‘It’s like this.’ he says. We’re sitting at a bar on a Sunday and the air is cloyed with tobacco smoke. ‘I’ve hit the wall. I’m checking in to rehab.’ His hands are shaking and he looks like a man who’s looked evil in the eye. ‘ I’ve fucked up. I’m telling my wife tonight.’

I’m hearing the words but the enormity is not sinking in. What does he mean he’s hit the wall? I let him continue, half thinking he’s over-reacting as he often does and that this is some kind of wind up.

‘You’re not going to say anything?’

‘What do you want me to say?’ I ask ‘How bad is it?’ I mean how bad can it be. This is a friend I’ve know for 10 years and one that always made me feel like I didn’t really have my shit together in the work world and my own marriage. We did a lot of recreational Coke and various other narcotics together but he seemed to be in control of his life more so than I ever was. ‘When?’

‘Next week, just as soon as I’ve let her know. And it’s bad.’

‘Quantify bad.’

‘All savings gone. Maxed out debt. Relationships trashed. 5 grams a day bad.’

We finish our beers and go our ways. I’m feel an unexpected rumbling of emotion, the main one being anger. How the fuck had it happened and why the fuck didn’t I know?’ I felt betrayed and bizarrely hurt. But it was what it was and those were selfish, churlish thoughts. I had no idea of the fall out coming. He was the first in the group to go at 39. Surely this shit happened in your twenties?’

Our group had all flirted with various vices and lifestyles and we each had our own and collective views on who might fall and need nursing back….mine had been totally wrong…and I’m sure the bets on me had been quite high at certain points in time…but I’d always felt there was too much at stake.

Most of us seem to be doing OK. Sure we have our low grade addictions / vices which we do battle with on occasion…but we’re winning, sort of…as much as you can win in these things.

Fast forward three or four months. He’s beginning to surface from tumbling in the deep conflicting and confronting waters of early stage rehab and we meet for a coffee (no beer this time) and I’m expecting to hear that he’s making amends and , realising the hurt he’s caused and all that healing type talk, and half expecting an apology, but instead…

‘I’m getting in with a real fox. She’s fun and loaded. 43.’

‘You’re banging someone?’

‘It’s just sex. She gets me. I feel wanted. She’s a fox. Why not?’

‘What’re you thinking?’ I find myself saying, knowing none of us is blemish free. His wife’s a friend and I’m mad. ‘You don’t think you should be doing everything possible to make good with your wife and kids instead of fucking some woman with issues? Kicking your wife while she’s down don’t you think?’

I break eye contact and shrug it off. feeling to push it harder would be pointless. We finish our coffees under strained conversation.

It just happens that I’m watching the Dexter series and the parallels are blinding. It certainly seems that rehab gives you greens.

It’s several weeks later and we happen to be a the same dinner party. We end up at one end of the table and he’s leaning in conspiratorially whispering about some other recovering addict milf that he’s fucking. It’s like he wants this wife to hear and I’m not interested in being implicated. This time my anger is battling with another emotion…it’s a tinge of jealousy. I don’t like what he’s become and I can’t relate.

‘I’m glad this happened’ he’s telling me. ‘I’ve got a new life now. I share at meetings and the chicks just open up. You should try it.’ He’s laughing.

Here’s a guy who’s fucked up royally, suddenly gaining this exciting, passionate secret life whilst his family and friends are picking up the pieces of what turns out to have been years of deceit. Is that what rehab’s about? Getting you to love yourself again to the point where the damage done is swept under the carpet? Because you’re not a bad person you just made mistakes? It’s not right and I’m pissed. My body language speaks and he gets my gist and the conversation moves to more mundane topics like sport and films…and I try to pick up chat with others around the table.

It’s 12 months now and the fall out seems complete. He’s stayed on the wagon and now goes on ‘golfing weekends’. We don’t speak about the women, but it’s clearly not over.

The good that’s come from this, for me, is my healthy appreciation for what I have and the full life I lead. Every day with my daughters is a gift. I’ve teetered on the brink but watching the hell unfold when you loose control to Coke opened up a window to one of my potential futures and I’ve slammed it shut. My low level but lively addiction has been pulled into focus.

Who knows how his life will pan out. I wish him well and hope that one day we can connect on the level that we once did. I hope his wife gets the life and support that she deserves and if she finds out about the extracurricular activity at band camp that she doesn’t freeze me out for not having the balls to tell her.