Page 17 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
Taken a lot of time for me to realise there is no switch for your brain, not really.
Through all the therapy and rehab, I guess you could say I’m still chasing that feeling of turning my brain off but not in the form of drugs. I’m learning to live with it, block out the unwanted thoughts, and realise that no matter what I do or how hard I go looking for it, there will never be anything permanent other than death to turn my brain off.
“I know,” I swallow, facing the twins again. “It was fucking stupid and believe me when I say I have absolutely no intentions of going back there. You know, I’ve got therapy and shit now.”
“That’s good,” George nods. “And how are you finding it?”
Well, I mean, first of all I’m finding his interest in my sobriety rather confusing since he seems more proud then my own family and secondly, “Good, actually. I listen, I take on board what he says because I want the help—even back then when I said I didn’t want help, I did. Never wanted to end up how I did.”
“Yeah,” George says in a low voice, leans back. “Well, I’m proud of you, Arth—like, proper, yeah? We all are.”
“You’re brave,” Albie tells me. “We’re all proper proud of you.”
His words, they kind of hit me at full force. I don’t know how to react so I just give him a bit of an awkward smile. Has my mum ever told me she was proud of me? Maybe? Once? Not enough or in any way that I can remember, anyways.
But then again, what is she meant to be proud of?
Getting clean, coming back, my brain argues.
“Anyway,” I clear my throat. “Enough about me, what have you lot been up to?”
“Not a lot of sleeping, I can tell you that much,” George groans.
“Oh, prey tell,” Connie winks at me, leans forward.
He rolls his eyes. “Because of the baby, you dick.”
My eyes almost pop out of my head. “You had a baby?!”
All three of them start laughing.
I frown.
Was I meant to know or something? I mean, surely Connie would’ve told me.
“No, I didn’t have a baby,” George eventually says. “Lottie was pregnant in school, weren’t she?”
“Oh, shit, yeah.” I remember, thinking back to it but we never knew if it was for real or just another money hungry rumour. “So she had it then? Was it Charlie’s?”
“They’re best mates now,” Connie tells me.
“Fuck off,” I laugh. “No way, are you actually?” I press when George says nothing.
“He’s alright, not my best mate, though.”
“He practically lives here!” Connie jumps in. “You kicked me out so you could house his family!”
George folds his lips in, wobbles his head. “Not true.”
“So is fucking true!”
“I kicked you out of the hotel because you kept shagging the cleaning ladies! They didn’t have to do the turndown service anymore because you were the fucking turndown service—only thing they were cleaning were their mouths after you were done with them!”
“Oh my god,” Connie mutters, shaking his head. “That isn’t true!”
George opens his mouth, closes it.
“We had to start making our own beds,” Albie chimes in.
