‘Trauma Central feels comfortable when our lives are shitshows or when we recreate past relationships with drugs or alcohol or guys,’ Keera goes on. ‘So the intelligent bits of us are dialled down to almost nothing while Trauma Central makes all these senseless decisions.That,’ she finishes emphatically, ‘is what the wholeThe heart wants …schtick is about. Good on Instagram but not in life.’
India sighs gloomily. ‘It did sound too good to be true,’ she says. ‘You won’t say anything?’ asks India, feeling stupid, which she so often feels.
‘What’s said on location, stays on location, right?’ replies Keera.
‘Thank you,’ India says gratefully. ‘Do you think Rose gives out prizes at the end?’
‘We’re going to be happier and understand ourselves better,’ Keera says. ‘That’s the prize. She can be fairly brutal, though. I’d forgotten that. I didn’t expect it to be so hardcore so early.’
‘I know, right?’ agreed India. ‘Poor Dan. All that stuff about him doing everything for Julia in case she leaves him.’
‘That’s very on point in rehab world, I can tell you,’ Keera says with a hint of gloom. ‘On family day in rehab, it can be carnage.’ She shudders at the memory. Thepainin the room. Her mother hadn’t come. Very Bobbi.
India nods slowly.
‘There’s a lot of self-discovery,’ Keera continues. ‘If you can’t be honest with yourself, you might as well not bother being there.’
‘What were you in for?’ says India. She’d never normally ask twice but, now, it feels OK. She feels as if she and Keera have a bond.
‘Coke, prescription drugs and alcohol. Mainly the drugs. Xanax to lower anxiety during the day, lorazepam at night, Ritalin and dexies to bring me up. Sleeping tablets because I couldn’t sleep … all washed down with a cocktail or six. Coke, too. I loved coke. I’d be lying if I said it was easy. I have to feel my feelings now and that sucks,’ Keera says. ‘Reallysucks.’
She strings out the wordReally.
‘If I’m anxious, I have to stay anxious until it passes. No tablets, not even a tiny glass of wine. It’s tough.’
‘That sounds like hell,’ says India, ‘but the right thing if you needed it. My mother’s partner is in a band and he had a problem with drugs. Not any more, though.’
Now Magnús meditates and does Iron Man competitions. On the beach with her mum, he looked like a medical school’s illustration of the body’s main muscle groups with his tanned skin stretched painfully tightly over them all.
‘Not wishing to embarrass, but you are the singer from the kids’ channel, right? That’s a wig?’
Keera nods and puts a hand up to adjust it.
‘I should have dyed my hair instead. Wigs are very hot.’
‘You’ve black hair, right? We could dye it,’ says India helpfully. ‘That’s something I’m really good at. I bet we could get some quality hair dye around here. So many Greek women have black hair, so I bet the bleach is stupendously strong. With hair as black as yours, it needs to be strong.’
Keera peers around the beach to make doubly sure they’re the only ones there. Evidently everyone else in this part of Xanthe is sitting by a pool or having lunch.
She pulls her blonde hair back in one swift move and India gasps.
Keera’s perfectly shaped head is shaved down to the skin, only a bare millimetre of dark stubble covers her skull.
‘Whoa,’ says India. ‘It looks fabulous, have to say it.’
Keera shrieks with laughter.
‘I love it too!’ she says, rubbing her almost-bald head.
‘Can I feel?’
Keera bends her head and India touches the exquisite skull with its covering of soft fuzz.
‘It’s gorgeous!’
‘Feels freeing,’ Keera shrugs. ‘I buzz cut it every few days. Of course, I know my mom will hate it!’
She instantly wishes she hadn’t said that. She can’t talk about her mother yet. Not even with India, who feels like a kindred spirit.
