“Go on then, take 10 minutes but…” No sooner had Chelsea heard these words from her supervisor, she was power walking out of the ward and down the corridor towards the staff room. 62 days and 6 hours (not that she was counting of course) into her career as a fully qualified intensive care nurse, 22-year old Chelsea still harboured doubts about whether she was cut out for it. The first year of university had been a whirlwind, an intense mixture of lectures, one night stands and parties. Tiring yes, but still firmly in the dreamy unreality of the student bubble. Even when she started her work placements in second and third year, Chelsea still felt confident in her career choice. The novelty of the role, adrenaline of the long days learning on the job and thought of saving people’s lives kept her going.
But now she just felt a strange flatness, a sense of anticlimax. She had achieved everything she had set out to and here she was, saving lives on the front line. Yet all she could think about was the punishing routine of 12 hour shifts stretching ahead of her until retirement, like an endlessly treacherous mountain road.
“At least…”, she pondered as she stepped through the threshold into the staff room, “… it’s time for a smoke”. The smoky haze of the staff room greeted her like an old friend giving her a warm hug as she stepped past the illuminated sign proclaiming ‘SMOKING PERMITTED BEYOND THIS POINT. Who was she to argue?
An ancient TV, stuck permanently on the News Channel, droned away in the corner of the room about a war in a far off land. Shafts of sunlight from narrow dirty windows penetrated the room, and highlighted the drifting, creamy smoke that filled the air. Magazines and medical notes cluttered several tables surrounded by 15 mix-and-match chairs, from a once grand armchair to a pathetically uncomfortable metal fold up seat, filled with staff from the lowliest cleaner to the most senior of surgeons. The hubbub of small talk filled the room like white noise, punctuated occasionally by smartphone notifications and the hiss of the kettle. Three enormous overflowing ashtrays, released their incense on to the brown- stained ceiling.
Chelsea surveyed the room but only recognised one person, her friend Victoria from the lab, hiding in the corner playing a game on her phone. Chelsea waved enthusiastically and Victoria flashed her usual brief shy, smile and awkward wave back at her. The two were the closest of friends, having met at university, but the sheer contrast between them was almost comical, Chelsea’s dyed, straight jet black hair vs Victoria’s messy ginger tangled nest. Elaborate painted face and red lipstick vs pale ghostliness. Chelsea had deliberately chosen scrubs a size too small to accentuate her curvy figure. Victoria had gone the other way, her oversized lab coat intended for function only, hanging off her thin skeletal frame.
Chelsea mouthed “I’ll be over in a sec” to Victoria across the room. Chelsea had learnt to accept Victoria’s bemusing decision not to become a smoker and avoided lighting up near her, but didn’t claim to understand it. She felt sorry for her really, the non-smoking staff room had been re-purposed as storage space due to lack of demand and Victoria now had nowhere else to go.
Chelsea reached into the storage cupboard and pulled out a silvery green pack of Sterling Dual from the open carton. The sponsorship of the NHS by Japan Tobacco Inc. was quite the perk, and had proved an easy vote winner for the Government. Chelsea scoffed at the half hearted warning label on one side of the pack; “Please be aware that nicotine may have addictive properties”, a reluctant concession to a noisy minority of scientists who doubted the safety of tobacco.
Chelsea was a relatively light smoker at only two packs a day, a necessity of her job where she barely had a spare moment to herself. At times she could hear Sterling’s jingle in her head, taunting her; ‘smoke sixty cigs a day, and feel those stresses fly away’.
She wasn’t about to waste this opportunity though, animalistically ripping open the pack and aggressively inserting the all white cigarette into her mouth, her lipstick immediately staining the filter red. Her hands were shaking at this point, her withdrawal symptoms had crept up on her and were close to being unbearable. Her finger lunged at her lighter so aggressively that she ripped the skin of her thumb but still couldn’t get her cigarette lit. She tried again, even more desperately this time. Her lungs were singing to her of their need for smoke, like sirens luring sailors to the rocks. Cigarette now successfully lit, Chelsea greedily inhaled and gulped down a generous portion of delicious smoke, barely taking a breath in before taking the next inhale. And again, and again. A trail of ash an inch long formed at the end of her cigarette, little pieces occasionally dropping down and staining her work uniform. But Chelsea didn’t care.
The cigarette was finished but she wasn’t satisfied. Just as she fished around the pack for another, her work phone buzzed with a text from her supervisor wondering where she was. In that moment of desperation and frustration, eyes darting between the pack and her phone, Chelsea had a moment of clarity. She realised she had a decision to make – stay in good standing with her supervisor in her dream career or choose a short term fleeting hedonistic pleasure. Naturally, she chose the latter.
Part 2
“Eughhh” Kaylee groaned as the blissful shield of sleep starting to collapse and reveal the brutal reality of a hangover hiding beneath it. Her voice was dry and cracked, she could barely move and her still worn-black minidress was ripped along her thigh. A half-eaten kebab lay sadly by the side of her bed. “I’m never drinking again” she said to herself, just as she spotted the discarded jumper of her
‘friend with benefits’ Liam, who had clearly made his escape in the small hours of the morning. She instinctively picked up her phone. Cracked screen. “Great”.
She had only been 18 for a week but was already well acquainted with the party lifestyle. It was her freedom, her indulgent escape from her directionless existence.
Her resentful thoughts turned to her ‘perfect’ sister Chelsea, now 22 and working as a nurse. When Chelsea was 18, she had just received her A Level results and was excitedly preparing for her gap year in Cambodia, ahead of beginning her degree the following year. Kaylee was the disappointment of the two siblings, she knew it, and Chelsea’s success overshadowed her own minor achievements in the Hughes household, despite Chelsea having moved out several years ago. Kaylee surveyed herself in the mirror, her bleach blonde hair, her dislodged fake eyelash, skinny figure and fading makeup. The morning after look, a sorry sight.
Kaylee eventually made it downstairs after a painfully sluggish getting-up routine that made a congested motorway at rush hour look like a race track. She staggered through to the kitchen like a wounded animal. The cry of “SURPRISE!!!!” from her Dad, Mum, and Chelsea took Kaylee through a roller coaster of emotions from shock, to bemusement, to annoyance and eventually settling on a lingering sadness that simply grabbing a bite to eat and returning to the safe haven of her bedroom was no longer an option.
Kaylee made a unconvincing attempt at a smile as she surveyed the scene through bleary eyes. A limp and wrinkled helium balloon decorated with the number 18 was suspended behind a kitchen Chair, a tell tale sign of rearranged plans. Her family had originally planned this celebration for Wednesday evening of the previous week, after work, but had to hastily rearrange it when Chelsea took on an extra shift at the hospital. Even on Kaylee’s own birthday, Chelsea found a way to upstage her sister. Re-used bunting was strung from the ceiling, a cake sat in the middle of the table, alongside a small haul of wrapped presents.
“Happy birthday sweetie” said her Mum as they kissed each other on the cheek and Kaylee took her place at the table. “Many happy returns darling” said her Dad, squeezing her cheek affectionately. Chelsea’s silence was deafening although she eventually murmured something unintelligible following a nudge from her Mum.
These three members of the family proudly held cigarettes in their hands and smoked enthusiastically all throughout breakfast. Three open packs sat on the table, Marlboro Reds for Dad, and Sterling Dual for Chelsea and Mum. Kaylee
couldn’t stomach one just yet, although her cravings were growing. An ornate, glass ashtray took pride of place in every room of the Hughes household.
Keen to accelerate the passage back to her bed, Kaylee summoned up all the enthusiasm she could muster and said “I can’t wait to see what you’ve got me”. “Go on then” said Dad. Kaylee ripped open the wrapping on the first parcel and rolled her eyes internally when they revealed yet another layer of packaging. Frustratedly ripping off this final layer, Kaylee was greeted by the sight of two brand new cartons of Berkeley Menthol Superkings, each containing 10 packs, 200 cigarettes. “Ah of course”, Kaylee thought to herself. “It’s a family tradition after all”.
“Just think sweetie, you’re a woman now and can light up whenever and wherever you like” said Mum in a deep croaky voice befitting a veteran chainsmoker. Kaylee couldn’t hide a tinge of genuine excitement at hearing these words. Naturally, she was already well acquainted with the art of cigarette smoking, the dangles, the pose, the snap inhales but the thought of being able to do so openly for the first time was quite the thrill. Almost forgetting her hangover, Kaylee had an long, elegant all white cigarette dangling from her lips in no time. She smoked hands free for 30 seconds at a time, inhaling and exhaling hungrily, the cigarette rising and falling as she talked like the nose of Concorde. Occasionally she would take a particularly large drag, pull the cigarette from her lips and position it above her shoulder like a film star of old, and eventually exhale what little remained or the smoke after 10 seconds of absorption. She was a natural. Within two minutes the cigarette was finished and Kaylee was reaching for another.
“Now, a few things to remember” said Mum, in a tone that was both serious and reassuring, as she put her hand out to stop Kaylee reaching for her second cigarette. “Now that you can smoke around the house, it may be tempting to try to match me but I’ve had years of practice. Your body won’t be used to it yet, you need to build up to it over time. But don’t worry too much if you cough or feel lightheaded, that’s a sign that your are getting used to it. Eventually when you get to my age…”, she laughed ”…it feels weird when I’m NOT smoking. We don’t want to pressure you so we thought we’d start you with a carton a week”. With that, she allowed Kaylee to eagerly grab her next moreish cigarette.
Kaylee was already an accomplished smoker and she knew this was her time to shine. Her sister, merely a 40 a day smoker due to her busy job, could only look on with envy as Kaylee chained her way through the rest of the pack over breakfast as per parents looked on proudly. Mum was sure to document everything on social
media, uploading pictures of Kaylee with a cigarette in her hand, the empty packet and the full ashtray as evidence of her daughter’s accomplishment:
‘Happy birthday to my beautiful daughter Kaylee, can’t believe she’s a woman now, how time flies. She’s smoked a whole pack of ciggies this morning, couldn’t be
prouder, she looks so ladylike ❤ ” # $ #daughter #proudmum #birthday #smoking .
For the first time in her life, Kaylee felt like she had truly earned her parent’s respect. To be a beautiful chainsmoking woman was truly her destiny. She didn’t yet know how to make a career out of it but in this moment it didn’t matter. She was brimming with ambition and had found her purpose.
Part 3
Gemma was in trouble, serious trouble. Her foot tapped nervously in the waiting room of the Managing Director’s office . Her face, normally light brown from years of sun bed exposure, was as white as sheet. Her black eyeshadow had meandered down her face like a wandering river, her eyes now finally dry after much consoling from the kind receptionist. Her life flashed before her eyes, thinking of her husband and two daughters and how they would react. How could she have been so stupid?
The phone let out a shrill, ear piercingly loud ring with all the subtlety of an air raid siren. Following the receptionists predictable “you can go through now”, Gemma moved slowly to her feet and plodder towards the half open door, like a convict awaiting the hangman’s noose. She knew the call was for her.
“Sit down please” said the MD, a stocky man in his mid 40s with a loud pinstripe suit and pink shirt, a fat cigar drooping from his lips. The very definition of power dressing. His fat fingers clumsily bashed out a few words on a keyboard as Gemma sat as instructed, her shoulders drooping and eyes glued to the floor. In normal circumstances, it would have been customary for Gemma to be offered a cigarette at this point, and dear god did she need one, but no such offer came. It would have been highly inappropriate given the circumstances.
“So, what happened and why the HELL do you think you have a place at this company after this”, the MDs tone become increasingly angry as the sentence progressed.
Gemma gloomily recounted the incident as the MD puffed on his cigar and gave her a laser sharp piercing gaze. Through occasional hacking coughs and ugly tears, she recalled her errand to take a spare laptop to the driver’s reception on the other side of the depot. She usually worked in the main office on administrative work and barely stepped foot onto the wider site with its endless rules of high viz jackets, hardhats and most pertinently…..
No Smoking. A rare rule indeed.
The conversation with the lorry driver, had seemed so natural at the time as he managed the process of filling up his tanker trailer with Hydrogen gas. His cheeky woof whistle had proved irresistible to 47-year old Gemma, she had always liked a bad boy despite being married for 20 years now. What else was she to do but reach for a Sterling Dual cigarette from her purse, a vital prop for her seductive flirty persona. After her, who didn’t immediately light up a cigarette when talking to a stranger, it was the most natural thing in the world. She was so distracted by her little routine that she barely heard the driver say “no wait, you can’t….” before a dramatic fireball had formed in thin air, forming a barrier between them of biblical scope. This in turn lit a line of petrol that had been left on the tarmac, the flames rushing hungrily towards the underside of the tanker. The two could only look on hopelessly for the fuel to end it’s suicide mission, the flames lept under the truck and….
Nothing. Worried they were tempting fate, the pair stared in silence for a further 10 seconds. Still nothing. The relief started to seep through their panicked bodies although this was short lived. This may have been no Hindenburg disaster but there were several witnesses to the their unforgivable prioritisation of flirting over site safety. The driver, perhaps unfairly, was fired on the spot and Gemma nearly received the same treatment until the MD intervened. Secretly, you see, she had always been a favourite of his.
An ominous silence now filled the MD’s office . It must have only been 10 seconds but felt like a lifetime. However, what Mr Blake (his first name was Darren, but this was hardly the time for such informality), said next was expected. Very unexpected.
“So, you love smoking then?” “Um. What” stuttered Gemma.
“I said, you love smoking”. “I mean, I smoke…”
“No, I smoke. My wife smokes. Most of the office smokes. 95% of people in this country smoke”. You on the other hand, LOVE smoking.
“I don’t smoke all that much”.
“Don’t bullshit me, I’ve seen you. Every day you enter and leave this office with a cigarette between your lips. Your ashtray fills up three times as fast as anyone else’s, it’s nearly always overflowing with steaming cigarette butts. It’s a wonder you get any work done at all puffing away like that. The ceiling above your desk is dirty and stained. You may hide it, but I know you bring at leash three packs to work. Hell, I even saw you go into the toilet with a cig glued between your teeth. You’re an addict, you reek of cigarettes, your skin is cracked, your voice hoarse and deep…. But I kinda like it”. With that he beckoned Gemma to come closer.
Gemma new exactly what was going on, she could read men like a book and she could recognise this egocentric, almost cliched, power play from a mile away. And she loved every minute of it. She loved the powerlessness of her position, forced to choose between job and dignity, she was helpless and under his control and that thought made her wet under her tight pencil skirt. She hungrily grabbed two cigarettes from her purse, lighting both simultaneously, and eagerly climbed on top of the MD. His hard cock was already ready for action as he ripped Gemma’s skirt for easy access. They fucked only for 15 minutes, Gemma bouncing on top of the MDs cock, constantly blowing smoke all over the room. He returned the favour with a cigar, except the smoke landed straight in Gemma’s face. This wasn’t romantic, this was quick and dirty and he didn’t care whether she came or not. He beckoned her to get off him so he could unleash his load onto Gemma’s tight, mostly unbuttoned white blouse. Marking his territory.
“So”, he said laying back in his Chair when all was done. “Same time next week?”. Gemma couldn’t hide her excitement as she tried to be serious, her feelings betrayed by a naughty half-smile. “Yes Sir”.
Epilogue:
From this moment onwards, Gemma was consumed by smoke in a way she had never felt possible before. Every cigarette reminded her of the experience of the office, the most hedonistic and satisfying moment of her life. The link was established, in the absence of sex a cigarette would always be there waiting for her to fill the void. Yet unlike sex, she could smoke any time, any place and what’s more society begged her to keep doing it with the glitzy adverts, £1 packs and smoke filled public spaces. Her consumption rocked to 5 packs a day, the absence of a cigarette in hand felt utterly alien and wrong. Her new smoke-fuelled lease of life, inspired her 22 year old daughter Chelsea to reach the three pack a day milestone although it would be a while before she could compete with her mother. Her cough worsened, her voice grew croakier, although her doctor had no explanation, perhaps stress? “At least the smoking should help with that, he shrugged”.