Angela Marsons - The Forgotten Woman: A gripping, emotional rollercoaster read you’ll devour in one sitting

C ome on , girl, you can do this, Kit chanted to herself as she attempted a shortcut around a backstreet to escape an icy wind. Theres nothing to it, she told herself, Ill stand up, say my bit and thatll be it.

She felt no better and realised that a pep talk worked better if it included more than one person. Her jumping nerves were not soothed by the fact that she was not going to make her first meeting on time.

The shortcut led her to an alley where lurking fire escapes jumped out at her from the darkness. She was forced to retrace her steps to the main road. Great, that little caper had made her even later.

She pressed the button on a pedestrian crossing harshly, waiting for the red man to turn green. He wasnt quick enough so she darted across the road anyway. She was narrowly missed by a silver BMW that sped past, covering her back and legs in murky sludge left over from a brief snow storm.

Bloody idiot! she screamed, raising her middle finger. She chose to ignore the fact that she shouldnt have crossed.

The patchwork leather jacket prevented the cold water from seeping through into her T-shirt but the black canvas jeans absorbed it and clung damply to her legs. A furtive glance around told her that the embarrassment level was low: no one had seen.

The dark, open mouth of an underground passage loomed ahead. It didnt frighten her nearly as much as admitting her weaknesses to a group of fellow drinkers who would now think her incontinent as well. I know, she decided, I wont go. Ill walk around until the meeting has finished, go back to the hostel and tell Mark Im cured. The thought appealed to her for little more than a second, until she realised that her action would mean that she was running away and lying to Mark. Her thoughts changed pace. Why the hell should it matter that hed smile with understanding while trying to hide his disappointment? Why should she care that his earlier pride and encouragement had been a waste of time? He was nothing to her. It was his job anyway he got paid to irritate her. The aggression faded as quickly as it had appeared. It did matter.

It wasnt exactly where shed imagined herself at twenty-three; wading through used condoms and syringes in a subway, on her way to meet a group of strangers to bare her soul. There was just one problem; shed sold it years ago to the devil himself.

The odour of stale urine invaded her nostrils as three youths came forward out of the darkness with cans of beer and lecherous expressions. Kit tensed slightly as she passed them. The crude catcalls started as shed expected. They were unoriginal and nothing she hadnt heard before.

Hello, darlin, come and put your mouth round this! shouted a receding voice behind her.

If hed been talking about the can of lager she might have considered it.

Fire your bloody scriptwriter, you ignorant tosser! she called back before picking up a speed that she maintained until she reached the safety of the street.

She shuddered with relief. At last a bit of life, a few crowds. Figures scurried hunched with heads down as protection against a wind that could freeze spit. Even at five minutes to seven the city centre was still buzzing with people leaving work.

A brightly lit wine bar mocked her from across the street. She closed down all of her senses; taste, smell, sight, she could even hear the brandy calling. She groaned audibly as she passed by with her head bent low.

Fifty yards before the entrance to the meeting place Kit spied a silver BMW parked beneath a street lamp. It looked suspiciously like the one that had almost reduced her to roadkill. A tiny red light flashed on the dashboard, which luckily she noticed just as she raised her foot in the direction of the drivers door. She peered inside, wondering what it was like to be in the front of one of those cars. Shed spent plenty of time in the back doing her job.

She took a deep breath before entering the building. The steep staircase, barely covered with a loose-fitting, threadbare carpet, did nothing to calm her churning stomach. She entered the smallest room on the top floor. The meeting had already begun and her attempt to join the sombre circle quietly was ruined by a loud screech as she pulled out a chair that had rubber missing from two legs.

Oh well, no chance of being teachers pet now, she thought, sitting down as quietly as she could, just as the man beside her stood up.

My name is Kevin and Ive been sober for seven months. Claps and cheers filled the room.

My name is George and Ive been sober for twelve months. Enthusiastic claps, cheers and a lone whistle bounced back off the plasterboard walls.

This cannot be real, Kit grimaced as they worked around the ten people there. There were men in suits, men in casuals and suit men dressed in casuals. This has to be a low-budget movie, she thought as she realised it was her turn.

She stood abruptly. My name is Kit and Ive been sober for she paused and checked her watch about thirty-five minutes.

An unappreciative audience remained silent. Okay, okay, Im sorry, she apologised.

Sit down, Kit, Jack said, shaking his head. Kit sat and stopped listening. She hoped the humiliation was in her mind only.

Her long legs stretched lazily before her, crossed at the ankles in a position of forced nonchalance, bare arms folded across her breasts. The warm palms of her hands achieved little as they moved quickly over areas of goosebumps rising from her skin. Her body gave an involuntary shiver as a breeze of icy February air found its way through the wooden window frame and brushed past her bare neck. She wondered idly if she would receive another chastising glance from the group co-ordinator if she retrieved her jacket from the back of her chair to protect her from a room as warm as an Eskimos attic. Nope, she was in enough trouble already.

When the pinstriped suit beside her clapped, she copied, throwing an occasional well done in for good measure. Next came a cake complete with candles. Ooh, its a birthday party. Yippee, jelly and ice cream all round, Kit cringed, until she realised it was for a middle-aged man with a ruddy expression whod abstained for a year. Yeah, so what, she wondered, fighting back the envy. Dry for a year, if only.

She glanced at the redheaded woman opposite who even to her untrained eye was clad from head to toe in designer labels. The cream Armani jacket sat ramrod straight without touching the back of the chair as though supported by wooden stakes. Wouldnt want to get that nice, expensive jacket dirty, would we, Kit thought. Cold eyes stared right over Kits head.

Her interest was piqued slightly as one man told how hed been a doctor for twenty years after drinking continuously since medical school. It hadnt affected his work until hed chosen to get help. Kit was surprised until she thought about it: alcohol had numbed the effects of her job too.

Okay, thats enough for now. Refreshments over there, Jack stated, motioning to an unvarnished table housing bottles of fruit juice and a stack of plastic cups. Kit didnt hesitate. Anxious to leave the orange plastic chair that had imprinted itself on her behind, she hated sitting for long periods. Her legs were long and demanded exercise.