she’d no intention of going back to the flat until it was absolutely necessary. She thought about Lola and what she’d said, but for all she was and did, Casey suspected she was probably a darn sight happier than she was.
She could do with a drink to pep her up but she’d made a decision and for now she was at least going to try to stick to it. She sighed as she carried on walking. 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
She could do with a drink to pep her up but she’d made a decision and for now she was at least going to try to stick to it. She sighed as she carried on walking. 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
Similar Books
