I used to care but things have changed.

I haven’t seen or heard from William for over a week. He texted me last Saturday evening to ask if I still didn’t want to hear from him.  I could hear my phone buzz in my pocket, as the text came in. Guy and I were walking to Greenwich Theatre to see a new play by a local writer, Blake Morrison, with whom Guy occasionally plays tennis. Tickets had been bought months ago by a friend; a large group of us were meeting. Both of us were unenthusiastic about going out, I had been lacking in energy for days, and had slept for a couple of hours that afternoon. But I had showered, changed, straightened my newly-cut hair, which always makes me feel better and more like someone from this decade, and then in minutes created an outfit out of a red mini-dress from last year, black tights and recently acquired black high-heeled boots. I was now feeling wonderful. Looking down at the worn centuries-old paving stones as we walked down Crooms Hill, the adjacent park’s chestnut fragrance in the air, I took out my phone and read the message from Will. I began to reply then cancelled it. What was the point, what would I say?

We had met two weeks before: Guy, Jack, William and myself. He had rung several times since then to say that he had a cheque and a necklace to give us (well, the necklace was for me obviously, to replace the one he had stolen and sold last year). He had promised when we had parted the week previously that he would do this, on my suggestion, and I hoped now that what he said he really meant. He sounded genuine, but my way of listening to what he says on the phone is to do just that, listen and say very little. The only way not to get hurt is by not attaching any emotion to contact with him.  Still unsure how you do this, but I give it a try every time.

On the phone I listened to his news: he said he still didn’t have anywhere to live, he just couldn’t find a place he liked, and anyway he didn’t want to commit to another six months when he almost certainly would go abroad. He told me again that he didn’t want to be in London for his birthday and then for Christmas, alone, and how depressing that would be. He was still working for the charity fund-raisers, every day, he said. I didn’t believe it. Jack and I had both seen him in the middle of the day on separate occasions, each time with one of his cannabis friends.

‘I’m staying at Jake’s and in hotels too. I’m working every day and carrying around this necklace that’s worth over £250 and a cheque for a grand, so I need to meet you and give them to you, it’s crazy me carrying this stuff around with me.’

Jake was a friend he had met whilst at the Kensington crammer, having a third attempt at ASs. I felt a physical pain in my stomach, an acidic mix of shame and incredulity, when he said this: my own adored son staying with another person’s family when he’s nearly 20? Please let this not be happening. But it is, and I can’t seem to do a thing about it. A nightmare you don’t wake up from. If I’d known this when William was little…………………what would I have thought? My sunny, handsome, clever little boy who loved people and was so sociable. Drug addiction was what happened to poor, uneducated people, who knew no better, not to people from caring families with everything to live for. Oh god, help me here.  But things have changed now, there is skunk in schools and it’s accepted as part of the youth culture. Some come unstuck though, like Will, as he heads towards psychosis yet remains unconvinced of cannabis’ dangers, confused because ‘everyone’ is doing it, the government have virtually decriminalised it, not everyone gets ill, and it’s just a bit of puff that you can stop doing any time.

I remembered Jake as having looked stoned every time I’d seen him, which was some time ago now. This was another reason I didn’t believe Will was working – how could he be if he was staying at a friend’s and effectively homeless? Logistically that was impossible. He couldn’t get to one hour a week at college, when he was living with us or with his grandma, when everything was organised for him. This was all a fiction, but he did sound convincing, and I told myself again that paying us back for money and belongings he has stolen is a good way for him to begin to put things right, now he had money. (Will had inherited four thousand pounds last month, from his grandparents.)

Our action group had met that week, and arriving home afterwards Jack told me that William had rung to say that he was moving into a new flat the next day, and needed to give me both money and necklace. Kicking off my shoes in the hall-way, as Jack’s disembodied voice  told me this from upstairs, I headed into the kitchen, making my way to the kettle via an excited Lily, who is always so glad to see me.  She is now seven months old, and gorgeous. I remember years ago asking a friend who had just bought a small, white, fluffy dog how she was getting on with him, and she said that now her children were teenagers, and sometimes grumpy when they come home, how nice it was to be greeted enthusiastically by her dog every time.  Now I know what she means.

William rang soon after, as I was hugging a tea cup in the hallway and throwing a ball for Lily to bound and slide after. I arranged to meet him in a couple of days time. He wanted to give me what he had, so let’s do that I said. If Guy or Jack are around, I told him, they will come along too, otherwise it will be just me. As it turned out, Guy was out of London that day, and Jack said that he didn’t want to come after last time. So, feeling happy at the thought of seeing William again, I quickly made a meal for Alex and Jack, and went upstairs to get changed. William was in my thoughts, I was wondering how he was and how the meeting would go, what I should expect, what I should say and not say (hang on, this is my son I’m meeting not some stranger – really?). The phone rang, I heard Jack answer. It was William wanting to talk to me.

‘I’m still in Victoria. I won’t be able to get there by seven, won’t be there for another hour or so. And I don’t have the cheque or the necklace. They’re at Jake’s, and no one’s going to be there until later. They’re all out and won’t be back for ages. Do you want to cancel, then?’

‘No, I’m ready to come out.’  I said, quietly.

‘What’s the matter, you sound strange. Have you been crying? – are you mad with me because if you are I’d rather not meet, I can’t stand another argument.’

‘What? I’m fine, I’d planned to come out, so let’s meet. I can take you back to where you’re staying afterwards and we can pick up the stuff there’, I said, with no hint of sarcasm.

This all seemed straightforward, although I know what Guy would have said. But Guy wasn’t here, and I was in the mood for a large glass of red wine in Café Rouge, it was raining outside and it would be cosy in there.

‘Well, that might not be till very late, they’re out celebrating a birthday, and won’t be back till around 10.30 or so.’

‘That’s fine, it doesn’t matter we can do that.  I’m okay with that’.

‘Fine, well I’ll pay for the meal, how’s that?’

Oh, an improvement on last time, maybe we are getting through after all. But, I wasn’t going to see either a necklace or a cheque tonight, and knew that I should have postponed the meeting, but I didn’t.

Guy and I had been to have another counselling session with Jana the previous week. We talked about our lives without William, what we might expect, what we might do to help ourselves and, by extension, him. Jana had been saying for some time that William will continue with ‘hysterical’ behaviour, as she put it, because it serves his needs of making sure he can draw us in (or, rather, me). By hysterical she meant whipping up some emotional situation that requires a response from us. He will need to be in control, she said, that will be important to him, so that he can feel he retains power in the relationship. She told us that often addicts operate from the polarities of victim or aggressor. We both recognised that pattern in William.

‘But, won’t he get bored of doing this eventually? Why would anyone want to keep repeating the same behaviour, when it doesn’t go anywhere? I don’t understand what he gets out of it.’ I asked.

Jana explained that he won’t get bored. We can help him by not getting drawn into the ‘games’ that he tries to play, which are most successful with me.  As long as he’s getting a reaction, that’s feeding him.

‘There will be situations that he will create so he can pull you back into his life, so he knows he has you there. I don’t think he’s ready to make any big changes in his life at the moment, it’s long-term with him. Sometimes addicts will see a friend die, or get very ill from drugs, and maybe then they will seek a change, but sometimes not even then. We don’t know what it will be with William, what will make him look to change. With change, people are either in such pain that they have to move or they are attracted by such an exciting, bright, different position that they move towards it and make the change that way. It’s either one or the two, and we don’t know at the moment what it is that will make William move from the position he’s in. People talk about rock-bottom, but that’s different for everyone.’

So, I had been warned about the potential games that William will continue to play with me, yet here I was agreeing to meet him. He had sounded as if he really wanted to off-load the money and jewellery, and yet here we were weeks on and he still doesn’t have either. Never mind, I wanted to see him, and began to feel a surge of something like excitement at seeing him again.

He was late arriving. I had already ordered my glass of red wine and was trying to find something on the menu I could eat. Why are there never enough vegetarian options? I refuse to have yet another ubiquitous goat’s cheese salad with caramelised onions. Guess I’m lucky there is anything at all: friends of our have recently opened a new restaurant in London, and are almost proud that there are no veggie options on the menu at all. Hmm, curious.

William looked pale with grey shadows under his eyes, but his hair was clean and freshly cut (he finally went for the much talked about hair-cut after all it would appear). His clothes looked grubby though and smelt of smoke. I had brought a bag of clothes he’d been talking about, that were still at our house, they had been washed and ironed. He seemed pleased and smiled as he sat down heavily opposite me. I was irritated when he said he didn’t want to eat anything.  I must have looked disappointed, because he then grudgingly ordered two starters. We talked, but there was no depth. Most of what he said, I knew was not the truth. He was still working, had been doing so today, and was knackered. I began to sense he was uncomfortable, he was looking away from me most of the time.  I always feel I want to talk either about what he’s doing, but the replies never sounds like the truth, or about his future plans, which are always the same but never move from the thoughts stage. He said he wasn’t doing any cannabis. I thought this unlikely as Jake was a cannabis friend, and said so: he was the one he’d been with when they were both arrested.

‘Yeah, well how do you know? He used to do weed but not anymore.’

‘So, his parents are okay with you staying there?’

‘Yes, they love me.’

Right. I said I’d take him back there and we’d get the things, as we’d agreed. He got up then saying that he didn’t know where he was staying that night, and didn’t want to go back to Jake’s because they might be getting fed up with him. Picking up the bag I had brought, he walked out of the restaurant. My first raging thoughts were about the bill. He has thousands in the bank now and I’m yet again picking up the bill, still not honouring his promises.

I ordered coffee and the bill, and sat there wanting to scream.  I’d brought along the book I was in the middle of, and read a page to calm myself a little, then paid and left the restaurant.

As I was walking back to my car ,which I’d parked by the church at the top of the village, I saw William coming down the hill, smiling at a piece of paper or card that he was holding. It looked like he had just checked into the Lucas Hotel, and he was holding a key card.

He saw me and called out ‘Sorry’ and crossed over the road towards me.

I started shouting.

‘You walk out leaving me in the middle of a restaurant by myself. You said you’d pay the bill, and you don’t – what sort of person have you turned into? Just stay away from me. I can’t do this anymore!’

‘I’ll pay then’, he said putting his hand towards the pocket of his jeans.

‘Yeah, alright then, £25 is what I paid, that would be very nice. I haven’t got the other things you said you’d bring, but that would be a good start I suppose’ I said, really getting angry now. God, how did things get this bad, an old refrain but a familiar one.

‘Oh, but I need all my money’ he said.

‘Oh really? Well I can tell you, I’ve had enough of your silly games  – I want you out of my life!! Why don’t you just fuck off!!’

I turned to cross the road, and an oncoming car stopped with screeching brakes just in time for me not to go under its wheels.

(Okay, just take your time, there’s no need to get yourself killed.)

I waited for a gap in the traffic and headed across the other side, not looking back. The rain was really coming down now, just to reflect my mood. As I drove off too fast, I saw Will coming back up the other way as if he was coming to find me. He looked solemn.

I didn’t start crying until I got home. Guy had already gone to bed, which I took to be another strand of the abandonment tapestry that was being woven around me that night.

My phone started to ring. It was Will again.

‘Look I’m sorry about tonight, I’ll post the necklace through the door.’

‘Don’t bother, I don’t want to hear from you again. I used to care but things have changed’ I shouted, and flapped the phone shut. That last line was the title of a Bob Dylan song that Guy and I like, and both feel it describes how we feel about our son these days.

Jack came down from upstairs and asked me if I was okay and how was it with Will? I’d gone into the sitting room, after cuddling and playing with Lily for a while. Jack sat down next to me looking concerned.

‘Oh, you won’t believe it, Jack. I’m really worried this time, though, that he’s becoming irrational. Why meet me tonight, just to upset me? He had no intention I don’t think of honouring his promises to give me a necklace. He told me it was turquoise, details about it. I don’t think it exists.’

Will texted then to say that he would drop off the necklace and that he loved me.

I texted him back to say that my son had died a long time ago, to be replaced by a weed, and that he should now leave me to mourn in peace. A bit dramatic, maybe, but it helped me to put that in writing to him, because I need to remember that this stranger may look like my son, but acts nothing like him. He has changed dramatically through addiction, whether he will ever be as I remember I don’t know.

© Debra Bell 2007