My Pear-Shaped Life. Carmel Harrington
moment that it hit Greta that if they had her devices, she couldn’t log on to Instagram. No Dr Gale. For three whole weeks. No lovely supportive messages from her Uncle Ray, who always seemed to know what to say to cheer her up.
She had to find a way to keep her iPhone and iPad. She looked at Caroline and decided she was probably more of a reader than a social media lover. She had that geeky look about her. It was time for a white lie. ‘When I can’t sleep, I like to read my Kindle app on that iPad.’
Caroline was unmoved.
So Greta ploughed on, ‘I won’t switch on the Wi-Fi, you have my word on that. I get that you don’t want me to talk to the outside world. And, quite frankly, I’m ready for some solitude. I just want to read my books.’ She tried to think of a title of a book to throw in, just to validate her argument. Her mind went blank. What was that book she did in school? She should have listened more. ‘Dickens and the like.’
She could feel her mam and dad’s eyes on stalks as they listened to her. OK, she may not have read much of the classics before, but she might do if she had her iPad.
Caroline shrugged and placed the devices with the rest of her contraband in a box, then she stuck a white label onto it with her name typed across it. ‘All of these will be waiting for you when you leave. We’ve a pretty decent library in the TV room, so you’ll have lots to choose from there. Not sure if we have any Dickens, but I’m sure we can find some if you let me know the exact title you prefer.’
Greta gave her the stink eye. Wagon.
‘And now, all that’s left to do is search you.’
‘For what?’ Greta took a step backwards. This was going from bad to horrific.
‘You’d be surprised what people try to sneak into rehab.’ Caroline said this in the same cheery voice that made Greta want to reach over, and punch her.
‘My daughter wouldn’t be that stupid.’ Stephen said, backing his daughter’s integrity in a statement that would come back to bite him in moments.
‘You could at least buy me dinner first,’ Greta laughed, trying to distract Caroline, who was relentless in her search as she patted her down. Her hands were everywhere.
And then, to Greta’s horror, Caroline paused as she came to Greta’s breasts. Without too much effort she had found her secret stash of pills, hidden in her bra. She could feel her parents’ disappointment fill the air between them. Once again she had messed up. You’d think she would get used to that feeling, but it always took her by surprise.
‘This …’ Caroline pointed to the tablets, ‘goes down the toilet. And, just so you know, if you are found with any contraband in the future, you will be asked to leave.’ She didn’t sound so cheery anymore.
Until her parents walked out the door, ignoring Greta’s pleas to take her with them, she didn’t quite believe that this was happening to her. She looked down at her hands which began to shake and tremble. The bedroom started to close in on her, the four walls pulsated as they moved nearer and nearer. If she didn’t get out of this room, straight away, she knew that she would suffocate.
Sticking her hands in her pockets to try and stop the shaking, she made her way to the TV room. About a dozen people were sitting in front of the TV, with a few reading books. They looked up briefly as she entered, then lost interest and went back to whatever they were doing. That was fine with Greta. Because her plan was simple. She was going to avoid talking to any of her fellow … what should she call them?
Patients?
Addicts?
Inmates?
Yes, inmates. They were all prisoners.
‘First day?’ A voice said from behind her. ‘First days are the worst.’
The voice belonged to a tall man, youngish, she guessed in his mid- to late twenties. He looked at Greta with interest. ‘Come over and sit with me if you want.’ He nodded towards a table at the back of the room. ‘Oh, by the way, I’m Sam.’
Greta wasn’t sure she wanted to sit with him or anyone else. She had no interest in adding a junkie friend at this stage in her life.
‘Or don’t. Suit yourself,’ Sam said, then walked away.
On the other hand, Greta didn’t fancy going back to her pulsating bedroom. Maybe Sam was her best bet for now. He had good taste in movies at least, wearing a Jurassic Park T-shirt, one of the originals, baggy and worn with age. She followed him over to a table in the corner of the room, where two men were playing a game of dominos and a woman was reading a battered copy of Unravelling Oliver. She knew the feeling; she was unravelling by the second here.
‘Say hello to another newbie,’ Sam said to the three people seated at the table. They gave Greta the once-over. ‘That’s Rory, Tim and Eileen.’
‘Hey.’
‘What are you in for?’ Rory asked.
Greta wasn’t prepared for that question. It made her sound like she’d committed a crime. And in truth, she didn’t know how to answer it.
‘Booze by the look of her, I’d say,’ Tim piped in.
‘Well I won’t lie, I could do with a glass of red right now,’ Greta said, which made them laugh.
‘I’d say painkillers. Most of the under thirties are in for drugs of some kind,’ Eileen said, then grinned triumphantly when she saw recognition flash in Greta’s face. ‘Knew it.’ They all began high-fiving her.
‘Excuse me, I don’t take painkillers,’ Greta said loudly just as the room went quiet. She felt eyes on her from all directions, looking to see what the hullabaloo was about.
‘If it’s not painkillers, it’s definitely pills of some description. We’re a nation under sedation,’ Eileen said.
‘Give the lady some space lads,’ Sam said. ‘She’s just arrived. Here, take a load off.’
Greta sat down beside him and to her horror realized that she had to squeeze her hips between the two arms of the chair. Bulges of fat spilt out from under the wings on either side. If they noticed, they didn’t say anything. But every part of her cringed in embarrassment.
‘It can get boring in here. So we play the “Guess the Addiction” game to pass the time. No offence meant,’ Sam said.
Greta couldn’t help herself; she was now wondering what he was in for. And as if he pulled the thought from her brain, he said, ‘Gambling.’
‘Alcohol,’ Rory said.
‘Booze for me too,’ Eileen added.
‘Heroin,’ Tim said.
‘So what’s the deal here? Do I have to make a big Hollywood dramatic reveal and say, I’m Greta Gale, I’m a drug addict?’ Greta asked.
‘It doesn’t have to be Hollywood but it does have to happen,’ Sam said.
‘I blame my mother’s addiction to soap operas. Irish, UK, American, Australian, she watches them all. And that’s all very well when it doesn’t affect my life. All they do is make her overactive imagination worse. And to make matters even more dire, she’s riled up my dad and my brothers too. There’s not a member of my family now who isn’t convinced that I’m a druggie. When the truth of the matter is that I have gotten a little too reliant on sleeping pills. No big deal. So, for the purpose of accuracy, I’m Greta Gale, and my parents think I’m a drug addict.’
Sam, Rory, Eileen and Tim smiled knowingly, like they were privy to some private joke.
‘Hey!’ Eileen said, pointing at Greta. ‘You’re not the doctor who wrote all those books, are you? That Doctor Greta Gale who is always on TV!’
‘Sorry to disappoint but I’m the messed-up Irish version who lives at