Addicted to Witch (2 page)

“Stop it,” he said aloud.

Getting up, he stood in front of the medicine cabinet. What if he combined the lithium with the anti-depressants? Not that either had any effect on him, but it would waste a couple of minutes. He closed the cabinet and extracted his mobile instead. “Hi Charlie, look, I know I’m just moving one dependency to another but I… Can you talk?”

“It’ll take me at least an hour to get to you—I’m in London, son.”

“I can wait,” Auden said.

“I’m on my way then.”

What the foreskin would he do for an hour? The doorbell rang, taking the decision out of his hands. He checked the video monitor and was tempted to ignore the woman who grinned into the screen. “Hi, Auden. Just making a house call.”

Course you are. “I’m busy, Dr. D. Another time?”

“‘Fraid not, Auden. I need to send your notes to the trustees for the meeting.” One more meeting like the last one, and he’d be hospitalised. “Come in.”

“Hello!” she said again as she entered, making to kiss his cheek, but Auden stepped out of the way. Dr. Romely Deans was so overtly happy, he wondered what the hell she was taking to look so buoyant all the time. He supposed as a GP, she had access to whatever happy pills she chose to down. Xanax seemed like a good guess.

“Do you want to sit down?” he offered, waving a listless arm to the living room.

“That’d be good, we can talk better then.” Auden led the way, grimacing at the click clack of her heels on his tiled floors
. Get out, get out, get out!

In one corner of the room, piles of old twelve-inch records were gathering dust. Ah, now there was something he could do. Alphabetise. He sat down on a sofa nearest to the door. Romely sat next to him.

“So, how are you finding the new drug? The anti-depressant?” she asked, tugging at the hem of her skirt, which rode up her thighs. She had a decent pair of legs on her. Shame her personality was so fucking abrasive.

“Fine.”

“Are you taking it regularly?”

Is she joking?
“Yep.”

“Any reactions?”

“Why would there be?”

She pressed her lips together disapprovingly and asked the question again. Sighing, he answered no.

“Any extreme highs or lows?”

Auden held a hand out flat. “I’ve been like that.” He didn’t offer her a drink. He didn’t want to give her the excuse to linger. “Is that everything? I’ve got to talk to my producer.”

“Oh, so you are working?”

“Doing a bit here and there, yeah.”

Her face became serious, her dark brows drawing together.
Oh here we go, the fake I’m-concerned spiel.
“I hope you’re not letting yourself feel the emotions of what you write. I understand that song writing is about getting in touch with those sensations, but with your illness, you do need to take care that you’re not replicating that in order to…enjoy feeling dark again. We don’t want another relapse, do we?”

She really believed what she was saying was plain fact. What was wrong with her? Why did she want to control him so badly? Questions he asked himself a million times before and always came to the same conclusion. He put it down to Ugly Duckling syndrome, a girl who had never felt pretty as a child, who filled out when she became an adult and wanted to turn the screws on anyone who rejected her. Finally, he answered her, “Nothing about ‘my illness’ is enjoyable. I don’t feel anything.”

Romely leaned forward and grabbed his hand, her eyes feverishly bright. “You should feel something.”

He flicked at her knuckles with his thumb and forefinger, satisfied when she snatched her hand back. “What do you want? If I feel too much I’m having a manic episode. If I feel nothing at all then I’m what, a zombie? You should make up your medical mind, and then I’ll balance it out.”

She rubbed at her skin, piercing red from the flick. “You should feel normal.”

“A non-existent term created for people who want to feel less fucking boring,” he dismissed. “
Every normal person is, in fact, only normal in the average. His ego approximates to that of the psychotic in some part or other, and to greater or lesser extent.
”

Romely’s face lifted in admiration. “You’ve studied Freud?”

Auden simply looked at his hand. He had a gap he had deliberately left uninked. Maybe a noose? Away from the edge, Auden…

Romely still stared at him. “Anything else?” he asked.

Her mouth turned down at the pointed question, as if she finally realised she wasn’t going to have the epic conversation she hoped for. She made a note on a pad of paper and tucked it into her briefcase. “I’d like it if you came into the surgery soon. Have a proper chat? Submit some blood tests?”

“I’ll see when I’m free. Thanks for coming around.” His gaze flicked to the door.

Romely took the hit-and-run-with-a-tank hint and picked up her bag. “I don’t think I’ve got enough for a full report. You’d like to be in a position where you don’t have to account to the trustees for every single pound you make or spend, wouldn’t you? Be in charge of your own credit cards again?”

“Wouldn’t that be a step up?” he quipped. “See you.”

Romely hesitated as she reached the door. She turned back toward him. “I’m just trying to help you. That’s all I want for you.”

Auden laughed without the slightest trace of amusement. “Yeah, thanks. Shut the gates behind you. And I need my key back.”

Her eyes flashed. “I’d like to keep them on hand. For your own good.”

He could break her neck. Snap it in two. But then he would be screwed in so many ways, and the bitch knew it back to front. She sent him a satisfied little smile then left. He took a long, slow breath before opening his eyes. She was still gone. The relief that followed was short-lived. Soon enough, she’d be back, reminding him of what little control he had over his life.

Answering machine again. “Oi, it’s Terry again. Look, I’ve just booked you an event to make up the tax deficit—company retreat down the road from you for a night’s entertainment. The director has a hard-on for you. I’ll email the details. You won’t be upset when you see how much for.”

He’d have to run it past Romely first, see if he’d be allowed out ahead of time. A thirty-five year old man with a curfew, kindly suggested by Romely to avoid “destructive behaviours” and agreed with by the trustees. If he couldn’t go out at night, then he couldn’t order champagne at two grand a bottle. If he couldn’t order champagne, then he would remain somewhat in control of his faculties. At least that was what Romely wanted the trustees to believe. And with their hands in millions of pounds worth of trust money, they’d take her suggestion and run with it.

He had the briefest vision of smashing his guitar into the floor. A potentially wonderful release to counter the frustration of his condition. It was a stupid idea. If he destroyed his guitar, he’d have to explain to the trustees why he needed a new one. It was his fault. To think of all the wasted opportunities, times where he could have avoided this situation altogether, was all, in retrospect, pretty pointless.

Charlie arrived within the hour. “Paced it, my son,” he laughed, blinding white teeth in his dark face. He gave Auden a welcoming hug. “Bring me a beer, boy.”

“You’re not allowed to drink,” Auden warned, relieved at his counsellor’s presence. How different a human being would he have been if Charlie Sarpong had been his father?

“My daughter doesn’t know everything. A little raised blood pressure doesn’t mean I should change my whole lifestyle. Smart arse.”

Auden laughed and gave him a slap across the shoulder blades. “Come to the kitchen.”

Charlie sat at the table. Auden skidded a bottle of beer to him. “Aren’t you going to tell me I shouldn’t have alcohol in the house?”

“I don’t need to tell you anything, Auden. Besides this is non-alcoholic.” Charlie’s dark eyes fixed on him. “Talk, boy.”

Auden closed his eyes for a moment. “Just…wishing for a time machine. Make different choices, be a different person. Not be in certain places at certain times.”

“A man should not strive to eliminate his complexes but to get in accord with them, for they are legitimately what directs his conduct in the world,” Charlie quoted. “In the words, of another more eloquent man, ‘to thine own self be true.’”

“I am what I am, right?”

“Of course.”

He rubbed his palms over his scalp. “It’s hard to trust that when people are very helpful in telling you how much you need to change.”

“Out of everything you’ve heard, that’s what you think?”

Auden sighed. “Well, yeah. I mean look, I did stupid things when I was younger. Who didn’t? But I have a curfew, I can’t touch my own money, and my family moved to the other side of the world. It’s all pointless.”

“That’s not changing your character, that’s changing the decisions you make. Regaining your autonomy. That’s what we want for you.”

Romely doesn’t
, he thought, bitter frustration rising in his chest again. “I made one decision, Charlie. That’s what I’m being endlessly punished for.”

“I think you’re looking at it the wrong way, son,” Charlie said with the effervescence that made Auden love the man. “You’re accounting everything to one decision, rather than seeing it as an opportunity to embrace something new. You can only look to the past for so long. You can be who you were without any artificial enhancement, without relying on dangerous drugs or activities. What do you have to do work-wise?”

“I’ve been told to perform at a company retreat.”

Charlie clapped. “Good! Where else will you find such hope? You can help uplift those in need of cheering up and do the same for yourself.”

“With booze on tap.”

“It’s all about choices,” Charlie warned. “You’ve been clean and sober for some months now. Don’t you feel ready to be around genuine emotions? Test yourself?”

His head began to ache with being pushed. He’d called Charlie here, but he didn’t want to think about it, let alone talk about it. “It’ll pay a tax bill I forgot to sort out. I’ll end up singing shit by bands I can’t fucking stand…sorry, Charlie…but a change of scene will always help me write.”

Charlie gave a gentle smile. “You sound positive.”

“Nah. Realistic.”

“As long as it isn’t negative, we’ll take what we can. Have you thought any more about speaking with the trustees? You haven’t had a manic episode for a while, there should be no reason why they shouldn’t give control of your wealth back.”

Auden couldn’t agree with him more, but it wasn’t as if he could say anything about it.

Charlie inclined his head. “Don’t push yourself to make that decision if you don’t feel ready, but it’s what I’ll be recommending.” He glanced at his watch.

“Do you want me to put on Sky? Football’s about to start.”

“You’re a god amongst men.” Charlie sighed.

Auden rummaged in the cupboard for some of Charlie’s favourite snacks and prompted his counsellor into the living room. What Auden missed more than his family was the company. He hadn’t been alone in his whole life, and he regretted that he had ever wished for the opposite.

Chapter Three

Helena didn’t want to keep her sister waiting at the restaurant. Just because Ophelia looked like Snow White didn’t mean she couldn’t take a man apart with her bare hands. It was a relic of being adopted at the hardened age of thirteen from a mother who’d been addicted to cocaine and a father who hadn’t acknowledged her existence. When the Sarpongs adopted Ophelia, Ophelia and Desdemona fought like cats. The clash of personalities was titanic but Ophelia protected Helena instantly. All she’d missed growing up was a pair of sunglasses, a black suit, and an ear piece.

Ophelia had happily accepted a complete change and everything else she’d been bestowed with by their parents, including her name—anything to separate her from the life she’d simply survived in. The new name gave her an instant family and helped her accept that even fighting with Desdemona was something normal and loving. Sharper than a katana sword, Ophelia hadn’t quite erased the East end accent, despite being educated at the best secondary school and the best university in London. Neither had she lost the tendency to f and blind at anything that grated on her nerves. While Charles and Victoria Sarpong couldn’t be prouder of their daughters, they did wince every time Ophelia opened her mouth. Helena really did love her sister. She simply had a healthy respect for avoiding being slapped.

Helena got to the French restaurant, just as Ophelia was heading inside.

“There you are!”

Ophelia gave her a kiss on the cheek and then snapped her fingers at the waiter. “Let’s go! Hungry bitches here.”

Oh God. Helena always readjusted her sense of shame when Ophelia was in the vicinity. Within seconds they were seated and Ophelia had ordered an obscenely expensive bottle of wine and two steaks, medium well.

“You’ve got to come with me,” Ophelia blurted.

Helena sighed. “Can’t I just have a moment first before you make demands on me?”

“Look, I have to go to this team building retreat. It’s ridiculous. As if there aren’t a million things we need to spend money on. Oh no! We need to stick together in these turbulent times. It’s bullshit. A bribe to make sure we don’t jump fucking ship and sue them all for constructive dismissal. Do not make me go solo to this crap.”

The wine arrived and Helena watched her sister take the bottle from the waiter and pour most of it into both her glasses, emptying her water into Helena’s wine glass. “Why do you want me to be around people I don’t know?”

Ophelia snorted. “They’re my colleagues. I spend more time with them than I do you. The idea that I have to spend enforced time with that bunch of absolute over-privileged knobs really pisses me off. I cannot go alone. It’s in the middle of nowhere.”

“What’s the middle nowhere?”

“Kent.”

“Fee, Kent isn’t the middle of nowhere,” Helena chided.

“That’s because you drive. Are there any tubes linking Kent to London? No. Middle of Fucking Nowhere. On a country estate,” Ophelia grumbled through gulps of wine. “Come on. Please. I’ve already bought you something to wear for the evening do. McQueen.”