A minute later, I walk past the entrance, to confirm I’ve the correct building. Why would he be visiting there, when he’s already booked in with me? Has he switched? Thought I was useless? Given my state of mind during our appointment, this wouldn’t be difficult to believe. There’s something peculiar about this man. Am I simply reading too much into it? After all, he didn’t leave his contact details, so maybe he did think I wasn’t up to the job. But there’s more to this than meets the eye, I’m sure of it. I walk on by for now, but I’ll return later. Besides, professionally I should know if he is seeing someone else at the same time as me. After all, we could undo each other’s work, a conflict of interests. I know the practitioners fairly well here; it shouldn’t be too difficult to find out.
My morning’s appointments pass slowly. A fear of flying and an antidote of exposure therapy via guided imagery. A teenager who is bombing out of school, another victim to a boarding routine. A further OCD case; why is this becoming so prevalent? Is it a case of clutching at control in an increasingly insecure society? Finally, a case of domestic abuse. Should I simply relay my story? Don’t wait, get out now, there is no such thing as an ideal time to leave. Don’t play the game, just get out; and especially if you have children.
I pull up outside the GP surgery in Mevagissey to see Milly, wondering how she will be today. I had an interesting phone call with her mum in between appointments earlier. Circumspectly, stepped my way through it. Was she aware of her boyfriend’s antics? Of Milly’s involvement? I could very easily have made matters worse for Milly too. It makes me shudder to think this is even possible, but it is. Turns out, her mum was aware of her boyfriend’s pot-dealing, just not that her daughter has been sucked in. Milly isn’t aware of her mum’s knowledge; it is for me to encourage her to open up to mum. The boyfriend will hopefully be gone by tonight, probably move back to his own residence, the pot hole.
I watch Milly as we talk. She’s warmer today, not so wary of me, talking openly about her week. She’s listened to me, and has managed to abstain from harming herself, relaying how she’s used other distraction techniques, as we’d discussed. I’m praying this wasn’t the weed.
‘The thing is, Milly, it’s a lot tougher to struggle through this alone.’
‘I have you,’ she says.
‘You do. But, I mean, at home, it’s tough when you’re at home, to feel alone with things.’
She regards her feet and shrugs.
‘It’s even more sad, Milly, because you’re not alone. You have mum.’
‘Used to,’ she says.
‘Has mum told you you’re not to go to her with your problems?’
‘No. Not as such.’
‘Has mum changed towards you in any way?’
‘No. Not really.’
‘So, why do you think you don’t have her any more, to talk to?’
‘Not sure, just don’t.’
‘Tell me if I’m wrong, but… is it you who has changed maybe? What with everything you’ve been going through. Is it perhaps this bully in your head, the very same telling you to harm yourself to feel better – is it this, telling you not to go to mum?’
She looks at me, eyes slightly bloodshot. ‘I don’t know,’ she says.
‘From what I understand, mum would prefer to know; whatever it is frightening you, upsetting you, she would want to know. This bully will be weaker against the two of you.’ I watch as her eyes glisten. A gentle knocking on the door prompts me. ‘It’s mum – she’s waiting outside now. Can we let her in, Milly?’
Burdened eyes look back at me. She nods.
*
Ruan watches me as I run back into the clinic, dumping my briefcase, belting up my coat. ‘Hey, where you off to in such a hurry?’
‘I need to pop to the counselling place across the road. Do you want anything while I’m out? Sandwich? Pasty?’
‘Mmm, tough one. Go on, then, since you asked so nicely, pasty, please. Why the counselling place? Thinking of booking yourself in?’ He grins.
Much truth said in jest, Ruan. You probably think I should. ‘Yes, actually, I am.’ His smile disappears as quickly as it arrived.
‘Oh, bum. Sorry, Eve, wasn’t thinking.’
I smile at his awkwardness. ‘What do you think? Can you really see me, of all people, attending counselling? It would be an extremely quiet session – can you imagine?’
‘Ha, I did wonder. Thought you’d finally lost it.’ He genuinely looks relieved.
‘I won’t be long, just something I need to check on, for a client, that’s all.’ I reach out for the front door. ‘Ruan?’
‘Yeah?’
‘You didn’t put a hand-addressed envelope in my briefcase, did you?’ I find myself studying his face for a guilt-ridden reaction. I don’t want to; I can’t help it.
‘An envelope? Nope, no, not me. Why? Wait, do you mean the one from last night, when we were with you?’
‘No, a different one, not related.’ He genuinely appears perplexed. ‘No big deal; just found something in my briefcase, not sure how it got there. I wasn’t sure if you’d slipped it in for me.’
‘No, not guilty. Could it have been Bea? What was it?’
I open the door. ‘Nothing, really, don’t worry about it. I won’t be long.’ Why don’t you tell him? He knows more or less what’s going on – why the secrecy now? Are you really beginning to mistrust those closest to you? Haven’t you just pulled Milly on this? Do I have any choice though?
I bustle down Lemon Street on a mission, take a left turn through the quaint indoor market, breathing in deeply as the smell of sweet garlic engulfs me. A few moments later, I reach the pedestrianised street of terraced houses, standing in line like soldiers. Such a pretty cut-through. I rush up the steps and through the door of the counselling place.
‘Hi, Maggie, how are you?’ She looks up from her salad in a plastic bowl. ‘Sorry, I’m interrupting your lunch,’ I say to the receptionist.
‘No, lovely. Not at all. I’m well, how are you? Not used to seeing you in here.’ She looks a little muddled, worried she’s forgotten something pre-arranged.
‘Yes, all good,’ I lie. ‘Busy, you know how life is.’ She nods, taking another forkful. ‘I need a word with someone about a possible mutual client. Who’s in today, Maggie?’
‘Oh, I see.’ She stands and moves towards the clinic diary. ‘Yes, now, then, Dr Willow’s here. Steven, the acupuncturist, he’s in. Just a minute.’ She puts her glasses on and moves her finger down the list in front of her. ‘Lara Maidwell, Dr Burns and David, the physio, they’re in, oh, and sorry, Susie Hammond, she’s in too. That’s it until later, Eve.’
‘Okay.’ Who would he be likely to see? Maybe he’s here to see the acupuncturist or the physiotherapist and I’ve got this all wrong. ‘Hmm, it’s difficult because I need to talk to whoever it is seeing this mutual client, I’m just not sure who it would be.’
‘Oh, quite, yes, that is difficult. Can you give me a name?’ Can I? Is this ethical, confidentiality and all that? Yes, because there could be a conflict of interests here, and something is definitely odd about all this.
‘I can. It’s a William Adams.’
Her forehead forms confused lines. ‘William Adams? William Adams.’ She looks back through the diary.
‘It was today, Maggie, if it helps. This morning, he was here this morning.’ She nods, still searching the page. ‘William Adams, William Adams. No, Eve love, can’t have been. We don’t have a William Adams.’ She looks me in the eye. ‘The name certainly doesn’t ring a bell with me either. I’ve been here all morning too.’
I was not mistaken; it was definitely him.
‘That’s so strange. The thing is, I saw him this morning, walking into your reception. I know I did.’
‘Really? Yes, how strange.’ She looks back at her list, puzzled. ‘But I was the only one here this morning. I’d remember his name, I’m sure.’
‘Yes, of course you would, you’re right. Look, don’t worry about it.’ I can’t push her any further; it’s as though I’m doubting her. Maybe I did get it wrong – wouldn’t be the first time. My stressed brain is beginning to bail on me.
‘What does he look like, love?’
I picture him from this morning. ‘Six-footish, dark hair, quite distinguished, nicely spoken, quite well built. Oh, and he was wearing black jeans, tan trainer-like shoes and a navy bomber-style jacket?’
Her face lights up. ‘Now then, that rings a bell; a nice man, pleasant he was, didn’t want to sit down though. Had a problem with his legs, I believe. Yes, I remember him. Yes, he’s been here before too.’