His breathing is fast in my ear. ‘And you definitely have my mobile number right? I don’t want him ringing the wrong number.’
I repeat the number on my screen back to him, and finally he hangs up. I add this final call to my list of messages for David and will him to come out of his practice meeting so he can take Anthony off my hands. I’m a bit concerned to be honest. As far as I’m aware their sessions have been going well, and Anthony’s booked in for another on Monday. He’s having three or more a week, at his own insistence, and I hope he hasn’t had some kind of relapse to cause this sudden need to speak to David before the weekend.
Finally, the doctors emerge and I pass the call list to David. ‘I know it’s lunchtime, but I think you should call him back. He sounded quite agitated.’
‘Was his speech slurred?’ David scans the times of the calls.
‘No. No, I don’t think so.’
‘I’ll call him now. And can you get me the numbers for his parents and his solicitor? And his medical doctor?’
I nod. We’re back to boss and secretary, which isn’t at all sexy despite the clichés. ‘I’ll email them to you.’
‘Thanks.’
He’s still looking at the note when he goes into his office. I’m kind of hoping he’ll look back at me and smile or something, but he doesn’t. His mind is fully on Anthony. I like that about him. There are doctors here who – despite being excellent at their job – can fully disassociate themselves from their patients. Maybe that’s the best and most professional way to be, but I don’t think David is like that. But then I doubt those doctors drink every night either. He’s a strange one. I wonder, as I’m always wondering, what demons drive him. How someone so good at listening to others and drawing them out can be so shit at talking himself.
I eat my salad at my desk and then let the Friday afternoon quiet waft over me. Anthony calls twice more, even though he confirms he has just spoken to David. He says he forgot something and he needs to speak to him again. I politely cut him off, not wanting to get drawn into a conversation I’m not qualified to deal with.
At two thirty I see the light on David’s Line 1 telephone button come on. The call only lasts a minute or so, and I know it is to Adele. I’ve tried not to track his calls like this, but I can’t help it. Half past eleven and half past two every day. Short calls. Not long enough for the politenesses of a work conversation. Every day it reminds me of Adele’s panic to get back from the gym, and I’ve spent enough time with her now to have seen more of these calls from the other end, even though she always disappears to another room or the hallway to take them. Of all the things wrong with my situation, of all the ways I should be feeling terrible, it’s these calls that gnaw at me the most. What is it with these two? What kind of love do they have? Is it even love at all? A stab of envy hits my stomach.
At the end of the day, the last clients gone, and the weekend ready to claim us, David comes out of his office, jacket on and briefcase in hand. I don’t expect him to linger at the office – he never has and it would be weird – but I still feel a little pang of disappointment.
‘Is Anthony okay?’ I ask, part concern, part wanting to talk to him. He can’t give me details, I know that, but I still ask.
‘Keep any calls he makes brief,’ he says. ‘I’ve given him a direct line number for now as a stopgap, but if he can’t get through on it, he might ring your line. Don’t get into any personal discussions with him.’
I nod, a little confused. What the hell has gone on? ‘All right.’ My face is full of questions though, and he can see it.
‘He’s an obsessive. I imagine the heroin use gave him a release from it, but became an obsession in itself. I had hoped he wouldn’t get attached so quickly, but I was wrong.’
I think about all the calls. ‘He’s got a fixation on you?’
‘Possibly. But I don’t want it transferring to you if he can’t get hold of me. It’s not that he thinks I’m particularly special – he’s got a history of attaching to new people. I’m part of that pattern.’
‘I can manage the calls,’ I say. I want to point out that I’m actually quite good at my job, but I also like that he’s worried about me. I’m more concerned for him though. ‘Is he dangerous?’
‘I don’t think so,’ he says, and smiles. ‘He’s just a bit troubled. But it’s not your job to take those chances.’