The lift doors closed in Paul’s face just in time for him to see the unknown man’s impassive look as he pressed the button. Bastard, he thought, then checked himself. The man probably hadn’t seen him. It was common for someone to be preoccupied with their own thoughts the first time they attended a meeting.
He pressed the call button a few times. As the illuminated numbers begin counting back to one, he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was the ginger-haired woman with the Belfast accent, who was always here. She rarely volunteered personal information but he could imagine how the stresses of growing up through The Troubles would have led her to end up here. He didn’t know her full name, of course; they only ever shared first names.
He responded with a slight smile, more an acknowledgment of her presence than a greeting.
‘Hello. It’s Noreen, isn’t it?’
In his job, it helped to be good with names.
‘I hate Christmas Eve,’ she said. ‘It’s always difficult at Christmas, isn’t it?’
If only she knew. The pressure at this time of year was almost too much to take. That was why he had begun coming to the meetings a few weeks earlier; the dread of another Christmas, of having to keep smiling, all the time tormented inside. He had been wrestling with it for years and finally, had realised he couldn’t handle it alone. He needed the support only these anonymous meetings could provide to someone like him.
The lift arrived. ‘It’s always hard,’ he said, as the doors opened with a low-pitched chime, like a church bell. ‘But yes. The pressure is greater at this time of year.’
He followed her into the meeting room. Like the main library downstairs, its normally bare walls were festooned with tinsel and baubles, but still couldn’t counteract its utilitarianism. A table to one side offered soft drinks and crisps in bowls – although Paul, along with several others, had brought his own drink from the nearby coffee chain – while a dozen or so plastic chairs were arranged in a circle in the middle of the room. An artificial tree, its decorations unlit, stood forlornly in one corner.
Most of the chairs were occupied and, as they entered, a few of the occupants nodded towards them. A painfully thin man stood to greet them.
‘Very nice to see you both again. Do find a seat,’ he said, waving his hand as though there were plenty of chairs to choose from. Paul chose one next to another newcomer, a brown-haired woman who looked to be in her early twenties, not that much younger than him. She glanced to one side and smiled as he sat. She had a lovely smile and bright, welcoming eyes. Another temptation to resist.
The thin man looked at his watch, then spoke.
‘Okay everyone, as it’s seven o’clock, let’s begin. My name is Jacob and I’d like to welcome you all to tonight’s meeting.’
They went around the circle, everyone introducing themselves with their first names only. Then Jacob turned to the newcomer who had arrived just before Paul.
‘Miles, as this is your first time, perhaps you’d like to share with us your journey, how you have come to be here tonight.’
Miles spoke hesitantly at first. It was a familiar story; growing up in a small community, where everything he did was observed and judged, with overbearing, devoutly religious parents; feeling the need for something to anaesthetise reality; and now accepting that he had to take back responsibility for how he lived his life.
Paul didn’t realise he was nodding throughout until Jacob called on him.
‘Paul, you seem as though you understand what Miles has been feeling. What advice would you offer him, based on your own experience?’
This was problematic. He had been so careful not to give anything away during the previous meetings. He had never contextualised the struggle that absorbed him every day and sapped almost every drop of his spirit. But, as he spoke, some of his confidence returned, aware that he could hold his listeners’ attention, as he always did.
‘There are times, in everyone’s life, when they feel the need for something to prop them up, to heal their pain, to numb their sorrows. Sometimes, even to make them feel as though life is worth living. The power to overcome those feelings, to make the most of our lives without that prop, is within us all.’
He turned towards Miles but was speaking to the room, unsure whether or not to give voice to what he had suddenly decided.
‘The hardest part is admitting it to those around you. These meetings have helped me to prepare for that. I’m not going to hide what I have become any longer.’
And then he talked, told them his life story, savouring their surprise, then sensing their overwhelming support.
As he finished, Jacob came over and shook his hand.
‘Thank you, Paul,’ he said. ‘That was truly inspiring.’
At the end of the meeting, as they stood to go, the brown-haired woman slipped him a piece of paper. ‘My phone and email,’ she said. ‘I’d love to talk about it all some more with you. Privately. Maybe we could help each other.’ He pocketed it with a smile. Surely there would be no harm in that. They could meet at a coffee shop. No temptation there.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’d like that, but I do have to rush.’
Back home, Paul threw his denim shirt into the washing basket and pulled on a plain white one. He would have to get through tomorrow without a meeting. Even Agnostics Anonymous took Christmas Day off. But now he felt the power within himself and knew what he had to do.
He slipped on his white cassock, then checked his appearance in the mirror. It was almost time for Midnight Mass. He would telephone the Bishop on Boxing Day.
Rob McIvor 