Read Online Ice and a Slice by Della Galton - Free Book Online Page B

right.”
    SJ was glad that it didn’t happen too often, but she was well aware of the cathartic effects of poetry – she’d written a whole heap of angry poetry when she’d been a teenager, and some more equally self-indulgent poems when she’d split up with Derek. Not that she was ever planning on showing them to anyone. They were for her eyes only, but they had helped her deal with her pain.
    Her students began to arrive. She heard voices and the clatter of footsteps on the wooden stairs as they collected their pints from the bar en route to class, as was the tradition.
    SJ got herself a pint of Diet Coke, despite having to put up with a flurry of teasing comments ranging from, “Are you ill, Teach?” from Matt to “Blimey, the girl’s on Coke – what is the world coming to? I thought this was poetry and a pint!” from one of the women.
    She ignored their good-natured jibes and was pleased to reach the end of the session stone cold sober. This was easy – she’d certainly achieve her target tonight. By the time she’d got in and they’d eaten and cleared up, it would be time for bed. And as they’d made love last night, Tom wouldn’t be expecting to do it again. So they could have an early night and she’d be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for tomorrow. Alcoholic – pah! She was beginning to feel something bordering on smugness as she said her goodbyes and headed for home.
    The table was already laid when she got in. Tom had recently invested in a pasta maker, declaring that nothing beat fresh pasta – a sentiment SJ wholeheartedly agreed with. She hoped they were having pasta tonight. An open bottle of Merlot stood warming on the back of the oven. She glanced at it, suppressed the urge to pour herself a large glass and fetched a Diet Coke from the fridge instead.
    While she was sipping it SJ caught herself wondering if Kit was sitting in some pub somewhere, knocking back pints. Bound to be, whispered a little voice in her head – all that stuff about her giving up when he probably drank bucket-loads. He had that kind of face, weary-worn and crinkled around the edges. He obviously hadn’t spent his youth drinking orange juice.
    Tanya had mentioned yesterday that Kit might be a recovering alcoholic, as people who worked in addiction places often were. SJ wasn’t so sure. Surely if you were one you’d want to get as far away as possible from your past, not hang around to see what the next generation was like. You’d probably turn into a born-again Christian or something. Not that she had anything against born-again Christians – they had as much right to their opinion as anyone else. But she was a born-again heathen and it was the mention of God that had put her off the AA meeting she’d once attended.
    She hadn’t told Kit or Tanya about that. It hadn’t seemed relevant, but she’d gone to a meeting a couple of years ago. That had been after another particularly heavy session when she’d been paranoid about her drinking. She’d looked up AA on the internet and had rung the helpline. A pleasant, very sober sounding woman had asked her if she’d had a drink today, and she’d said no she certainly hadn’t, it was only four thirty in the afternoon – what did they take her for? - before lapsing into an awkward silence. It was obvious what they’d taken her for.
    Anyway, the upshot was that she’d gone along to a meeting. She’d established very quickly that she was in the wrong place. The whole lot of them might be sober now, but they’d obviously been raging drunks once. Not that this had put her off particularly – drunks were quite interesting. No, the main thing had been when she found out the cliché was true. You were expected to say, “My name’s SJ and I’m an alcoholic,” before you could so much as ask where the loo was.
    Telling all and sundry you were an alcoholic surely couldn’t be a positive move. It would have been the equivalent of standing up in the slimming club and