‘So, it is true, isn’t it?’ Josephine asked with infinite compassion. ‘Neil did all those things you said on the questionnaire?’

‘Yes.’ The word came out as a wail.

‘I quite agree,’ said Josephine. ‘And I have police and hospital reports here to back it all up.’

She turned to Neil. ‘Perhaps you’d like to have a look at them, Neil?’ she said pleasantly. ‘Maybe you’d like to refresh your memory about what you did to your wife and children.’

My head snapped from Emer to Neil while I tried to figure out who was telling the truth. I was no longer so sure it was Neil. If Josephine said she had police reports, then it probably was true.

Neil was on his feet, swaying around like someone with mad cow disease. ‘Look at her,’ he shouted and slurred. ‘You’d hit her too, married to a stupid bitch like that.’

‘Sit. Down. Neil.’ Josephine was like a blade of steel. ‘And how dare you use language like that in my presence.’

He wavered. Then he sat down heavily.

Josephine turned to Neil. ‘Why did you hit your wife?’

‘It wasn’t my fault,’ he shouted. ‘I was drunk.’

Then he looked stunned at what he’d said, as if he hadn’t meant to say it.

‘When you were admitted here,’ Josephine rustled another piece of paper, ‘you told Dr Billings you drank an average of four pints a week…’

We all jumped as a strange noise came from Emer. A shocked snort.

‘It has become clear today that you drank much more than that. Tell the group about it, please.’

‘That’s all I drank,’ Neil swaggered. ‘Four pints.’

Josephine looked steadily at Neil with a don’t-push-your-luck expression.

‘Maybe a bit more,’ he mumbled hastily.

Josephine said nothing, just kept giving him that look.

‘All right, all right,’ Neil said resentfully. And in mumbly fits and starts, he told us how he drank four pints a night, then in response to Josephine’s scorn said it was a bottle of vodka a week, then eventually admitted it was half a bottle of vodka a day.

‘A whole one,’ interrupted Emer, a lot braver now, ‘a litre bottle. And wine and beer and whatever cocaine he could get his hands on.’

Cocaine, I thought in shock. Him? To look at him you’d think he wouldn’t even know what cocaine was. I must ask him where you could buy it in Dublin.

‘OK, Neil,’ said Josephine, with the patience of a woman who had done this sort of thing many times before, ‘let’s start again. Tell the group how much you really drink.’

Reluctantly Neil reiterated what Emer had just said.

‘Thank you, Neil,’ said Josephine. ‘Now will you please tell the group how much you really drink.’

‘But I just…’

‘Not at all.’ Josephine smiled. ‘You’ve only told us about the drinking Emer knows about. What about the bottles you keep in your car, the drink you have in your office?’

Neil stared at her, with a what-do-you-want?-blood? expression.

His eyes were sunk in his head and he looked exhausted.

‘Because your business partner is coming in on Friday and he’ll tell us then,’ she said nicely. ‘And,’ she added, ‘your girlfriend is coming later this week.’

Shortly afterwards group ended. Josephine said to Neil ‘Stay with the feelings’, whatever that meant. Then she and one of the nurses took Emer away. The inmates and I were left in the Abbot’s Quarter, looking uncomfortably at each other. Chaquie and Clarence disappeared, muttering something about laying the table.

Neil sat with his head resting on the arm of his chair. He looked up, straight at me, with a beseeching expression on his face. I threw him a glare of scorn and disgust and turned away.

‘Are you all right, Neil?’ I was astonished to hear Vincent ask him.

Fuck Neil, I thought in a rage. Fuck Neil the piss-head, the wife-beater, the liar. I thought back to how he had tried to manipulate me into thinking that his wife was mad and that Josephine was a brainwasher and that he was such a nice guy.

At Vincent’s question, Neil proceeded to have a hairy fit. He thumped the arm of his chair and started to bawl. But it was tears of rage, not tears of shame. ‘I can’t believe what that bitch wife of mine just did! I just can’t believe it!’ he screamed, tears pouring down his contorted face. ‘What the fuck did she have to say all those things for? Why? Oh, Jesus Christ, WHY?’

‘Come on for a cup of tea,’ Mike suggested gently.

‘She’s making it up, you know, the fucking bitch,’ Neil insisted. ‘And to see her sitting there,’ he gestured wildly at the chair that Emer had just vacated, ‘looking like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, well, I’m telling you that that woman has made my life hell for the past fourteen years. But it’s always me, Neil did this, Neil did that…’

He became more and more incoherent. I threw my eyes to heaven while Mike, Vincent and Misty, of all people, made soothing noises. Even John Joe hovered awkwardly, looking as if he’d like to say something nice, if only he knew the words.

‘What’s happened to my life?’ Neil demanded. ‘Why has it all gone so wrong? And how did she know about Mandy? Can you believe she’s had the nerve to meet up with her? I bet they talked about me, the pair of bitches.’

‘Come on to the dining-room,’ Mike suggested again. I didn’t know why everyone was being so nice to Neil.

‘I can’t,’ Neil muttered. ‘I can’t face anyone.’

‘Yes, you can,’ urged Mike gently. ‘You’re among friends.’

‘Sure, it’s happened to us all,’ said Vincent, in a strange, unaggressive way. ‘And we hated it too.’

‘Yeah.’ Misty giggled in a sweet way at Neil. ‘It’s par for the fucking course in here.’

Not my fucking course, I thought grimly.

‘And it was good for us, it worked. Look at how well and normal we are now.’ Misty gestured at herself, Vincent and Mike. (She swept her arm almost as far as John Joe, then hesitated and let it drop.) All of them burst out laughing, even Neil, between his sniffles.

I was baffled.

‘Seriously,’ said Mike, ‘you’ll look back at this day and you’ll be glad. That’s what someone told me the day my wife made shit of me in here. That having to face the truth was the start of my recovery.’