employing alcoholics?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘It’s not something I ever intend to do. The experts would say that I’m drawn to help you, in the same way I had to help my mother.’

  God, she thought, everyone’s a bloody psychoanalyst these days. Even posh blokes.

  ‘The same dynamic,’ he said, ‘that ensures alcoholics like you and Rico find each other. I suppose you scare away normal drinkers and the only people you are left to drink with, are each other.’

  No. It was because Rico fancied her and wanted to get her drunk so she would…

  ‘Nevertheless, Rico won’t bother you any longer. I’ve spoken to him. And you should have no problem with the other guys. They won’t even go to the pub with you any more, because you embarrass them so badly.’

  Her face flamed. She’d noticed that they didn’t stick around.

  ‘Which brings me to my proposition. You still have a job on condition that you go to AA meetings and you don’t drink.’

  ∗

  ‘Marnie, you’re on your last chance,’ Nick said. ‘If you refuse to go to rehab –’

  ‘Nick, there’s really no need for that.’

  ‘– then you have to find some other way of stopping. I’ll do whatever you want to help you. Anything, Marnie, anything. But if you drink again, I have to leave and I have to take the girls with me.’

  ‘Mum?’ Daisy slunk into the bedroom, looking unusually shifty.

  ‘Yes, sweetheart?’

  ‘Mum.’ Daisy climbed onto the bed and whispered, ‘Something terrible has happened.’

  ‘What is it?’

  Daisy rested her forehead on her knees and began to cry. Marnie straightened up in alarm. Daisy prided herself on never crying.

  ‘It’s okay, sweetheart, whatever it is, it’s okay.’

  ‘Mum, I…’ She was so choked with sobs, her words were incomprehensible. Then she hiccuped out a complete sentence. ‘I wet my bed!’

  The guilt was so violent that Marnie’s stomach folded over on itself.

  ‘I’m nearly seven.’ Daisy gulped, her petal-like face distorted with tears. ‘And I wet my bed!’

  Marnie gazed at Daisy, as though she’d been hit with a thunderbolt. The moment was here. It had finally arrived. The moment she would remember, when she understood, with mystical certainty, that she had to stop.

  She had fraternized with criminals, she had broken her own bones, she’d been forced to attend AA, but this was what she needed to bring her to her senses.

  She loved her daughters with a passion that was painful. Her drinking was damaging them and she couldn’tdoit – the guilt was crucifying.

  I love them more than I love to drink. It was as simple as that.

  She realized that it had probably taken years to bring her to this point but the decision seemed to happen in an instant. She was calm, clear, resolved.

  I will never drink again.

  Monday. She walked into the office, her head high. She didn’t feel as raw as she usually felt, returning after a drink-related absence. This time she was a new person with a new life plan and she felt good. She was clean and decent, a devoted mother, a loving wife, a hard-working employee.

  Craig said hello, Wen-Yi nodded at her, Lindka called out, ‘Morning.’ No one remarked on her bruises or her almost week-long absence, which meant that everyone knew exactly what had happened. Guy must have told them to pretend that everything was normal. It felt uncomfortable but at least it was the last time she would have to live through a morning like this.

  Rico was in. He gave her a sheepish smile and her stomach flipped in revulsion. He’d texted her countless times while she’d been recovering, but she’d replied only once: a few brusque words, to let him know that she was alive.

  I’ve probably had sex with him.

  Did it count as infidelity if you couldn’t remember it?

  At 12.45, Guy appeared at her side. ‘Time for your meeting.’

  The AA meeting. Throughout the morning she’d wondered if he’d stick to his threat that she had to go.

  ‘The thing is, Guy,’ she said quietly, ‘there’s no need. I’ve decided – and I really mean it – that I will never drink again. Because of my daughters. I saw how I was damaging them –’

  ‘Excellent. The meetings will help you stick to your resolution.’

  ‘But if I’ve given up, I’m not an alcoholic, so why do I need –’

  ‘Off you go.’ He wasn’t yielding. ‘No need to hurry back. Stay for the whole hour.’

  ‘Well?’ Guy’s face was lambent with hope when she returned at 2.15.

  ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Good, thanks.’

  ‘Helpful?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  Very helpful. An hour in Topshop had certainly lifted her spirits.

  Thursday. She was flicking through the hangers looking for a size 8 when she felt someone staring at her. She looked up. Lindka, her eyes hostile. Shit.

  ‘Aren’t you supposed to be at an AA meeting?’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Did the whole world know her business?

  ‘All week Guy has been giving you an extra half-hour for lunch so you can go to a meeting.’

  ‘Look, Lindka –’ She was ill at ease around her, ever since the time she’d begged Lindka to lie to Nick about staying the night in her place. ‘I’m just about to go to it now.’

  ‘It’s twenty past one. The meeting starts at one.’

  How did Lindka know? Did the entire office know everything?

  ‘Have you gone to any of them?’ Lindka asked accusingly.

  No, as it happened. Every lunchtime had been spent killing time in the shops. Why would she need to go to a meeting wit
h alcoholics when she knew she’d never drink again? She’d been having a good week, a great week. The atmosphere was happy at home, she’d actually had fun with Nick and the girls, she’d cooked dinner for the first time in ages and she hadn’t wanted a drink, not once. She was passionately grateful for her family, for Nick’s patience, for her two beautiful children.

  ‘Come on,’ Lindka said. ‘I’ll walk there with you now.’

  For God’s sake. But she was too scared of Lindka to take her on.

  They walked along the cold street in tense silence and when they reached the community centre, Marnie said, ‘This is the place.’

  ‘Which room?’ Lindka actually walked into the hallway.

  Marnie refused to answer. Lindka was treating her like a child.

  ‘Which room?’ Lindka hardened her voice.

  ‘That one.’ Marnie pointed at a shut door, which Lindka opened. She stuck her head in and took a good look round and seemed satisfied with what she saw. ‘In you go, Marnie, and when you get back to work you tell Guy where I found you.’

  ‘Please, Lindka –’

  ‘You tell him or I will.’

  Marnie slid into the room and took a chair. Lots of people smiled and mouthed hello at her. The whinging was in full flow.

  ‘… I tried to stop drinking on my own, but I couldn’t. The only thing that did it was coming to these meetings…’

  ‘… I couldn’t bear my feelings. I was always angry or jealous or depressed or afraid, so I drank…’

  ‘… I had a beautiful girlfriend. I loved her. She begged me to stop. I tried for her but I couldn’t. She left me and the grief nearly killed me, but it wasn’t enough to stop me drinking. The truth was I loved alcohol more than I loved her…’

  ‘… I blamed everyone else for my drinking: my wife for nagging me, my boss for working me too hard, my parents for not loving me enough. But the only reason I drank was because I was an alcoholic, which was my responsibility…’

  ‘… I was always different, even as a teenager, even as a child, in fact…’

  Now that she was here, she wouldn’t mind a cup of tea and a biscuit; it might make the time go faster. She looked around to see where they kept them and, by accident, she locked eyes with the man at the top table. ‘Great to see you again,’ he said. ‘Would you like to say something?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  For God’s sake! ‘Marnie.’

  ‘Hello, Marnie.’

  There was an expectant pause. She was supposed to say, ‘And I’m an alcoholic.’

  But she wasn’t, so she didn’t.

  At five to two, she slipped out. The whinging was still going on, but she’d had enough. She actually ran down the corridor towards the doors to the outside world, she was so desperate to escape.

  ‘Marnie?’

  What? She turned around. A graceful woman had followed her out. Pink hoodie, swingy ponytail, big smile. ‘I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Jules. I met you once before.’

  ‘… Oh yes.’

  ‘How’s it all going?’

  ‘Great, yes, great.’ Daylight was visible through the slit windows in the wooden doors. She’d been so close…

  ‘Here’s my number.’ Jules gave her a card. ‘If you’re thinking of drinking, call me any time, really, day or night. I mean it.’ She smiled warmly. ‘And would you like me to take yours?’

  Marnie didn’t know how to refuse without appearing rude; reluctantly she spelled it out while Jules put it in her phone.

  Can I go now?

  ‘Guy, I have a confession.’

  Dread swept over his face. ‘You’ve been drinking?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘You didn’t go to the meeting?’

  ‘I did, but I didn’t go for all of it. I went shopping first.’

  ‘But that’s okay.’ Relief made him generous. Then he noticed Lindka watching them across the office. ‘What’s Lindka got to do with this?’

  ‘… She found me shopping.’

  It took a moment for him to understand. ‘You mean you wouldn’t have gone if she hadn’t caught you?’

  ‘I would have.’

  He clearly didn’t believe her and, in frustration, she burst out, ‘It just seemed silly when I know I’ll never drink ever again. It’s different this time, I don’t even want to drink.’

  He seemed to sag. ‘You didn’t go to any of the meetings, did you?’

  She contemplated lying. But this had to stop. She couldn’t spend every lunchtime for the rest of her working life lurking in Topshop. ‘No, Guy.’ Her tone was reasonable. ‘There wasn’t any need.’

  He exhaled. ‘Okay.’

  ‘You mean…?’

  ‘Okay. Don’t go any longer. I mean, don’t pretend to go any longer.’

  She should have felt better. But as she went to her desk, she felt sick. He’d meant well and although it had been infuriating that he hadn’t understood, she was sorry she had hurt him. All of a sudden she was angry with him for making her feel guilty. And she was angry with Lindka for dropping her in it. And she was angry with Nick. And she was angry with Rico. Fuck them. Fuck them all. Who the fuck did they think they were, trying to run her life? Treating her like a child. Humiliating her.

  She was a grown woman. She could – would – drink if she wanted.

  Yes, drink.

  She hadn’t wanted one since Daisy had made her shameful confession.

  She’d been free. Proud of her decision and not a little scornful that everyone made such a big deal of it.

  Drink.

  Now.

  Now now now now now now.

  Her body was possessed with craving – where had it come from? Every cell was lit up by an irresistible compulsion. She was slick with sweat, her blood was racing and her head was clicking calculations: Go to the off-licence buy a bottle drink it in the Ladies fill me comfort me heal me.

  I need it I need it I need it now.

  Daisy and Verity? What about Daisy and Verity?

  But her mind slid over them. She barely knew them.

  ‘I’m just popping out.’ Her voice was wrong. She’d striven for casual but she sounded afraid.

  ‘Where?’ Guy was alert, he knew something was up.

  ‘The chemist.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Tampons.’ She stared him dead in the eye.

  ‘You’re busy. Those documents need to go in tonight’s post.’

  ‘I’ll only be five minutes.’

  ‘I’ve got tampons,’ Lindka said. ‘Save you nipping out.’

  ‘I’d prefer my own brand.’

  ‘You don’t know what my brand is.’

  By now the whole office was watching. Panic made her dizzy.

  ‘… I don’t feel well. I think I’d better go home.’ She was going, she was leaving, it didn’t matter what any of them thought. Sack me, I don’t care.

  ‘It’s three-thirty,’ Guy said. ‘Try to last two more hours.’

  They watched each other, locked in a silent stand-off, and the tightness in her chest unwound a little.

  ‘Okay,’ she whispered, and returned to her seat.

  She bowed her head and tried to bring her mind back to her work but she couldn’t read. She couldn’t see what was in front of her.

  The need was back, more compelling than before. Building, expanding, swelling, burgeoning, she couldn’t bear it.

  She jumped to her feet and grabbed her bag. ‘The loo,’ she called, as heads snapped up to watch her.

  She was out on the street, no coat, running, a vague impression of shops and offices blurring past, the cold wind skinning her face. The off-licence was at the far end of the street. Her legs were heavy, children tangled her path, she bumped her hip against a buggy, tinny Christmas music spilled from shops, people were staring and swearing after her.

  Then, a pub. Right before her, as if it had dropped straight down from heaven. Through the doors, to
the counter.

  ‘Vodka and tonic.’ Her tongue thick. ‘Large one.’

  Drenched in sweat. Trembling. Ice cubes, fat and glassy, in a sweating metal container. Watching them slip from the pincers. Fall, pick up, fall, pick up. The world reduced to ice cubes. One tinkled against the glass; success. The pincers poised to pick up another cube.

  ‘No! Duss mata.’ She sounded drunk already.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Ice. Duss mata.’

  ‘You don’t want any?’ The barman poised the glass to tip the one cube away.

  ‘’Sokay! Whassintheresokay!’

  The vodka, the vodka, the vodka, just do the fucking vodka.

  As if to deliberately thwart her, he approached a plate of lemon slices.

  ‘Nolemon!’

  ‘No lemon?’

  ‘Nono.’ Christ. ‘Justthe…’

  She jerked her head towards the vodka. Optic. Finally. Pushing up into the bottle and releasing the flow of liquid crystal. She watched without breathing.

  ‘Did you say you wanted a large?’

  Her heart stopped. Should she take the single measure now? Or wait an extra two seconds for the large?

  ‘Single’sokay.’

  ‘You said large.’

  ‘Allrightthenlarge!’

  In slow motion, the optic pushed up again. Then the barman bent down, the glass placed out of her reach. What now?

  ‘Slimline or normal?’ The tonic. She swallowed a moan.

  ‘Norm.”

  ‘Looks like we’re out of normal. I’ll have to go downstairs.’

  She was afraid she might scream. ‘Dussmata,’ she said desperately. ‘I’lltaketheslimline.’

  ‘It’s no trouble. I have to go downstairs anyway.’

  ‘No please! Just the…’ She reached for the glass.

  Then it was in her hand and it was roaring down her throat and the heat was in her stomach and the stardust was stealing through her, thrilling her with its magic, drawing back a curtain to reveal a better, cleaner, sparklier version of everything.

  The glass hit the wood of the counter. ‘’Nother.’

  She drank the second standing at the counter, then took a seat for the third and, able to breathe again, considered her options.

  She could go back to work, no bridges burnt there, she’d only been gone a few minutes, but on balance, she decided she wouldn’t. The boiling hunger had abated, in fact she was feeling good, great even, but she liked it here, she’d prefer to keep drinking. And why not? It would be Christmas in two weeks.