— We currently have nine clients.
But first he issues me wi a timetable, the same one as ah saw on the waw at the reception area. — Just want to quickly take you through this …
Lothian Health Board/Lothian Region Department of Social Work St Monans Substance-Dependency Group
Daily Timetable
— Wake up at seven in the morning? That’s goat tae be a joke!
— Aye, it’s a tough one at first, Len acknowledges, — but people soon get used tae it. It’s all about getting some order back intae those chaotic lifestyles. We assemble for breakfast, which everyone must attend, even if they’re in detox, after which you’re issued with any relevant medicines you need.
— Seven in the mornin’s ridic, ah moan. The last time ah wis up that early wis Gillsland’s. — N meditation? What’s aw that? Ah’m no sayin prayers or chantin or nowt like that!
Len laughs and shakes his heid. — It’s no about religion, we dinnae follow the NA/AA model. We don’t demand that you submit tae God or a higher power, though if you do feel so inclined it wouldnae be discouraged. It’s proven very effective and popular with substance-dependent clients in the past.
The only higher power ah’d ever submit tae would be Paddy Stanton or Iggy Pop.
— What’s aw this substance-dependence stuff?
— We prefer that tae the term addict.
— Fine, ah shrug.
Len’s thick finger taps at the sheet, redirecting ma attention back tae the timetable. — The process review group gives us the opportunity to look at how we’re functioning as members of this community, and flag up any issues we have relating to that. As you might imagine, they can get lively. After lunch we have our individual sessions, where you’ll be working with Tom or Amelia. Then we do a group session to look at the issues of substance dependency. After dinner, it’s free time, and we have a television, a pool table and also some fitness and musical equipment. It’s not a great deal, basically just some hand weights and a guitar, but we’re hoping to get more stuff soon. There’s an optional light supper, usually just a hot chocolate or Horlicks and biscuit. We put out the lights in all common areas and switch off the telly at eleven o’clock. During the forty-five-day programme, you aren’t allowed any phone calls, unless on compassionate grounds and by prior agreement with a senior member of staff. You are allowed letters, but any incoming mail will be opened and vetted before being issued to you. No drugs, including alcohol, are permitted on the premises. We make a reluctant exception for nicotine and caffeine, he grins. — You aren’t allowed off the facility during the period of your treatment, unless on a project outing and under staff supervision.
— This is like the fuckin jail!
Len shakes his heid dismissively. — The jail they just lock you up, then throw you out. We want you to get better, He stands up. — Right, we have a little induction meeting, all for you, but first let me show ye aroond.
He gives me a tour ay ‘the facility’, as they call it. He explains that we’re by the village of St Monans, in the East Neuk of Fife, close tae Anstruther, a small, picturesque former fishing town, now given ower tae tourism. But as we’ll never get oot tae see the place, it could be fuckin miles away. The village and this project are named after St Monans, a saint that nae cunt kens a thing aboot. The Patron Saint of Fuck All, and thus perfect for this place. The centre is a U-shaped building wi a walled gairden tae the back. It has ten bedrooms, a kitchen, dining room and a recreation room wi a pool table n telly. Off the recky room is a small conservatory, leading tae a patio n the gairden, which is hemmed in by big trees.
— And this is the meeting room, Len says, opening a door, but as ah step inside, the first thing ah hear is: — RENTON, YA CUNT, then aw this laughter follayed by a round ay applause. Ah cannae fuckin believe it. Thir aw fuckin here!
— Fuck sakes! Youse cunts, ah hear masel squeal in delight. It’s like walkin intae a surprise birthday perty!
— Goat the fill set now, boys, Johnny Swan, wearin a fuckin collar n tie, laughs.
There’s Keezbo, half zonked oot, elbaw on the chair airmrest, wi his big heid propped oan a doughy fist, and Spud, whae’s sittin shiverin, airms wrapped roond hissel, in that classic junky pose. — Catboy, he sais.
And Sick Boy’s slumped in a corner seat. Ah nods n sits doon beside um. — Nice place yir auntie’s goat.
He pills a tired smile. — Hud tae be done.
Spud asks Len aboot getting something for his cramps as Sick Boy and Swanney intro us tae a boy fae Niddrie called Greg Castle, whae inevitably gits called Roy. Thare’s a jumpy-lookin wee cunt, Ted fae Bathgate, n a Weedgie boy wi black eyes n a long, broken and bent nose thit gits kent as Skreel. He jist goat in yesterday n he’s rattlin like fuck. Thaire’s jist one lassie, a curly-mopped bird called Molly, who looks at me wi naked hostility through pinched features. The track marks on the underside ay her thin, white wrists are angry enough, but dwarfed by surgically proficient crimson lacerations ay varied depth. Maist scary, though, is this big biker called Seeker, whae ah’ve never met but ken by rep. His glassy eyes briefly stare intae me wi X-ray potency, before he turns away, as if he’s seen everything and is now bored.
Swanney gies me a stealthy wink n discreetly pills oot a wee razor blade. Ah clock him nick the inside ay his mooth, catchin the blood in his hands, looking tae Len, whae’s shitein it. — Ma stitch is burst …
— The nurse isn’t in …
— Ah’ll chum um tae git cleaned up, ah quickly volunteer.
— Right …
Ah catch Sick Boy, Keezbo and Spud lookin daggers at us as Swanney n me nash ootside doon the hall tae the bogs. He’s goat works doon his boot n he quickly cooks up. — Last ay the summer wine, buddy. Enjoy it, cause wir in fir a rough ride …
He pills oaf his tie n tourniquets ma airm. We’re dabbin away at a wrap ay speed n it faws oot ma hand as he slams me up and the heroin goes tae ma brain, killin aw the world’s pain.
Fuckin barry, ya cunt …
Ah sit blissed oot oan the crapper as Swanney fixes, tellin me that he wis hudin, n this is the last. He retrieves the speed wrap n we finish it, even though it’s the last thing ah want. — Take it, he commands, as he struggles tae fix his tie. — If they kin tell yir wasted it’s game ower. He rolls his eyes. — But it’s awright here, a great network ay contacts.
— Ta, Johnny, ah gasp, — sound ay ye, man.
— Nae bother, he goes.
When we get back Len-the-Fringe and Skinny-Specky have launched intae this spiel, but nae cunt’s listenin, thir aw slumped back intae thair chairs, n we join thum. It’s gaunny be awright in here. These are ma people: the St Monans crew.
The Cusp
TO ALISON, TIME had become a fractured series of base biological impulses.
Bill and Carole, the other co-workers in her team, knew all about the relationship but were discreet, even supportive, in a quietly protective way. But like Alexander, they noticed the state Alison was coming to work in, when she came in at all. This couldn’t go on. Now here she was again, ghosting in at ten thirty. Alexander made a show of getting her straight into his office, eyes blazing, a gallows set to his mouth. — Look, it might not mean anything to you, he began, — but we’re on the cusp of an epidemic in this city. I can’t show you favouritism above the others. C’mon, Ali, he entreated suddenly, the lowered voice of the lover supplanting that of the boss, — you’re taking the piss here!