Here's Rachel Walsh. Twenty-seven and the miserable owner of size 8 feet. She has regular congress with Luke Costello, a man who wears his leather trousers tight. And she's fond – some might say too fond – of recreational drugs. Until everything goes pear-shaped and she finds herself being frog-marched to the Cloisters – Dublin's answer to the Betty Ford Clinic. She's outraged. Surely she's not thin enough to be an addict? But on the bright side, she's heard that rehab places are wall-to-wall jacuzzis, gymnasiums and rock stars going tepid turkey. Rachel isn't expecting plump, middle-aged men in brown jumpers, and more group therapy than you can shake a stick at. Worse still she seems to be expected to join in. Heartsick and Luke-sick, she seeks redemption in the shape of Chris, a Man with a Past. A man who might be more trouble than he's worth. Rachel is airlifted from addiction to the unfamiliar terrain of adulthood, via a love story or two, in a novel by turns poignant, powerful and seriously funny.
