Wintercearig

It was fun sometimes in rehab, although you might find that hard to believe. Even though it was populated by people who were sick, and broken, and constantly vocalizing their own pain.

Although the place was a beautiful old Georgian mansion in it’s own grounds, it spoke of it’s own problems. Like damp, and broken radiators, and infestations. Even though it was winter the house was populated by a weird swarm of oversized ladybirds with yellow dotted backs who got into everything no matter how hard we tried to get rid of them. We would vacuum them up, and spray, but there would always be more of them. We would find them in our notebooks, on the whiteboards, even in our beds, so we had to check them every night. The place seethed.

The heart of our section of the house was the kitchen, which looked more like a prison. Plastic and laminated surfaces were more evident than sash windows and carved coats of arms. And it was so noisy in the mornings that I had to wear ear muffs just to venture into the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. Even so, I have to admit that I'm more lonely now that I'm not around those people.

How I used to laugh with Pam when Sanj was always a bit late for morning check in - with his black hair all ruffled up and his eyes puffy from dreams. He was like a kid on the cusp of middle age.

We both liked Sanj – he always sparked a smile even when smiles were hard to come by. His actual name was Sanjeev but he called himself Sanjay because he said most people found it easier. Sometimes we laughed because of the way that he always lost at Scrabble and made up all kinds of unlikely excuses as to why. He somehow got confused about it and lost his usual good nature. We tried not to laugh, but we did. Seconds later, becoming flustered, Sanj would deny being vexed, coming up with all kinds of unlikely excuses for himself as to why he might be losing. This was even more funny to us - even though it was a friendly laughter, and never meant to be mean. We were surprised that he didn't understand the rules. Of course as we tried to explain the rules he became more and more indignant. Nobody likes being told, I guess.

We didn't know then about his history, the racist bullying, so naturally we found his angry justifications quite hilarious. Laughing together helped us cope. Back then I always had Pam giggling and whispering to me, at my side like a familiar.

Another one of the inmates we laughed at, but not in as warm a way, was Steve, or Alpha Steve as Pam thought he probably called himself. But one time we overdid it and caused a showdown. So silly. Steve had lost his chocolate bar, his Lion Bar, in fact. He was going around the house stomping and shouting - thudding his fists on tables and accusing everybody apart from men he thought would beat him in a fight. He wouldn’t take on Maciej, the Polish ex soldier, who was laughing just as loud we were.

Pam said Alpha was like one or other of the bald brothers on Eastenders. The way he acted with his Lion Bar, you would think that this episode was the part of the dramatic closing credits. I admit that we did mouth the closing sound with its signature 'Boom Boom Boom' before the theme tune kicks in. Seeing us chortling at our table at the back of the room, Steve stomped up to me, coming to a stance with his legs too far apart usual, doing his usual Alpha number. Hurling an accusation -

“You think this is funny!??”while bellowing like an angry bull. Unfortunate.

Sneaking looks to Pam, we both couldn't stop laughing to the point of almost crying, which obviously made it all worse, seeing us that way. Threatening the ways that he would make me pay but somehow not really able to take it to the physical stage, he growled and vented until finally his voice broke into a high pitch like a toddler, until he was spent, and had to stomp away, threatening to ransack everyone’s rooms until he found what he wanted.

He hadn’t done anything about Pam of course. He couldn't take on Pam because she was an old lady. A proper one.

The thing about Pam was she looked like the textbook old dear. Her glasses were thick and round with transparent pink frames. Her clothes were baggy, clean, without an ounce of threat, and they smelled of fabric softener. Her shoes had a sensible sole so she was less likely to fall. Because she had fallen previously to coming to the house but was slowly getting better. When she came in at the same time as I did, she had serious mobility problems. But over time and with encouragement, I eventually I persuaded her to use the stairs instead of the chair lift. At first I had to stand on the step behind her so that I could catch her if something happened. Eventually she could take the stairs up to her room on her own. She told me I was very patient.

When we finally got up to her room it was very neat and tidy, with a photo of her two dogs next to the bed. The room smelled lightly of air freshener and rose toilet water. Of her two dogs, Darcy was Pam’s favourite, and she is the only one whose name I now remember. The two were similar looking sweet and fluffy pug-like little things, and I could see that she missed them dearly. She often had tears in her eyes at the thought of them being looked after by a stranger. But for the time being, she had to stay put in the house until she got better. Telling me gradually, over our slow excursions to get her up the stairs to her room, Pam acknowledged that this was her last chance. Her main addiction had been to benzodiazepines, and apparently in a previous private rehab she had been allowed pets – bringing Darcy and the other dog along as company. But she revealed that as well as bringing her dogs, she had also cannily smuggled her benzos inside the bottom of a box of dog biscuits. She was tricky that way.

However, this time around, Pam was doing it by the book. She had neither the strength, nor the money for another round.

Never later than nine, I would settle her in – after she had gone into the bathroom and changed into her long cotton nightie with a pink furry cardigan puffed up around her little shoulders. I would promise to give her a knock in the morning she would nestle in with a gossip magazine to read for a few minutes before she would drop off – even if it was still light outside.

I would then go downstairs to the tv room, where the men always wanted to watch action films and hog the remote. It was very noisy and boring in there, so I'm afraid I took up smoking at that point- mainly so I could stand in the shelter outside so that my ears could recover. It was icy out there because I was staying right through Christmas.

If rehab at Christmas sounds dire, well it turned out to be okay, actually. I had friends.

There were times when I used to sit with Pam in the upstairs lounge and nobody else was acting up and distracting us with their shouting demands to be the centre of everything. There were so many voices echoing around the downstairs rooms, bouncing back and forth with no gaps in between. It was a relief to be upstairs, where even though the tv screen was much smaller, you could at least formulate a sentence without interruption. It was technically supposed to be the women’s tv space – a concession which enraged the men who had to remain on the ground floor. Although they felt thwarted and jealous, the men much preferred downstairs anyway, as the huge screen in the common room was what they wanted – plus it was laid out with lines of fake leather sofas which they could bag for themselves and loaf and shout and fart and watch action films on it like it was their own private seedy late night theatre.

They would’ve been livid if they ever found out that sometimes we used to allow Sanj into our upstairs room because he was hated it down there too. But we’d be very careful sneaking him in so we wouldn’t get any trouble from either staff or the men below. I remember that once he gave us foot massages, and it was a relief to have some gentle human contact for a change.

One afternoon before the dinner trolley came clanking down the corridors I was in the upstairs room with Pam and she told me a few stories about her past. She had been a nurse in the 70's in one of the big London hospitals. Apparently she wore mini skirts and platform wedge heels back then with her uniform. I tried to picture that very different Pam – although as most people get older there is usually a very different picture of themselves that they can refer back to.

Pam told me that she had been cute - but also clever. That was a relief to me, and it turns out that there were no unwanted pregnancies or broken hopes of a career. No, she soon established herself as a nursing academic, and had published papers in respected medical periodicals well as being in demand to give talks at conferences. Unfortunately though, in the present Pam admitted that she was not so bright now – that some scans had shown that she had cerebral atrophy. This condition was brought on by her previous alcohol abuse followed by abuse of benzos, she told me.

”But if you have cerebral atrophy...then you must have been extremely sharp before ...because you're not so slow now, are you.?”

I said this to console her, but also because it was true. She smiled at this. Underneath the mild little old lady exterior was an intelligencer, and not only academically. Importantly within the house she knew very well how to place herself in a situation, as things might get dangerous quite quickly. 'I play the age card' she told me once, giggling like a naughty kid.

She had some surprising stories to tell. One of the stories I had to look up on my phone later when we were handed out our phones at the weekend, just to make sure it was true.

In her London hospital days the younger doctors and nurses liked to party, which was no real surprise to me. But this part was. Apparently they had their drug of choice on tap right where they worked. It was called 'The Brompton Cocktail' and you could get it in bottles from the drug dispensary. It consisted of gin, morphine and orange juice. It was supposed to be given to those in pain at the end of life stage. But the doctors and nurses took bottles of the drink recreationally on a regular basis. They had after hours parties, and Pam told me that sometimes they would have to go back to work while still under the influence. Different times, she said. I said that actually that from the patients’ point of view, at least, that perhaps these were more humane times. Sometimes modern times are not the most progressive times - I thought that we progress but also regress, and this is a constant push and pull in societies. Pam agreed there. There was no way we could've had this conversation downstairs with the boys, though.

After that I remember we watched a video of Little Miss Sunshine, and we laughed all the way through.

One day, towards the end of her stay, I was in Pam's room waiting for her to come out of the bathroom. 'I've got something to show you' she said. 'This is why I'm taking so long..' Hitching up her nightie past her big cotton pants she revealed the bag which had been collecting her urine. 'I didn't want the others to know, but I trust you.' I hadn't noticed before, especially with the baggy clothes. I tried to make light of it and latched on to the possibility that it would removed in the near future. Actually, she did have it removed a few months after she left as her health improved.

I was sad when Pam left - but her health was not great, and she felt that she had learned her lesson this time so it was time for her to go. I would have to find another friend now. I needed an alliance because to be alone is to be a target.

I did find a new friend soon when a new girl arrived. Her parents were Jamaican and she had a teenage daughter. She had good manners, and never shouted, so I made moves before anyone got to her. I liked her but she spent too long getting ready each day - her immaculate makeup seemed like a mask. Once she showed me some of her pictures from her modelling days, and she described them as 'classy', which made me cringe a bit. She often talked about 'Getting Right with God'- another minus but I put it down to her strict upbringing. Also, the minute she got her hands on her phone she started pinging out happy clappy affirmations.

After we both got out she would either send these snippets of mega positivity, or alternatively phone me up incomprehensibly drunk and accusatory. I tried to listen but the calls were extremely long and eventually I had to cut it short, for my own peace of mind.

After many months of silence - in which I was relieved not to be receiving either affirmations or distraught calls, I heard that she had died. I thought of her teenage daughter.

Soon after I found out that Pam had also died. She was frail and had caught pneumonia, but had stayed clean. We had talked fairly often, but I had recently left her a longish voicemail, thinking it strange that she hadn't replied. It was her sister who told me.

I thought of Pam’s dogs – especially Darcy.

I thought about the voicemail I had left – not knowing that I had been messaging someone who didn't exist anymore. It was a lonely thought.

I still have Sanj. We text and ring each other intermittently, and the occasional visit. He's still just as funny, and still just as sketchy, and I'm glad to know that he's still alive.