Now, crispy golden leaves float beneath my footsteps, as I feel each tentative tread on solid grey ground. An unusual seasonal warmth joins me, gifted by the perfect blue-skied day. Why did you have to come back? The cathedral bells peal behind me, advising me to quicken my step. I’m going to be late. Normally by now I’d be aware of my scheduled appointments for the day, have planned for them, rereading my notes. But today, I’m not sure if I’ve forgotten the plan or if I’m just without one. Ruan will bail me out. By the time I arrive, the reception will be warmed, the air filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. I’ve explaining to do. My stomach hardens, with the thought of Bea and Ruan; they’ll want to understand what drove me to the insane behaviours last night. They’ll question me about you, my reasoning for being afraid. In the cold light of day; I wish I hadn’t created the stir. But I was truly scared. I thought I’d be ready for you, if and when the day arrived. I was wrong. After all this time, you still have such impact on my nervous system. Screwing it up, wringing it out.
I clasp the cold iron handle, stretching my foot towards the clinic door just as it moves away from me. ‘Here she is!’ A beaming smile. ‘Told you she’d be here. Late as ever. Gosh, you look rough, lovely!’ Bea adds.
‘Thanks, Bea. Here, take these.’ I dangle the slightly moist paper bag under her nose. ‘Inhale. Croissants, hot out of the oven.’ I withdraw the bag. ‘But that was before you told me I looked rough!’
‘Hmm. Can I retract that particular comment, please?’ She grins, snatching the bag from my hands.
‘Thought we could do with some sugar this morning. It’s also a small, though delicious, peace offering.’ They regard me. ‘For last night?’ I know they’re being polite, that they were probably talking about it before I arrived. Like, I needed to remind them.
‘Mmm. Absolutely. They smell so, so good. You know, you really don’t look quite so rough in this light, anyway.’ Bea hugs me, clutching the bag to her side. ‘You certainly don’t need to provide peace offerings. Silly.’ Letting go, she plants her face in the paper bag, breathing deeply, in then out. ‘Thing is, though, I did intend to be good today.’ She sighs heavily. ‘Oh, well. Tomorrow’s as good a day as any. Anyhow, you can’t rush these things, can you? Rome wasn’t built in a day, was it?’
‘Exactly,’ I say.
‘Here, Ru, grab one while it’s warm. You’ve got hollow legs anyway. Git.’ She orders him to take a croissant whilst shoving the end of another into her mouth. Flaky crumbs everywhere. I try my hardest not to glance at the floorboards. The now flaky-pastry floorboards. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll fetch the vacuum. You can’t bring croissants, then worry about crumbs!’ She rolls her eyes.
The sickie feeling overrides my hunger as I walk towards my room. ‘I’ve had one already so feast away,’ I say before Bea begins to guilt-trip herself further. Despite my stomach being empty but for the caffeine. You always were the best diet around.
‘Can’t you help her with that?’ an equally full-mouthed Ruan blurts.
‘What, making a mess?’
‘No. Her diet thing. Does my head in. I don’t get it. It’s simple, isn’t it? If you’re hungry, eat, if you’re not, don’t. Why’s it need to be such a deal? Couldn’t be bothered.’
‘Hey. Cheeky sod, Ru! What you trying to say – you think I need help, do you? Need to lose some weight, eh? A bit on the chubby side? You should’ve said before.’ She nudges him fondly.
‘Me? No. Never said anything. It’s you – it’s all you think about. Talk about. Imagine how much extra time you’d have if you stopped thinking about eating, and just ate. Must be exhausting. No wonder you’re always hungry.’
‘God, you’re such a simpleton sometimes.’ She turns to me, pointing her mostly demolished pastry at me. ‘Could you help me, do you think, Evie? You deal with eating disorders, don’t you? Perhaps I should book myself in. It’s not such a bad idea despite it coming from him.’ She nods at Ruan.
‘For God’s sake, you two. Don’t you think I’ve enough of this during clinic hours? No, Bea, you haven’t got an eating disorder, okay? You’re just like the rest of us. Someone who worries and thinks too much, likes her food, beats herself up about it, so feels bad about it, so wants to eat more to make herself feel better. You don’t need therapy to work that one out. Join the proverbial club.’
‘Yeah, I own the bloody club,’ she hoots.
‘What I’m actually saying is, you’re normal. Normally abnormal. Normally imperfect. Great just the way you are. Not overweight. Okay?’
‘Okay. If you say so.’ She nods at Ruan. Two rivalling siblings.
‘Yeah, whatever she just said, I agree, if it helps,’ he adds.
Bea rubs her greasy fingers through Ruan’s hair before he can pull away. ‘How d’you get your hair like that anyway? So much body? D’you gel it?’ she asks him.
He runs bronzed hands through natural blond waves. ‘All natural, of course.’ He flicks his head back, smiling. ‘Courtesy of the sea. Never wash it after I’ve been in. Salt water. The best and it’s free.’
‘I hate you. Look at your eyelashes too. What a waste.’
I leave them to it, continuing to the haven of my room. Though aware of the eyes on my back as I do and the conversation going on between them without words, about me. They’ll have to wait. I need to switch into clinic mode; no room for personal twitterings. I turn to pacify their expectant faces. ‘Later.’
‘What?’ they say together, as if surprised.
‘We’ll talk. About things, stuff. Last night.’ Two heads nod back in unison.
I hover over my desk, flicking through unopened envelopes, trying to ignore the rushing of my heart. I hate even talking about talking. The front door opens as I hear Bea greeting her next client. ‘Ruan, have you got my list? For my first appointments today? Please.’ He quickly reaches my side, handing me today’s list with the relevant files.
‘Certainly have. First one, Dr Jakes.’
‘Yep.’
‘Second one, umm, here, it’s the new-referral guy.’ A fist seizes my stomach and twists. What’s the problem? New referrals are a weekly occurrence. What’s up with your heartbeat?
Ruan bumps his head back. ‘What’s the look for? I did tell you. Or tried to anyway. You know, the PTSD guy. The one from up-country.’
With the antics of last night, I’d forgotten all about this case. A sick sense reminds me it’s a worry. ‘Warwickshire?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, the soldier, the ex-soldier now, from somewhere in Warwickshire, wasn’t it? He must be living down here now, then. I mean, to be able to get a referral for here. Isn’t that how it works?’
‘Or at least residing here for the time being,’ I correct.
‘Should be interesting. Wouldn’t mind sitting in on this one?’
How could I have forgotten? I glance at my wall clock, ignoring Ruan; Jesus, he’s going to be here in an hour and twenty. If he turns up, that is. There’s always a chance he won’t. Here, in my clinic after all these years. How come you’re still alive?
‘Hello? Earth to Eve?’
‘Sorry. Not today, you can’t. I haven’t asked his permission yet.’
‘Pity. Here’s the others, then. I’ll leave you to your preparations.’ Ruan places the remaining files on my desk and I watch him leave. The rule book filed away in my head fleetingly questions my ability to work ethically this morning. I’m hardly feeling calm and collected. The responsibility of my appointments feels like gigantic boulders, hurtling towards a rickety thoroughfare.
I remove my overflowing diary, full of needs-attention household paperwork, from my briefcase. Each day I undertake that I’ll go through it, but the ruler separating pages reminds me nearly nine months of broken promises have passed. Then I notice it, the brown A4 envelope sitting solitary in the unzipped pocket; the one I was to open after seeing Milly at the GP surgery yesterday. Something else I’d completely forgotten about. I flip the envelope over. No postal mark – it’s obviously been hand-delivered.
STRICTLY PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL
EVE
How strange – no surname? I open it quickly, suddenly aware of muffled voices; the doctor’s arrived for his appointment. Cautiously easing out an A4 sheet of photocopied assemblages of newspaper articles. What the hell? Swallowing hard. Who could have done this? Who has access to my briefcase to be able to plant it? Me, Ruan, Jack, Bea? I don’t get it. I clumsily examine the sheet, then again, the envelope, as the titled words repeat over and over, hurtling through my mind.
Partner’s Son, Latest Victim of Money Laundering Fraud. Just Nineteen. Tragedy, Enquiry, As He Takes His Life.