It was so hard to live in the present – her mind was always full of fading memories; but it was all she had and her reason for getting up each day.
The bus journey down towards Notting Hill Gate had taken longer than expected and Casey had been ready to get off the overheated bus and go back to the flat in Dean Street, but she’d seen a woman and a little boy sitting quietly at the back of the bus holding hands, saying nothing, just content in each other’s company. They reminded Casey what she had to do.
Portobello Road was dark and deserted, unrecognisable from the bustling market road it became during the daylight hours, and Casey wasn’t sure she’d come to the correct place. She looked down at the address she’d hurriedly written on a torn-off piece of newspaper and realised she was standing right outside where she needed to be.
The red door pushed open and Casey walked up the narrow stairs to the first-floor landing. There was another door to the left of her and she could hear voices coming from inside the room. Taking a deep breath, Casey opened the door to walk into a well-lit room.
‘Hello, please come in and take a seat.’
The red-faced man greeted Casey with a warm smile, gesturing for her to come and take the empty chair next to him.
‘We’ve just finished introducing ourselves. Perhaps you’d like to say who you are.’
Casey glanced at the man with his enthusiastic manner and smiled shyly.
‘Hello, I’m Casey and I’m an alcoholic.’
‘Hello Casey.’
The group greeted her in monotone unison, making Casey smile as it reminded her of being back in school.
‘I’m nearly one day sober and I need to get clean so I can find my son and tell him I’m sorry.’
The applause of the group made Casey blush and unexpectedly brought tears to her eyes as she was handed the white keyring of twenty-four-hour sobriety by a tall woman in her early twenties.
Sitting down in her chair she could feel her heart racing; she hadn’t thought she’d be nervous, after all it wasn’t the first time she’d been to a meeting. In Newcastle she’d been to a few and in Liverpool and in Birmingham as well, but maybe it was different because this time she was determined to get clean; she knew it was her last chance.
She’d never wanted this life but somehow it had invited her in and she’d stayed in its clutches. Living this way certainly wasn’t going to help her find her son, and even if she did, he’d never want her if she was a drunk. The meetings were her only way to keep steady on the tightrope she was walking.
Looking round the meeting in the small room above the designer clothing shop in Portobello Road was like flicking through the pages of a society magazine. There were models and actors both from film and from screen, musicians and old-time rockers, and sitting next to her was an infamous aristocrat holding on to his keyring of twenty-four-hour sobriety.
For the next forty minutes Casey sat listening to tormented stories about the struggle to stay sober, and as far removed as her life could possibly be from most of the people in the room, the sentiments by and large were the same.
In the remaining moments the serenity prayer was read out, as it always was at the end of any meeting, and even though Casey knew it off by heart she chose to stay silent. The words were so poignant to her and as she listened to them with closed eyes, she hoped they’d see her through the following days.
‘God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things that I can and wisdom to know the difference.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
Casey groaned as she looked at the clock; her next shift at the cafe started in less than twenty minutes. She didn’t know if it was going without alcohol or the fact she’d never really worked in her life before, but she was knackered. She’d drifted in and out of work and never really had to worry about money till recently, having had a conservative but steady flow of money from her family who were only visible in her life through the money they’d put in her account.
Eighteen months ago she’d closed her bank account down, deciding it only served to rubber stamp her feelings of worthlessness; it made her feel her family were paying her to stay away. So now if she wanted to eat, drink or pay the rent, she only had herself to rely on; it was both frightening and liberating in equal measures.
Casey washed herself quickly and pulled on yesterday’s clothes. It was pointless putting on anything clean; within two hours of working in Lola’s she’d smell as if she’d taken a plunge in chip fat, and besides, if she was honest, she could just about make the effort to get dressed let alone bother to do herself up.
The cafe wasn’t open for another hour but Lola had asked Casey to come thirty minutes before opening time to help set up. She was early, which would give her half an hour to sit down with a cup of coffee, hoping it would help her wake up properly. The cafe door had a sign saying ‘closed’ but the open door said the opposite.
‘Lola? It’s Cass. Hello?’
There was no answer so Casey put her bag down and went to switch on the large urn to make some much-needed coffee.
Taking her coat off, she walked into the cloakroom and was stopped dead in her tracks by what she saw. Lola sat on the cold cracked tiles of the bathroom floor with a belt around her left arm, the other end of it between her teeth. In her right hand was a syringe, half full with a cloudy liquid which Casey guessed was heroin.
On seeing Casey, Lola paused for a moment before pulling the belt even tighter with her teeth, then plunged the needle greedily into her waiting vein.
Almost immediately Casey could see the heroin taking hold of Lola; her eyes rolled back and her head started to loll against the grimy walls of the cloakroom. Slightly incoherently, Lola spoke.
‘Don’t look like that, lovie, who did you think I was? Mother bleeding Theresa?’
Lola cackled and the force of her laughter against her drugged-up body threw her head forward to rest on her chest.
Casey was shocked and her stomach tightened as she watched the abandoned needle still stuck in Lola’s vein. The blood trickled down Lola’s arm and for a moment Casey didn’t know what to say. It was Lola who broke the silence.
‘He did this,’ Lola slurred, pulling out the syringe and lifting up her cream polyester blouse. Casey’s eyes widened as she saw a vast scar running diagonally from underneath Lola’s breastbone, across her stomach and finishing off at her hip.
‘My god, what happened? Who did this to you?’
Casey knelt down by Lola and touched the old but still raised angry scar gently.
‘I don’t really remember much of that night; me and the old man were watching some shit on the telly; usual Sunday night crap. He turned and stared at me as if I were a stranger in me own home; like he’d never seen me before. Then he blinked a couple of times and started cutting.’
‘Who did, Lola? Who?’
Casey watched Lola’s eyes roll when she tried to focus on her.
‘Oscar.’
