BooksBarbecue
Back Again, Rachel
Chapters (98)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. 82
  86. 83
  87. 84
  88. 85
  89. 86
  90. 87
  91. 88
  92. 89
  93. 90
  94. 91
  95. 92
  96. 93
  97. 94
  98. Acknowledgements

My new arrival was due this morning. Ducking into one of the small interview rooms, which had a window overlooking the front grounds, I skimmed her file again. ‘Bronte, forty-three, a heroin addict. Married to Eden Tollemarche, Viscount Kilsharvan.’ It wouldn’t be the first time a member of the aristocracy had landed in here: addiction was no respecter of titles.

Has been abusing heroin on and off since her twenties, but it got out of control six years ago. After a year of intravenous abuse, she went to rehab in the UK. Stayed clean until she broke her ankle last June and was prescribed opiate painkillers. She blames them for her relapse. For the past eight months she’s been injecting heroin. At the assessment her husband seemed supportive.

My attention was caught by a muddy Land Rover coming through the gates, slightly too fast. It whizzed into a parking spot and almost immediately a tall, ruddy-faced man jumped out, strode to the trunk, extracted a bag and hoisted it onto his shoulder.

Bronte was slower to appear. Reluctantly, she extracted herself from the car. Dressed in jeans, a shrunken jacket and a giant felt scarf wrapped around her neck and shoulders, she looked about fourteen.

She paused to cast the house an apprehensive look. For most people, being checked into rehab is the worst moment of their life. They can’t believe it’s really happening—for a long time their lies and manipulations have kept them ahead of the posse but the game is finally up, and everything is about to change forever.

However, this was Bronte’s second time—and second time round was worse. There was so much shame in a relapse. When an addict first got clean or sober, they had to work hard to win back the trust of the people they loved—but when they got it, it was beautiful. Relationships often became honest and pure, perhaps for the first time ever.

It was infinitely harder to pull it off twice. People were willing to forgive once, but a relapse soured everything.

Outside, Bronte and the husband exchanged a few words. He touched her face and she nodded, then they turned towards the steps which led to our door and disappeared from my view.

Even though I wasn’t needed, I went to the admissions office, where it was all go. Brianna and Eden were processing the paperwork and Priya had Bronte’s luggage up on a desk, rummaging through the contents, looking for contraband.