Matthew Flinders' Cat (35 page)

‘Thank you,’ Billy said. ‘But I think it was probably foolish.’

‘Damn right it was foolish! But there you go, you’re here and you made it in under your own steam, miracles will never cease.’ Billy liked the no-nonsense manner Payne affected. ‘Now the good news is that you won’t be on your own here. In fact, I’ll be perfectly frank with you, there are going to be times over the next three weeks when you’ll wish you could be, but there’s no privacy.’ He paused. ‘Introspection is a luxury we can’t afford while we deal with several more important things out in the open in a group atmosphere.’

‘I’m not sure how I’ll cope, Mr Payne, I’ve kept my own company for a good while now.’

‘Yes, of course, there’s two kinds of alcoholic, the social ones who enjoy company and the loners. Your kind are in the minority. It’s much easier for the gregarious ones, in a sense they’ve come from a group environment and understand the
gestalt
.’ Billy thought immediately of Casper Friendly’s mob. ‘The loners find it difficult at first,’ Vince Payne continued. ‘It will take a bit of getting used to but I hope you’ll try. Group discussion is the basis of most of our therapy. Are you acquainted with the Twelve Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous?’

‘You hear a fair bit around the traps and Major Thomas explained some of it to me this morning, but not really.’ Billy thought for a moment. ‘I guess it’s something I’ve always thought of as being for someone else.’

‘Ah, I see,
they
are alcoholics and
you
are a problem drinker?’

Billy grinned, surprised. Vince Payne certainly couldn’t be accused of patronising him. ‘Yeah, something like that.’

‘Okay, the anonymous part of AA is taken very seriously. From the moment you leave this office you will simply be known as Billy, or William if you prefer.’

‘No, no, Billy is fine.’

‘You’ll hear a lot more about AA over the next three weeks as we try to practise what we preach. Briefly, there are twelve steps to sobriety, they embrace the following principles, or concepts. An admission of powerlessness is the starting point, after that the program asks you to take a damn good look at yourself. It’s called “taking a moral inventory”, very American, I’m afraid.’

‘I think I’ve done a fair bit of that already,’ Billy said. Vince Payne scratched the tip of his nose. ‘I think you’ll find there’s more to come, mate. Looking inwards isn’t that much fun and it usually takes a bit of pulling out. I guess we’ve all done things in the past we’re not that proud of, so another area is called “restitution for harm done”, by that we mean simply saying sorry to the people you’ve hurt on the way to being what you’ve become. Then we believe that we need to help each other, our experience is that alcoholics work best with alcoholics. Straight people, even psychiatrists, don’t really know what goes into being an alcoholic, but another alcoholic does. He, or she, has been through the same hell, they know what’s going on in the other person’s head.’ Vince Payne absently picked up a biro and tapped it against the computer screen. ‘So we become a service industry to each other.’ He looked directly at Billy. ‘Now for the hard part. The concept most of our more intelligent clients have some difficulty getting their minds around is the idea that we must surrender to some personal God, some Higher Power.’

‘Yes, Major Thomas touched on that this morning.’ Billy was beginning to realise that the God business couldn’t be taken lightly, it seemed to be the central pillar on which the entire program was built. He wondered if Vince Payne would let him get away with Trim as his Higher Power the way Cliff Thomas had explained to him.

‘Righto, Cliff Thomas probably told you, who or what you choose as your Higher Power is up to you. But make no mistake, whoever or whatever your choice, it has to be serious. You must surrender completely,
you
can’t influence your Higher Power, but it must be able to influence you, guide you, even talk to you. Do you understand, Billy?’

‘I think so,’ Billy replied. ‘It’s not an easy idea to grasp.’

‘I know it sounds a bit dodgy at first, but you’ll soon grow accustomed to it all. Try to think of it as less a religious precept than basic psychology. We’ve learned that you need certain things to hold on to if you are to get through to the other side. When all is said and done, you have to replace your need for alcohol with something else. Some say alcohol is a negative power and can only be overcome by a positive power. The positive power, in this instance, is something greater than the addiction,
and
greater than the sum of the parts of you trying on your own to give up alcohol.’

Despite what Vince Payne had said, Billy couldn’t help feeling that it still sounded like old-time religion, Billy Graham in full swing –
Confess your sins, be saved, washed in the blood of the lamb, free, free, free at last!
But it was obvious to him that Payne knew what he was doing and that he wasn’t a religious nut. While he spoke with conviction and force, and was a very skilled proselytiser, he didn’t appear to be a religious bigot. It wasn’t Jesus
über alles
.

The program director asked Billy to read and sign the admission sheet, commit to the non-returnable hundred-dollar admission fee, and read the rules, which were not all that different from those of Resthaven. Having done all this, Payne began to outline the entire rehabilitation program.

Billy would never know whether this procedure of leaving the explanation of the course to last was standard. As Vince Payne told him what was to come, Billy’s heart sank. Although he now saw that there had been several indications that the process would be protracted, he hadn’t realised just how much his freedom would be curtailed. He’d reconciled himself to the three weeks of incarceration at the institute, but thereafter he’d imagined he would be free to conduct his own life while attending regular AA meetings, perhaps even remaining at the institute or at Foster House, but nevertheless in control of his own affairs. Now it was obvious that this was not the case.

‘When you’ve completed your three weeks here you may need to be transferred to Newcastle, depending on vacancies down here,’ Payne continued.

‘Newcastle! Transferred?’ Billy couldn’t believe his own ears.

The program director paused. ‘But surely, Billy, you were aware that therapy takes ten months?’

‘Yes, but not that I’d be sent away, have no personal freedom, not be able to come and go as I wish?’

‘But don’t you understand,
that
is the rehabilitation? You have to learn how to crawl, then walk, then live your life free of alcohol, learn the business of coping with an outside world that doesn’t care if you go to hell in a handcart!’

‘Don’t patronise me!’ Billy shouted, losing his temper. ‘By being sent to some sort of reform school, I’m going to learn to cope? Do me a favour!’ Billy was aware that he was being unnecessarily aggressive but he couldn’t restrain his anger. The tentative plans he’d made to resume his relationship with Ryan, who, he was certain, was running out of time, and the need to help Trevor Williams find his daughter, were being swept away. This pompous little man sitting in front of him, with the annoying habit of hitting the screen of his computer with a biro, was telling him how he had arranged his life for him. It was simply more than Billy could take.

Billy had seen Ryan and Trevor Williams’ daughter as the way he would eventually redeem himself,
they
would be his rehabilitation. ‘Bullshit! I’m leaving!’ he cried, rising from his chair.

Vince Payne’s expression didn’t change as he said softly, ‘Before you run away, may I . . .’

Billy was too angry to allow him to continue. ‘Damn you, I’m not bloody running away! I have things I must do. Commitments! People who need my help!’

‘Ah!’ Vince Payne said, placing the biro down. ‘Let me ask you something. These commitments, were they not the reason why you submitted yourself for detox?’

‘Yes! Bloody stupid of me in retrospect,’ Billy replied, still furious.

‘And now you’ll be able to achieve those commitments when you resume your old life?’ Payne asked.

‘I can manage my own life, thank you,’ Billy said, realising that he was sounding truculent and childish.

‘That why you ran away to Surfers Paradise?’ Payne saw the look on Billy’s face, ‘It’s in your notes.’ He tapped the Resthaven report on the desk in front of him with his forefinger.

Billy had now risen. While he wasn’t a big man, he seemed to loom over the diminutive program director seated in the rickety office chair. He was about to say, ‘Why don’t you mind your own bloody business!’ when he became conscious of a third voice.
‘You’re sailing away in the
Bridgewater
, Billy.’
The difference this time was that it wasn’t his own inner voice that suggested this to him, it was quite distinctly a cat’s voice. He was perfectly aware that cats don’t speak, but he also knew, with absolute conviction, that he’d heard Trim, loud and clear. His Higher Power had kicked in.

Billy sat down again and began to weep. ‘I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do, I’m such a weak bastard,’ he sobbed. ‘Nothing’s changed, I’m still going to let everyone down!’

Vince Payne waited until Billy was back in control. ‘Billy, I’ve got a problem.’ He waited for Billy to respond and when Billy didn’t, he added, ‘I need your help.’ Despite himself, Billy was forced to ask, ‘What is it?’

‘The program, it’s pretty full on and I’m afraid you won’t be able to manage it with one hand tied behind your back.’

‘What do you mean by that exactly?’ Billy asked.

‘The briefcase, it renders your left hand more or less ineffective.’

Billy was silent, the logic was irrefutable. ‘Will it be locked away so nobody can get to it?’

‘Tell you what I’ll do,’ Payne said. ‘We lock all personal belongings in a filing cabinet in the office, each drawer has its own big brass lock, then the admin office is deadlocked when the staff go home, so your stuff will be safe.’ Billy started to object, but Payne held up his hand, restraining him. ‘Not only safe, but we will also give you the key to the drawer, to the padlock. How about that?’

‘Ha! There are two keys to the padlock!’ Billy cried. Vince Payne laughed. ‘Good one! Righto, we’ll give you both.’ He spread his hands, ‘Have we got a deal?’

Billy knew he’d been beaten and he nodded his head. ‘Okay.’

Payne smiled mischievously. ‘But now
I
have a problem.’ Billy waited, not asking what it might be. ‘What happens if you lose the keys?’

It wasn’t an unreasonable question, although Billy knew that such an idea was impossible, the keys were his briefcase incarnate. He also sensed the program director was sending him up, albeit gently. ‘Tell you what I’ll do,’ he said, imitating Payne, ‘I’ll get my ears pierced and wear a key dangling from each earlobe, then we’ll both know where they are at all times.’ Billy’s ability at repartee was returning, it had been some time since he’d felt entitled to give as much as he got.

Vince Payne gave a little nod, acknowledging Billy’s return serve. ‘Excellent suggestion, we’ll attend to it right away.’

He escorted him up two flights of stairs and they turned into a short corridor, which passed a small lounge on which several men were seated, some reading, others chatting quietly. ‘Gidday,’ Vince said as he passed, though he didn’t wait for them to return his greeting. They continued down the corridor, which turned left into a large room with a counter immediately beyond a small entrance foyer. Beyond the counter sat several people working at computers along the rear wall. As it turned out, they were the group counsellors whom Billy would progressively meet during his stay.

In the centre were three desks, also manned, though by office staff. Against the right-hand wall were three creamy-coloured filing cabinets fitted with a stoutlooking brass lock on each drawer. The filing cabinets were the first thing Billy saw, mentally checking the strength of the brass locks. Vince Payne introduced him to Don, a clerk, whom he instructed to give Billy both padlock keys after he locked his briefcase away.

The clerk looked reluctant. ‘It’s against the rules, Vince,’ Don said, somewhat embarrassed to be talking in front of Billy.

‘It’s okay, write down that it’s on my instructions.’ The clerk shrugged. ‘Whatever you say.’ Vince Payne turned to Billy. ‘You’ll see plenty of me, Billy. I’ll leave you in Don’s hands for the time being.’ He shook Billy’s hand before departing. ‘I’m glad you decided to stay.’

‘I’m sorry I made a fuss,’ Billy apologised.

‘You’re an amateur, mate. That was barely a conniption.’ It was a strangely old-fashioned word to use.

Billy, pre-warned that they would take his precious briefcase, had unlocked the handcuff and waited while Don examined the contents. The man went about his job in a serious and deliberate manner, not even remarking on the box of surgical gloves. He carefully noted each item on a form, leaving it on the counter to check against the list later. He then asked Billy to read the list and sign it. When Billy came to the little leather bag containing his three hangover stones, he couldn’t bear the thought of never using them again. He pointed to the tiny drawstring bag on the counter. ‘The little leather bag, it contains three polished pebbles, may I take them with me?’