All That Happened At Number 26 by Denise Scott

Author:Denise Scott
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hardie Grant Books
Published: 2012-09-19T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 13

Giving up cigarettes

Sometimes, when my kids were little and gorgeous and happy and healthy and well-adjusted and John and I were getting on really well and we had our cosy house and ate good food and our extended families and friends were all going well and the unemployment rate was down and the economy was up, I would find myself lying in bed of a morning, thinking, ‘What’s the point? What’s the point of getting up?’ And then I would remember, ‘Of course, a cigarette.’ And immediately I had the will and the motivation to bounce out of bed and face a new day.

Of course, I gave up smoking about 23 kilograms ago now, but to this day there are times when I miss it because the truth is I loved smoking. I mean I LOVED it. I mean really LOVED it. Oh, this is when I gnash my teeth and lament that I’m not Tolstoy or Dostoyevsky or Nabokov, whose literary talents would have been up to the task of conveying the true depth, the intensity, the many layers of meaning to that word ‘love’ when it comes to describing my relationship with a Benson and Hedges 16 mg filter-tip smoke. I even loved the packaging, with its shiny gold surface, the stylish lettering and that flip-top lid.

I particularly loved the first cigarette of the day. I would get up early, make myself a strong coffee in the espresso pot and head outside to the backyard. And then I would light up and then I would inhale and then I would exhale and then I would feel happy. Yes, I would feel quite blissful – well, once I had stopped coughing I would feel blissful. Oh yes, I would cough, alright, because as well as being a smoker I am also an asthmatic. Have I already mentioned that? Either way, I never did like those two facts stated in the same sentence, especially by John who would occasionally attempt to say something like, ‘Your breathing’s bad today, Scotty. Do you think you should be smoking that cig …’

‘Don’t start, John, just don’t start. You don’t understand. This is the only thing I’ve got at the moment that is giving me any happiness, so please, I’m begging you, don’t start.’

Ah yes, that first ciggie in the morning. There I would be, standing in the backyard wearing cousin Gavin’s ugg boots and the threadbare terry-towelling dressing gown. I would have a cigarette in my left hand and a coffee in my right. As I smoked and sipped I would bask in the solitude and study the sky with its pale, early-morning light. I would observe the brightly coloured lorikeets that would be kicking up a storm in our orange flowering gumtree. (I assume the lorikeets still do this today but I wouldn’t know. Since giving up smoking I’ve stopped going outside and taking any interest in nature.) Back in those heady, carefree, nicotine-fuelled days, at some point in this morning

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