Tilda woke up with a dry throat and thumping headache. She switched off her alarm and turned over. Sunshine streamed through a crack in the curtain. Such expectant, cheerful weather made everything worse. Nothing could make Tilda get up today.
Mum genuinely believed she’d done everything to help her daughter reach her potential. She saw the school bullying as Tilda’s fault for not fitting in. Mum truly believed Tilda would try to ruin Logan’s life. Worst of all, the part of the letter that cut most deep, even worse than offering her money, was the way she’d signed off. Clarissa. Did that mean Tilda no longer had any parents? She shouldn’t have cared, but a sob ripped through her chest and she burrowed her face in the covers, falling back into fitful sleep. Eventually, knocking woke her up. It was nine o’clock.
‘Tilda? Everything okay? I’ve brought you a mug of tea.’
Crap. She dragged herself out of bed and trampled on several crisp and chocolate wrappers on the floor, along with used tissues, as she crossed her room. She caught sight of herself in the mirror as she headed for the door. What a mess. Tilda didn’t care. Milo was interested in Jazz. She didn’t have to do anything to impress. She unlocked the door and opened it just enough to take the mug.
‘Sorry, Milo. I’m not well. Splitting headache.’ She passed him the business phone. ‘Would you mind going through the messages to check there’s nothing urgent?’
‘Sure…’ he said, after a long pause. ‘Let me make you something to eat.’
‘I’ll have a can of soup, or toast, later, but thanks. Leave the phone on the kitchen table when you go to your AA meeting. I’ll probably be okay by this afternoon.’
‘Do you want me to stay in?’
‘No. I’m fine. Thanks for the tea.’ Tilda closed the door firmly. She went back to bed and took a big gulp, then lay down again. Closed her eyes. Anger built at how little faith her mum had in Logan, how she doubted his decision to leave football and scorned his ability to get a degree. Scratching crept under the door, from the landing. Tilda got up again. Opened the door. Dettol charged in and jumped on the bed. Tilda clambered under the covers once more. The cat came right up to her head, settled down and kneaded the pillow with her paws, purring loudly. Tilda didn’t react, still going over and over that letter, and how her mum wanted to pay Tilda off, as if she were some criminal.
A tiny nose battered hers and Dettol licked her wet cheek.
‘You soppy so and so,’ mumbled Tilda. She tickled Dettol under the chin, sniffed and sat up, not everyone classed her as the enemy. She leant down by the side of her bed and hoicked up the best pick-me-up… a pile of her favourite fantasy reads. She bent down further and reached for more, under the bed, then sifted through them, fond of the curled, brown pages and scruffy covers. Eragon, The Lord of the Rings, Northern Lights, Dragon Keeper, the Narnia and Harry Potter books, and… of course, The Last Unicorn. How could she have forgotten that beauty? A magical story where a unicorn, Lady Amalthea, goes on a quest to find out if she is truly the only one of her kind left.
Tilda always dreamt of one day meeting more Tildas – her own tribe who would understand her ways, who wouldn’t think she was too much or too little, like other people did. Too quiet, too private, too tidy, not outgoing enough, not sexy enough, Shane threw that last one at her after saying she’d never find someone to marry. Perhaps those other Tildas didn’t need to be human though. Dettol acted as if Tilda was everything she needed – a feeder, keeper, a tickler in all the right places.
A knock at the door again. Tilda glanced at her alarm clock. Twenty to twelve.
Milo’s voice came through the door. ‘Going to my meeting. Do you need anything before I leave? Another cup of tea? Do you want me to buy anything? Paracetamol?’
‘No. I… I feel a bit better. Might have a shower. See you later.’
She waited until the side door, downstairs, banged shut, and then went to the bathroom. After a shower she pulled on a baggy T-shirt and loose jogging trousers, half-heartedly she ran a brush through her hair and fed Dettol. She pulled out a yogurt from the fridge, then sat down at the table with her personal phone. A notification came up from Messenger. She clicked into Logan’s conversation. It was a photo of Riley. Tilda couldn’t help smiling. Her niece had made a paper hat last night, inspired by her trip. It was tricorn shaped and covered in flowers, coming down past her eyes and ears.
Tilda brushed a finger over the image, ran the cold tap and knocked back a glass of juice, in that instant knowing what she had to do as a response to the letter from Clarissa. She left the half-eaten yogurt, hurriedly pulled on trainers and grabbed her keys. Dettol ran out ahead of her into the sunshine, and Tilda locked the side door behind her.
Running as fast as she could, Tilda reached the other side of Crouchden in twenty minutes. Perspiring, Tilda slowed as she turned into a busy street and passed a grocery shop. A burly member of staff stood in its doorway, eyeing every customer with suspicion. She continued down and turned left into Church Road. Crossing a graveyard, she came to the church, a greystone building.
This might be a bad idea. She went to leave but a woman who was about to close the church doors, caught sight of Tilda. She had pigtail cornrows and a ring through her nose.
‘Coming in?’ she called.
Tilda hesitated.
‘At least have a glass of water, you look thirstier than the house plants I always manage to kill.’
Clenching her fists, Tilda went in. On a table to the right of closed swing doors, was a jug of water and glasses. The woman filled one for Tilda and handed it over.
‘At half time we have hot drinks and biscuits, but I put this out as it’s so warm today.’ The woman went to the doors. ‘There’ll be seats at the back and you don’t have to talk, or even give your name… You’ve not been here before, have you?’
Tilda shook her head. Stomach too knotted to finish the drink, she put it on the table and followed the woman in. No one showed any interest in her, they were too intent on listening to a man who sat in a chair at the front, facing everyone else. He wore a football T-shirt and was surrounded by semi-circles of chairs. She sat down quietly, three rows back, glad for the sense of invisibility.
‘…So, that’s my story and why I’m so very grateful to AA,’ said the man. ‘Right. Have we any newcomers today?’
A young man, to the right, put his hand up. Tilda bowed her head.
‘Welcome,’ said the man in the football T-shirt. ‘Anyone else?’
Silence fell. It lasted a few moments. Tilda squirmed in her seat.
The man at the front started talking again. ‘Okay, my advice to you is just to listen, at this stage. You may not relate to everything people have been through, but you might to the feelings. We are here to help.’ He looked around. ‘Right. Let’s open up to the room.’
‘My name’s Georgie and I’m an alcoholic,’ burst out an impatient voice from over on the left.
‘Hi Georgie,’ everyone else said in unison.
Tilda leant sideways and spotted a woman in her thirties, wearing a halter-neck top, with neatly coiffed bobbed hair.
‘I went to a big family do last weekend. Wasn’t looking forward to it. I’ve always been the black sheep. It’s the first family event I’ve been to since I stopped drinking last year.’ She smiled. ‘I’m eight months and four days sober now.’
Faces smiled.
‘I went prepared. Set my boundaries. If anyone talked down to me, I’d rehearsed my phrases, and told myself I’d be perfectly within my rights to leave.’ Her voice wavered. ‘I’m so grateful for AA. It helped me realise that I was drinking to fit in – and that I didn’t need to, I’m okay just being me.’ She pulled out a tissue and wiped her nose. ‘Mum started first. Asked me why I wasn’t drinking. Told me I was “even less fun than usual” without a beer in me.’
Tilda sat very still, taking in every word.
‘She asked me if I’d got a proper job yet, instead of poncing around with my art, even though I work hard in a gift shop to cover my bills and have been promoted to supervisor.’ Georgie smiled. ‘I did it, guys – resisted going into defence mode and spurting out that self-justification crap. I simply told her if she couldn’t be supportive, then I’d rather not chat. I ate the meal sitting next to a cousin I’ve always got on with, and then left early. So… thank you AA. These rooms have given me the strength to stop drinking, yes – but also to demand the respect I deserve. That’s huge.’
An elderly woman next to Georgie patted her arm. A man turned around and must have smiled, as Georgie reciprocated.
The room fell silent again. Then a cough. ‘My name’s Milo and I’m an alcoholic.’
‘Hi Milo,’ replied everyone.
Tilda turned to look down her row, way to the left. Milo caught her eye. His eyes widened. Cheeks warmer than the July sun, she gave a small smile. His expression didn’t change for a moment and then he gave a smile back.
‘The last few weeks have been hard, so hard, but also positive, in the end,’ said Milo, to the room, his voice wavering. ‘The strength of AA, these meetings – phone calls with my sponsor that had become less frequent, but still offered compassion when I made them – all of this helped me stay off the booze when things fell apart, when I ended up on the streets a few months ago… But my life turned around recently. And it was due to a single act of kindness shown towards me, which has affected my life in so many ways. A single act that, in importance, has grown and grown.’
Tilda’s eyes pricked as he caught her eye, before speaking to the room once more.
‘It’s not been plain sailing though. I’ve been forced to think more about sibling relationships.’ He exhaled. ‘I’ve only ever spoken about this in detail to my sponsor… I guess I’ve hinted about it here, before, when I’ve shared, said an accident to do with my sister kick-started my addiction journey. But I’m ready, now, to share fully. I realise I’m never going to be completely well, that the shadow of a relapse will always lurk, unless I talk about it.’ He swallowed. ‘Grace was the best sister. Fun, caring, an animal lover, a dancer. Grace always shared her chocolate.’
Other members smiled.
‘One weekend, Mum and Dad were away… my uncle babysat. He hadn’t got kids of his own but we were ten and eight, not tiny. He’d babysit sometimes, order us pizza and we’d watch videos. That weekend he said we could go to the shop on our own, up the high street, get ourselves anything we wanted from the sweet shop and takeaway. He said I was in charge and it was my job to look after Grace. Turned out afterwards he’d arranged for his girlfriend to come over and wanted us out.’ He paused. ‘We were so excited. I felt grown up. We’d never been allowed to go up the high street on our own before. I held her hand tightly, there was lots of traffic. We bumped into a group of boys from school, older than me. I got talking, laughing with them. I didn’t even notice that Grace had let go of my hand. A witness said afterwards, she’d seen a purse in the road. She ran to pick it up. Grace was always so helpful and probably hoped to find its owner. Brakes screeched. I saw Grace, frozen, staring at the front window of an approaching car. I ran straight to her but got there too late. The car clipped my hand in the process, that’s how I got this scar…’ He stared at the side of his hand. ‘It’s a constant reminder of how I let my sister down.’ He gulped. ‘Mum and Dad were in bits. They completely blamed my uncle, said I was a child and should never have been put in charge. But I couldn’t forgive myself, couldn’t bear to witness… to feel their grief. So, at sixteen, I left home. Never went back. I still have nightmares about the accident. But…’ He wiped his eyes, ‘the person I’m staying with, the one who showed kindness to me, has made me realise it’s never too late to reconnect with someone you once loved very much. I’m going to get in touch with Mum and Dad again.’ He sat up straighter. ‘My share is full of gratitude too. There’s no way I’d still be here without AA – or if I was, I’d be totally messed up.’
Oh, Milo. If only Tilda had known, somehow worked it out, even though he’d deliberately hidden the truth, that his sister had actually died. All Tilda wanted to do was put her arms around him. First, she had to sit through several more shares, taken aback each time by how she related to the feelings of desperation, hopelessness and self-disgust, of the day-to-day grind of staying sober during challenging times, whatever different means they all used, despite the varying journeys that had led them to booze. More than one story featured family problems, and took her back to her time in treatment when Tilda was told it was her reaction to a situation that was the main problem. A powerful realisation because it meant change was possible.
That’s why she’d come today. It was her choice as to whether she let her mum’s letter drag her down.
Tilda chose not to let it.
The man in the chair announced a fifteen-minute break for refreshments. Tilda stood up and went out into the nave of the church. Several members headed straight outside with cigarettes and vapes. Finally, Milo came through the swing doors. The woman with the cornrows punched his arm and gave the thumbs up. They chatted briefly then another member hugged him. Tilda headed over, stood on tiptoe and embraced him, tightly.
‘Well done. That can’t have been easy,’ she said.
‘Funnily enough, I feel… so much lighter. Relief set in as soon as I started talking.’
‘I understand now why you got so annoyed with me, before the fire, when you poured my wine out of the window. I was talking about how I’d let Logan down for not being there. But he still had a life, had still achieved loads… now I understand why you told me I should count my blessings. Unlike Grace, my brother’s still around.’
‘I shouldn’t have got angry, Tilda. I’m sorry. Mental suffering isn’t something you can compare.’
They went over to the table and picked up cups of coffee.
‘The girl with the red hair, in the photo, that frame in your rucksack… I thought it could be a daughter you had, but it’s your sister, isn’t it?’
He nodded.
‘She looked lovely… and the spit of you. Didn’t working in a nightclub act as a constant reminder – young people dancing night in, night out – remind you of her and what you feel she missed out on? I mean, if the TV talent show upset you so much…?’
‘Perhaps going into that industry, in a warped way, was me punishing myself.’ Milo shook his head. ‘Without AA, I’d have gone insane.’ His face brightened. ‘I’m so proud of you, coming today. Dettol got into the lounge this morning, I went in and found that wine bottle, next to the full mug, the first one you poured by the looks of it. You got close, didn’t you, but somehow didn’t drink?’
‘Very close,’ she whispered. ‘Instead, I sat up all night, in my room, eating rubbish, drinking coffee, crying.’
‘I saw a letter – but I didn’t read it. Was it to do with that?’
At that moment a bear of a man came over, even taller than Milo. He patted his back. ‘Great share, mate. Way to go.’
Milo spotted someone and waved, and… Jazz came over? She gave Milo a thumbs up and then stopped when she saw Tilda.
‘I had no idea…’ said Jazz.
‘Me neither, about you,’ said Tilda.
‘I was taken aback to see Milo at the Windmill. We’ve known each other through AA for a little while.’
Milo headed off to get biscuits.
‘I understand now why you two got together,’ said Tilda. ‘Like-minded spirits and all that.’
‘Got together?’ Jazz frowned.
‘Well… the date on Tuesday… Milo stayed over?’ Tilda’s ears felt hot.
Jazz’s jaw dropped, then she laughed. ‘Jeez, Tilda, no way! He’s more like an older brother…’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘A very annoying one at that.’ She grinned. ‘He’s a good guy, though. Through a charity I work with in my spare time, I do talks about addiction and had some coming up, at a couple of youth clubs this week. The person I was doing it with on Tuesday – who was going to share their story as well – had to drop out, so Milo offered to step in. The all-nighter was because of a crisis – our stories sparked one kid to admit he had a drug problem. The parents came in to collect him, we helped talk everything through. It was gone midnight by the time we’d finished and we were exhausted. I lived nearby and offered Milo my sofa. Obviously, AA is anonymous, we don’t tell outsiders about other members, so Milo wouldn’t have been able to tell you how he knew me and why we were meeting up.’
Jazz and Milo weren’t an item? That meant… Pleasure rushed through Tilda’s body in a way not even the buzz from alcohol could.
Milo appeared with the packet of biscuits. ‘Did I miss anything?’ he said.
Jazz winked at Tilda. ‘No. Nothing important. Right, I need the loo before the next half.’ She dashed off.
The woman with the piercing came over and reached for a shortcake triangle. ‘Staying for the second half?’ she asked Tilda.
Tilda gazed around the room, feeling seen for who she truly was – one of them.
‘Yes,’ she said and helped herself to a biscuit.