Second Life by S. J. Watson Read Free Book Online

I close my eyes. I take a deep breath.
I open my mouth to speak, but the words still won’t come.
    ‘Darling, are you all right?’
    She knows, I think. She’s my oldest friend and she can just tell. I lower my voice,
even though the house is empty.
    ‘Julia, what is it?’
    ‘I had a drink.’
    I hear her sigh. I can’t bear her disapproval, but I hear her sigh.
    ‘I didn’t mean to. I mean, I wasn’t going to, but . . .’
    I stop myself. I’m making excuses. Not taking responsibility. Not admitting that
I’m powerless over alcohol. Basic stuff.
    I take a deep breath. I say it again.
    ‘I had a drink.’
    ‘Okay. Just one?’
    ‘No.’
    Please don’t tell me it’s a slippery slope. I know that. Please don’t make me feel
worse than I already do.
    ‘Oh, darling,’ she says.
    ‘I feel pretty bad. Awful, in fact.’
    Another pause. Please don’t tell me it’s nothing and I ought to forget it.
    ‘Adrienne?’
    ‘You’re going through a lot,’ she says. ‘It happened. It’s a slip, a relapse, but
you need to forgive yourself . . . Have you thought about what we talked about?’
    She means therapy. She agrees with Hugh, and like everyone in therapy she thinks
I should go too, or see a counsellor. She’s even recommended someone. Martin Somebody-or-other.
    But the truth is, I don’t want it. Not now, not yet. Not while I’m like this. I think
it would fail, and then it would no longer be something I can have in reserve.
    ‘No,’ I say.
    ‘Okay, well, I won’t say any more, but I wish you would. Think about it at least.’
    I tell her I have, and I will. But I’m beginning to wonder if I deserve this pain,
if somehow I owe it to my sister to live through it. I couldn’t save her. I took
her son.
    ‘Have you told Hugh?’
    I don’t answer.
    ‘About having a drink. Have you told him?’
    I close my eyes. I don’t want to. I can’t.
    ‘Julia—?’
    ‘Not yet,’ I say. ‘There’s no need. It won’t happen again—’
    She interrupts me. ‘Darling. Listen. You’re my oldest, dearest friend. I love you.
Unconditionally. But I think you need to tell Hugh.’ She waits for me to speak, but
I don’t. ‘I know it’s entirely up to you, but I’m sure it’s the right thing to do.’
    She’s being tender, kind-hearted; yet still it feels brutal. I tell her I’ll do it
tonight.
    Hugh is out for the evening. He’s playing squash, then there’ll be drinks afterwards.
He isn’t late, though, and Connor has only just gone to bed when he gets in. Almost
straight away I decide I’m going to tell him.
    I wait until we’re sitting in the living room, watching television. At the first
ad break I pause the screen then turn to him, as if I’m going to ask if he wants
a cup of tea.
    ‘Darling?’
    ‘Uh-huh?’
    I stumble over the words.
    ‘I’ve had a relapse.’
    I don’t say any more. I don’t have to. He knows what it means. He hasn’t been through
the programme, or even to a meeting, but he’s read the literature. He knows enough.
He knows what a relapse is, just like he knows he mustn’t try to control my behaviour
by modifying his own, that he can’t stop me drinking by never drinking himself.
    He also knows better than to ask how many drinks I had, or when, or why. It’s pointless.
The answers are irrelevant. I had a drink. Whether it was the tiniest sip or a whole
bottle makes no difference at all.
    He takes my hand. I thought he was going to be angry, but he’s not. It’s worse. He’s
disappointed. I can tell, from his eyes.
    ‘I’m sorry.’
    ‘You don’t have to apologize to me.’
    It’s not what I want to hear. But what do I want to hear? What can he say? Addiction
is a sickness unlike those Hugh is used to facing. He’s someone who cuts the bad
parts out, sends them to the incinerator. The patient is cured, or not.
    I look at him. I want him to tell me he loves me. I don’t want him to tell me he
knows what I’m going through. I want him to remind me that a