Die of Shame Read online

  Tony thinks of something and quickly scribbles a note to himself, while bodies shift in chairs and throats are cleared. When he’s finished, he looks up at Heather. ‘So, what were you talking about outside?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Before we started.’

  ‘Just chit-chat,’ Chris says, quickly bumptious again. ‘Particle physics, the problems in the Middle East. Usual stuff.’

  ‘Actually, we were talking about how much money you make,’ Heather says. ‘Trying to work it out. I mean, this is a massive house, so you’re obviously doing pretty well out of it.’

  ‘Exploiting poor helpless junkies.’ Chris winks at Heather.

  ‘I don’t think it’s any of our business,’ Robin says.

  ‘We were just talking.’ Heather seems to be enjoying the whole conversation and Robin’s objection, the stuffiness of it, makes it funnier still. ‘You know… thinking about what you probably get for an hour and a half like this, multiplying by five, then having a guess at how many of these sessions you do a week, plus all the other stuff.’

  ‘Don’t forget the songwriting royalties,’ Diana says.

  Tony does his best to smile. ‘I don’t think they’d pay for a new kettle.’

  ‘That’s all, really,’ Heather says. ‘That’s what we were talking about. Just messing around.’

  ‘I reckon you’re on about two hundred and fifty quid just for one session.’ Chris sighs and plasters on an expression of mock longing. ‘I was thinking how long that kind of money would have got me high for a year or so ago.’

  ‘Well, I know you like to exaggerate,’ Diana says, ‘but from some of the stories you’ve told us, I don’t think it would have gone very far.’

  Tony raises a finger. Just a small gesture, but he always likes to guide the discussions as subtly as possible. He fights shy of interrupting if he can possibly help it. ‘Well, it’s nice to know my financial situation is so interesting, but you’re basing your calculations on a false premise, I’m afraid. The fact is, not all my clients pay the same.’

  ‘What, us, you mean?’ Heather asks.

  ‘I’m not going to go into specifics,’ Tony says. ‘But look, some people pay me privately, others have the fees paid through medical insurance… a few are supported by charities or funded by social services, so…’ He pauses for a few seconds, trying to decide whether or not to reveal the other crucial factor in how he makes his living. ‘And whether the money’s actually coming from the individual or the individual is supported in some way, the fact is I charge some clients a bit less than others.’ He shrugs like it’s no big deal. Because it isn’t.

  Nobody speaks for a few seconds, until Chris says, ‘For real?’

  ‘That’s good of you,’ Robin says. ‘I think it’s perfectly fair that there’s a sliding scale. I don’t mind paying because luckily I can afford it, but it’s right and proper that those who can’t should pay a bit less, or be helped in some way.’

  ‘No, that’s bollocks,’ Chris says. ‘A junkie’s a junkie, right? Doesn’t matter how much you earn, that fact should make everything the same. Obviously, because you’re minted you could afford to take better drugs and you didn’t have to rob anyone or do other shitty stuff like some of us did to pay for it. The world out there ain’t fair, we all know that, but this is our world now.’ He looks at Tony. ‘We should all be equal in here.’

  ‘We are,’ Tony says.

  ‘Doesn’t sound like it.’

  ‘I should stop gobbing off if I was you,’ Heather says. ‘You’re probably one of the ones who gets charged a bit less.’

  Chris looks at Tony.

  ‘Like I said, I’m not going into specifics…’

  Chris looks at Heather and, after a few seconds, begins to laugh. The pair of them trade stories for a while, the assorted scams and wheezes they’ve been involved in or heard about. The things junkies do to make the money they need. Tony tells the group about a former client – unnamed, naturally – who hit upon what he thought was a foolproof scheme after buying an extension lead from B&Q.

  ‘He’d paid with a stolen credit card, but then he discovered that the branch had this policy of exchanging faulty goods for cash without needing to see a receipt.’

  ‘Nice,’ Chris says.

  ‘Sometimes he wouldn’t even bother leaving the shop. He’d just take off the label, break it there and then and march straight over to the returns counter. It worked like a charm for a while, until he found the police waiting for him at the desk one day. Apparently the manager got suspicious because fourteen extension leads had been returned to the same branch in three days.’

  Everyone laughs. Tony has used the same anecdote with other groups. It’s the kind of story that would probably raise no more than a smile with most people, but addicts always find it hilarious.

  ‘That’s junkies for you,’ Heather says. ‘Always get too greedy, and you’re not exactly thinking clearly when you’re off your face.’

  Chris says, ‘I don’t suppose you happen to know which branch of B&Q that was?’

  Everyone laughs again and, seeing the group in such high spirits, Tony decides that now might be a good time to take things in a different direction.

  He raises a finger, nods towards Robin.

  ‘Now… last week, Robin generously volunteered to kick things off in looking at how, for some of us, shame of one sort or another may be one of the deep-seated causes of addiction.’

  ‘Still not sure I buy it,’ Chris says.

  ‘Well, maybe what you think isn’t awfully important,’ Diana says.

  ‘It’s fine, we’re just feeling our way into this, OK?’ Tony waits for things to settle, then turns to Robin. ‘Whenever you’re ready…’

  Robin has been relatively quiet up until now; less happy than usual to chip in. Tony has noted it, well aware that the eldest member of the group is a little less garrulous than Chris or Heather at the best of times, and that throwing a comment in now and again is very different from being centre stage.

  ‘Right then.’ Robin straightens the crease on both trouser legs and sits up a little straighter. ‘I’ve been thinking all week about how to tell this and I suppose the best way is just to pitch right in. It’s a bit like an operation, I suppose. When you’re doing one, I mean. No point standing there dithering with a scalpel in your hand, you’ve just got to stick the blade in.’

  ‘All depends if the surgeon’s on drugs,’ Chris says.

  ‘Please.’ Tony turns to Chris. ‘I think it would be better for all of us if members of the group can do this without interruption. OK?’

  Chris sighs, nods.

  ‘You all know I grew up in South Africa, right?’ Robin looks from face to face. ‘Well, it was a very different country then. Very different. When I was a child, my family had… servants. Black servants, goes without saying… that was simply the way it was. Now, of course, that sounds horrific, but right or wrong my father genuinely believed that he was doing a good thing, that he was giving people jobs. They weren’t paid very much, but it was regular work and accommodation was provided and everyone seemed very happy.’ Robin takes a breath and flattens his palms against his knees. ‘We had one family working for us. Mimi worked as a maid and her husband did odd jobs, looked after my dad’s car and so on and they all lived on the property. It was… well, now you’d probably call it a shed.’ He stops, searching for words. ‘They lived in a shed…

  ‘They had a little boy who was the same age as me, maybe a little bit older, eight or nine. Jimmy. That wasn’t his name… he had a Zulu name like everyone else, but we called him Jimmy. His mum called him that too, if my parents or I were around, you know?

  ‘Jimmy and I were friends. We used to muck around together, get into the usual sorts of scrapes. There were a couple of boys from school I saw now and again, white boys, but Jimmy was always there and the truth of it is, I thought I could boss him around, decide what games we were going to play, that sort of thing. We were cl
ose, though. That’s what I’m trying to say… we talked about things, our parents, whatever.

  ‘God, this is hard…’

  ‘Take your time,’ Tony says.

  ‘I stole some money.’ Robin says it quickly, blurts it out, then seems to relax a little. ‘Took it from my mother’s bag. It wasn’t much, fifty rand or something and I used it to buy sweets. I was showing off, trying to show Jimmy how rich I was, I suppose.’ He shakes his head. ‘Unfortunately, my mother noticed the money had gone and there was an almighty row and everyone got dragged into it.’ He looks up and the smile he gets from Heather seems to relax him. ‘I said Jimmy had taken the money, told everyone I’d seen him do it. I still don’t know why, but he didn’t even try to deny it and next thing his mother’s dragging him off and later on I can hear him crying after she’s given him a good hiding.

  ‘My father let the whole family go a week after that. He told me how important trust was and that there was no point once it had been broken. Said what a shame it was it had ended up that way. I’d known he was going to do it because my mother told me and still I never said anything, never owned up.’ He glances at Tony. ‘I tried to find out what had happened to them. Later on, that is. Before my parents died I asked if they knew anything, but there was no way to find out and they barely remembered it, to be honest. By then, even people of their generation were happy to forget they’d ever had black servants, you know?

  ‘I think about it a lot. A lot. What I did to Jimmy and to his family. What a liar I was and what a terrible coward. There are dreams and so on, but you don’t want to hear about them. So…’

  Tony waits a few seconds until he’s sure that Robin has finished, then thanks him.

  Chris says, ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Big boo-hoo because you nicked some money and got a kid whacked when you were eight? Seriously? What about your son?’

  ‘Oh, for pity’s sake,’ Diana says.

  Robin leans forward. ‘I’ve been very clear about this. Losing my son was a trigger, OK? A trigger.’ His accent is stronger suddenly, the ‘r’ rolled. ‘I’m not denying that’s when I started using, but this is something else entirely.’

  ‘What happened to your son?’ Caroline asks.

  Heather and Diana look at her and shake their heads.

  ‘Robin let everyone know early on that he’s not ready to talk about that,’ Tony says. ‘That’s absolutely his prerogative. Everyone’s free to move at their own pace.’

  Robin is still glaring at Chris. ‘What the hell has losing my son got to do with any of this?’

  ‘You tell me,’ Chris says. ‘We don’t know how he was lost, do we?’

  Tony raises a finger. ‘As Robin says, there’s a difference between whatever triggers addictive behaviour and what might be underlying causes that are much deeper. That’s what we’re exploring at the moment.’

  ‘So, it’s all about something in your childhood, is it?’

  ‘Not always, but for the shame to have its roots in childhood is certainly not uncommon.’

  Chris shakes his head, begins speaking in a hoarse whine. ‘I’m a junkie because I used to piss the bed. I’m a junkie because a big boy called me names. It’s all a bit convenient, if you ask me.’

  ‘Nobody is asking you,’ Heather says.

  Caroline leans towards Robin. ‘I’m sorry for asking about your son,’ she says. ‘I didn’t know it was something you weren’t comfortable talking about.’

  Robin smiles at her. ‘It’s fine. I should talk about it, I know. I think, because it’s the reason I started taking drugs, I’m just scared that if I let myself go back there… you see?’ The smile withers when he turns his eyes back to Chris. ‘Anyway, it’s not you I could happily strangle right now.’

  ‘I really wasn’t having a pop at you,’ Chris says. ‘It’s not your story I’ve got a problem with, it’s this whole shame thing.’

  ‘So, have a pop at me,’ Tony says. ‘I’m the one who suggested we investigate it. And I’m not actually allowed to strangle my clients.’

  ‘Bet you’ve wanted to,’ Caroline says.

  Diana laughs and leans towards her. ‘If we’re anything to go by, I bet there’re times he’s wanted to murder some of them.’

  ‘Have you?’ Heather asks.

  Hundreds of times, Tony thinks.

  ‘Only very rarely,’ he says.

  … THEN

  ‘I just don’t think he could face it,’ Diana says. ‘After telling that story, you know? Poor bloke looked knackered at the end.’

  Heather and Caroline nod their agreement. ‘He told me he had an appointment, same as last week,’ Heather says. ‘But I think you’re probably right, he just needs to be on his own for a while.’

  The three women are sitting in the same part of the pub as the previous Monday, and for the second week in a row Robin has apologised for being unable to join them.

  ‘Servants,’ Caroline says. ‘How messed up is that?’

  ‘Different time,’ Diana says.

  ‘I think I could handle having a servant.’ Heather grins as she pours herself another glass from a large bottle of mineral water.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Oh, definitely. I’m guessing social services are going to have to stump up for him, mind you.’

  ‘You might win the lottery,’ Caroline says.

  ‘Unlikely.’ She looks at Caroline, waits for the penny to drop.

  It takes Caroline a few seconds to remember that Heather had mentioned a gambling addiction the week before. She says, ‘Idiot,’ and shakes her head, then mimes putting a gun to it and pulling the trigger.

  Heather waves it away and says, ‘Not a problem. Couple of years now since I was nutjob queen of the scratch cards…’

  ‘So, tell us about this servant,’ Diana says. ‘I presume he’s stripped to the waist, nicely oiled up.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ Heather says. ‘And doing a lot of bending down to pick things up.’ She remains deadpan as Caroline and Diana laugh. ‘I wouldn’t take the piss, obviously. Just get him to pop to the shops for me now and again, run me a bath, iron my pants.’

  ‘You should try having kids,’ Diana says. ‘Throw in cooking and being an on-demand taxi service and that’s pretty much your whole life.’

  ‘Maybe I won’t bother then,’ Caroline says.

  ‘There are some good bits.’ Diana swallows and moves fingers through her hair for a few seconds. She finally smiles. ‘I can’t think of any right this minute.’

  ‘Liars and thieves, the lot of them.’ Heather leans into the table. ‘Remember Robin’s story. Mind you, some of us don’t grow out of it.’ She lifts up her glass and turns to look at Chris, who has been pumping coins into a high-tech fruit machine since they arrived. She might be talking to herself when she says, ‘Used to piss away plenty on them an’ all.’

  ‘Where’s he get the money from?’ Caroline asks, looking towards Chris. ‘I don’t get the impression he has any kind of regular job or anything.’

  ‘I doubt very much that he’s ever had one,’ Diana says.

  Heather turns back. ‘Oh, I think he has, just not the kind you’d approve of.’

  ‘Cash in hand, you mean?’

  ‘All sorts of things in his hand.’

  Caroline sniggers. It takes Diana a few moments to get it.

  ‘Have you known him longer than everyone else then?’ Caroline asks. ‘I mean, it sounds like you have.’

  ‘A bit longer,’ Heather says. ‘Not a lot. I think I understand him a bit better though.’ She turns to look again and Chris notices that they are all watching him. He pulls a face, sticks up two fingers at them. It’s camp and comical.

  ‘I understand him perfectly well,’ Diana says. ‘He’s self-destructive and immature.’

  ‘Well, he is that bit younger.’

  ‘He just doesn’t know when to shut up.’

  ‘Look, I’m not arguing.’

  ‘If he didn�
�t say such nasty things he wouldn’t have to say sorry quite as much as he does.’

  Heather holds up a hand. ‘You should tell him all this, not me.’

  ‘I will,’ Diana says. ‘I do…’

  She watches as Chris ambles back to the table. Heather shuffles along to make room for him and he sits down next to her.

  ‘I wish pubs still had those quiz machines,’ he says. ‘I used to make a fortune out of them. Go from pub to pub, emptying the bastards.’

  ‘What was the scam?’ Heather asks.

  ‘No scam. The truth is, I am just shockingly intelligent.’

  ‘Well I’m certainly shocked,’ Diana says.

  Heather laughs and Chris pulls a face and then the others join in. Chris seems relaxed and happy, the tense exchanges of an hour or so before at the session seemingly forgotten. It’s not the first time Caroline has been struck by how quickly his temperament can change. She had said as much to Heather the previous week.

  ‘He’s quite… mercurial, isn’t he?’

  Heather had looked at her. ‘Is that a clever word for moody?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Well, yeah then, he is.’

  Chris is telling a story about some friend of a friend who tried to fake a urine sample by strapping a water bottle to the inside of his leg, but forgot that he’d filled it with orange juice. He’s a great storyteller, doing the voices, acting out each part perfectly and clearly relishing the reaction he gets.

  When he’s finished, and before he has a chance to start another routine, Caroline says, ‘So, what’s the story with Robin’s son?’

  Heather and Diana turn to look at her. Chris rolls his eyes and says, ‘Oh please, let’s not go there.’

  ‘I’m just curious, that’s all.’ She pulls her tomato juice towards her. Her mouth hovers at the tip of the straw. ‘He’s dead, yeah?’

  Diana nods. ‘That’s about all we know, though.’

  ‘I think he killed himself,’ Heather says.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Well, it must be something bad. I mean, worse than just some illness or something.’

  ‘Robin will tell us when he’s ready,’ Diana says.