Junkie Love by Phil Shoenfelt Page A

that if she went alone, she would go straight to her dealer’s house to score. I was determined not to let her sink back into daily use of heroin, that I would somehow prevent her from getting a full-blown habitagain. But I also knew how difficult it was, once your body has again had a taste of smack, to think of anything else. Each moment, you will be calculating how long you must wait before it is “safe” for you to take another shot, and once you are thinking this way you are, in truth, already addicted. We walked to the station in silence, and as we sat on the train back to London it seemed obvious to me that the honeymoon period of our relationship was over.
    • • •
     
    But Cissy had a talent for always bouncing back, and within three or four days she was over the chippy she had developed. She didn’t score again, and life continued in much the same way, a seemingly endless round of pubs, clubs, restaurants and parties. I was beginning to have problems holding down my job with this lifestyle, but the boss liked me, and as long as I wasn’t ridiculously late in the mornings, he turned a blind eye to my lack of punctuality.
    Jed, the biker, finally reappeared, and Cissy met up with him to explain the situation. Much to my surprise, he accepted that their relationship was now over, and instead of coming looking for me, as I’d half expected, he just took off again, keeping his feelings to himself and not flying into a violent rage.
    Cissy could be warm, direct and honest, often generous to a fault, and because of these qualities she always had a large circle of friends who would do anything for her. But she could also be underhand and devious, with a streak of greed in her that could lead to ill-considered business ventures and endeavours, and as the months passed I began to see more of this side of her. Just before Christmas, she spent all the money she had saved from the pub on a quarter ounce of cocaine. The idea was to sell half of it in small deals (first adding a little cut), make her money back and have a few grammes for personal use overthe holidays, so that she could spend time with Julia in Kensington without having to ponce off her, as she said. However, as soon as she had scored, she started to dip into the coke, and within four days almost half of it had gone. Instead of just stopping and selling the rest as she had originally intended, she took half of the remainder for herself, and cut the rest so badly that nobody would buy it. Then, depressed at this state of affairs, she finished off the remaining uncut two grammes in a vain attempt to cheer herself up. By the time Christmas came, she had no cocaine and no money, and was so down about the situation that she refused to go out and celebrate. Instead, she stayed in her room the whole time, reading magazines and sulking. All of this would have been laughable if it hadn’t been so tragic, and another big row followed.
    “I told you not to buy that shit — it’s always the same, gone before you know it, an’ it’s a total con anyway. I mean, if you wanna freeze your nose just buy some novocaine, for fuck’s sake!”
    “Oh, an’ you’re Mr. Perfect, I suppose, like you never make mistakes, or waste money on drugs. C’mon, you’re just as big a junkie as I am, so stop makin’ out you’re some kind of saint! Just take a look at yourself for a change!”
    We were walking back from the station, through one of the enclosed alleyways around King’s Cross, and so busy arguing that at first we didn’t notice the lone figure sat huddled on a darkened doorstep with his head between his knees. As we came closer, I saw that it was Jimmy, a junkie friend of Cissy’s who lived in a damp basement flat in one of the crumbling old tenement buildings further up the street. His shoulders were shaking and I could see that he was quietly sobbing, and Cissy immediately forgot about the argument and went over to him.
    “Jimmy, what’s the matter, what’s