The Shoestring Club (17 page)

I nod. ‘Is it all right if I go off the floor for a few hours, Bird? I want to visit a few shops in town, have a look at their interiors, get some ideas. Brown Thomas, Avoca, and maybe Urban Outfitters. And some of the little cafés around Temple Bar.’

‘That’s a super idea, Boolie. And I’m sorry we gave you such a hard time this morning, but best to get everything out in the open.’

‘Thanks, Bird. There’s just one more thing. Is there any way you could give me an advance on my wages?’

Her eyes meet mine and I know the answer before she opens her mouth. ‘No darling, I’m sorry. It’s just not possible. But I can give you your train fare.’

My heart sinks. ‘Just thought I’d ask.’

The man holds the handle bars and lifts my bike off the ground with one tattooed hand. ‘Titanium,’ he says. ‘Nice. How old?’

‘Two years. I bought it here.’

He scratches his nose and sniffs. ‘Did you? Cool. You’ve kept it in good nick. Are you sure you want to do this? It’s worth a lot more than I can give you for it.’ I run my fingers over the frame.

‘I have to, I’m afraid. But I still need to get around. I was hoping I could trade it in for a cheaper bike and you could give me the difference. I need three hundred euro.’

‘Do you now, cheeky monkey?’

‘Please?’ I beg him. ‘You’re my last hope. And as soon as I have the money, I’ll come back in and buy the most expensive bike in the shop, I promise.’

He laughs and shakes his head. ‘Luckily for you I’m in a good mood today,’ he says. ‘You’ve got a deal.’

‘Julia Schuster?’ Dr Sheila Rowebally looks up from her appointments sheet, sweeps the waiting room with her eyes and then spots me. As our eyes meet, despite knowing I shouldn’t be here, that Bird’s concern is ridiculous, I feel nervous.

‘There you are, Julia,’ she says. ‘And Beulah. I believe you’d like to come in with Julia.’

‘Please. Is that all right?’ Bird asks.

‘If it’s OK with Julia.’

Sheila looks at me and I nod.

‘Good,’ Sheila says. ‘This way, please.’ She heads out the door swiftly without waiting for us to stand up.

I follow Bird out of the waiting room and down the corridor towards Sheila’s consultation room, smiling to myself. Bird rarely goes by her real name and it used to crack me up as a child when anyone used it; still does pretty much.

The blue vinyl floor squeaks under my Converse, and the whole place smells of bleach mixed with the lilies from the reception desk, and I can get the metallic odour of fresh blood, although I’m sure I must be imagining it. The place has been painted since I was last here, a warm cream replacing the egg-yolk yellow, but it still smells funny.

Sheila’s door is open and she’s already sitting down as we walk in. She looks up and gestures at the chairs pulled in front of the examination table. I sit down as Bird closes the door behind us and takes another chair close beside me. I still have butterflies in my stomach; anything medical always makes me a bit on edge.

‘So what can I do you for?’ Sheila smiles at us both brightly.

Bird comes straight to the point. ‘I’m concerned about Julia’s health, Sheila. Since coming home from New Zealand in December, she’s been under a lot of stress.’

Sheila looks at me carefully. ‘That right, Julia?’

‘I suppose so,’ I say. ‘But I feel perfectly fine.’

Sheila sits back in her chair and presses the tips of her fingers together. ‘So why are you here then exactly, if you feel fine?’

‘I’ll come straight to the point. We’re all a bit worried about Julia’s drinking,’ Bird says, her cheeks flaring up. ‘Her family I mean.’

I stare down at my hands. This is so embarrassing. For everyone – for Sheila, for Bird, not to mention me. And it’s completely ridiculous. I should never have agreed to come here in the first place.

‘Look,’ I say, ‘I’m not an alcoholic or anything. I just like the odd drink at the weekends, is that so bad?’

Sheila looks at me carefully. ‘Your grandmother wouldn’t drag you here for no reason, Julia. If Beulah’s concerned, let’s not discount what she’s saying, yes? First I need to get an understanding of your drinking pattern. Tell me about your average week.’ She takes a pen and a notepad off her desk. ‘Monday. Do you drink on a Monday?’

‘No, never.’ I stop for a second. ‘Unless there’s a party on or something. But that wouldn’t be usual.’

‘Good. Tuesday?’

‘Not normally.’

‘Wednesday?’

I can feel Bird’s eyes on me.

‘Sometimes,’ I say reluctantly. ‘I might have a glass of wine in front of the telly.’

‘Beulah, is there anything you’d like to add?’ Sheila asks.

Bird is staring at me pointedly. ‘Julia, darling, you must tell Sheila the truth.’

‘OK, maybe two glasses.’

Bird is still looking at me.

‘Never more than a bottle,’ I say, trying to keep my voice even and in control. And it’s not a lie, not really. Mostly I do keep to the one bottle, at least every second or third night anyway.

Sheila makes a few notes.

‘Thursday?’ she continues.

‘Depends if I’m going out or not. If I’m out I’ll have a few drinks.’

‘How many?’

‘Maybe three or four.’

‘Glasses of wine?’

‘Maybe. Or vodka and cranberry.’ I get the feeling Jager bombs or double vodka and Red Bulls would not be the right answer.

‘Good. And Friday?’

Somehow I was hoping we wouldn’t get to the weekend. ‘I tend to go out most Friday and Saturdays, yes.’

‘And how many drinks would you have?’

I shrug. Does she really expect me to remember? ‘A few.’

‘More than six?’

‘It depends on the night.’

‘On average would you have more than six drinks on both Friday and Saturday night, Julia?’

She sounds stern so I answer immediately.

‘Yes,’ I say, my voice creeping a notch higher than normal. I cough, trying to compose myself. Is this all really necessary?

‘And finally, Sunday?’

‘I rarely go out on a Sunday.’

Bird makes a little noise at the back of her throat.

‘Maybe once every couple of weeks,’ I say.

‘And how many drinks on a Sunday?’

‘Three or four.’ That doesn’t sound great so I amend it quickly. ‘More like two actually.’

‘And would the week you’ve just outlined be the general weekly pattern for the last nine months or so since you came home from New Zealand?’

‘I guess it would.’

She pauses. ‘And in New Zealand?’

‘It was similar.’ I’m no fool, there’s no way I’m admitting I partied much harder when I was away.

‘And are you worried about anything in particular at the moment, Julia?’ she continues. ‘Anything causing you stress or anxiety?’

‘Not really,’ I mumble. I mean, really, where do I start? We could be here all day and I just want to get out of this place.

Bird intervenes. ‘Julia broke up with her boyfriend in December. And he’s getting married to her best friend in October. ’

‘Ex-best friend,’ I say. I’m about to add ‘Stupid cow’ but I stop myself.

A dark look flickers across Sheila’s face and while lowering her head and scribbling in her notebook, she murmurs something under her breath which sounds suspiciously like ‘Bloody men’. She lifts her head and I look at her, but the moment has passed and her face is unreadable now. I don’t know much about Sheila, but I do know her husband, a medical sales rep, recently ran off with a receptionist from another GP clinic. I overheard Bird discussing it with someone on the phone, probably Daphne.

‘That must have been difficult for you,’ Sheila says. ‘And are you working, Julia?’

I nod. ‘Yes, in Shoestring. With Bird and Pandora.’

She looks at Bird and smiles. ‘Good. Plenty of family support.’

I’m not quite sure what Sheila meant by that; is she implying that I’m some sort of charity case that needs looking after and can only get work in the family business? But I let it go. I don’t want to be here a second longer than necessary. Then Sheila studies her notebook for a few moments and makes some marks with her pen.

‘Back to your drinking,’ she says. ‘Julia, at present you are averaging twenty-four units a week, maybe more if you’re drinking a lot of wine; an average glass of wine is one and a half units. For women we recommend not more than fourteen units, spread out over the week, and certainly not all over one weekend, which can have all sorts of health risks. Beulah is right to be concerned.’ She meets my eye. ‘Do you understand what binge drinking can do to you? Damage to your liver, to your whole system in fact; not to mention the risk of alcohol-related accidents. And let’s get this straight, binge drinking is problem drinking, Julia. And it
is
an addiction.’

I nod. ‘Look, I’m not stupid. I know it’s not good for me. And I’m really not addicted or anything. I can give up drinking whenever I want to. I just like going out, having a laugh, simple as that. I don’t
need
to drink.’

‘That’s very good to hear, Julia,’ Sheila says. ‘I’m just going to ask you a few more questions before I check your blood pressure and do a few more tests.’

I start to relax into my chair a little.

‘Have you ever had an accident while drunk?’ she says, her pen poised above her notebook again.

Hang on, I thought the interrogation was over. I sit up straighter in my chair.

‘I stood on some glass once,’ I say, ‘but it wasn’t my fault.’

‘Have you ever missed an appointment or work because of a hangover?’

‘Once maybe.’

‘Do you ever drink alone?’

‘Not really.’

I can feel Bird’s eyes on me again.

‘Sometimes,’ I say slowly. ‘But not very often.’

‘Do you think about alcohol and wonder when you’ll get the chance to drink again?’

I hesitate. I know yes is the wrong answer so I say, ‘Not really, no.’

‘Have you ever done something you’ve regretted because of alcohol?’

‘Like what?’

‘Have you ever done something you wouldn’t have done if you were sober, or had a bad argument with someone while drunk?’

This is getting far too personal. Of course I have, hasn’t everyone?

‘No,’ I say firmly. ‘Absolutely not.’

‘Have you ever found yourself in debt because of the amount you spend on alcohol?’

There’s an uncomfortable silence.

‘Well, Julia?’ Sheila presses.

I can hardly say no with Bird sitting beside me.

‘Sometimes I borrow money, yes. But it’s for going out, not drink. Taxis, food, festival tickets, that kind of thing. And clothes. It’s not for drink.’

‘I see.’ Sheila doesn’t sound convinced. ‘Just two more to go. Have you ever lied about your alcohol intake to friends or family members?’

‘Never.’

I can hear Bird shifting in her seat, but I ignore her.

‘And finally, do you react badly when people suggest you might have a drink problem?’

‘NO!’ That came out a bit stronger than I’d intended. ‘I mean, no.’

Sheila puts down her pen and looks at me. ‘Julia, thank you for being so honest with me.’

Right at that second, I feel about an inch tall.

‘Now,’ she adds, ‘after we do some tests, I’d like to discuss the possibility of counselling. Would you be open to that?’

‘Yes, she most certainly would,’ Bird answers for me.

‘Beulah, please,’ Sheila says. ‘It must be Julia’s decision.’ She gives me a gentle smile. ‘Julia, I think talking to someone would really help. I believe you have an alcohol habit and I wouldn’t like to see it get any worse. Will you consider it? You may be using alcohol to deal with stressful things in your life. A counsellor could help you find other ways of coping. And I’d like you to try cutting down on your drinking immediately for health reasons. Can you do that?’

‘No problem. But I really don’t need counselling, Sheila, honestly. I’m fine. I’ll stop drinking completely if it makes everyone happy.’

Bird’s face lifts and right that second I realize how concerned she’s been about me lately, which makes me feel horribly guilty. She has enough on her plate at the moment without fretting about me.

I turn towards her. ‘I’m sorry for worrying you, Bird. I’ll stay in for the next few weeks and no drinking, OK? I promise.’ Even if I did want to, I wouldn’t be able to afford it anyway.

‘Thank you, darling.’ Bird pats my hand.

Sheila rubs her eyes and puts her notebook down. She gives me a warm smile. ‘That’s a good start, Julia,’ she says. ‘But if you need help at any stage, if you change your mind about the counselling, or if you find cutting down harder than you anticipated, you will contact me, yes?’

I nod eagerly. ‘Of course.’

‘How did it go this afternoon, Boolie?’ Dad asks after dinner, while we’re all still sitting around the table, apart from Iris. Pandora said she could watch
The Simpsons
as a special treat.