After the Funeral

by Gillian Poucher

  James halted in front of Grace. He reached out his free arm towards her, then let it fall and opened his mouth to speak. Julia couldn’t hear him above the rain, but lip read the word, ‘Grace.’ But whatever he had to say, Grace didn’t want to hear it. She drew herself up to her full height and stalked past him as if he hadn’t spoken, turning left up the street without looking back.

  ‘No!’ gasped Julia to herself. She sagged against the doorpost, covering her face with her hands. She was certain from the exchange that Grace was the student her half-brother had been sleeping with. He could be the father of her child. Could things get any worse?

  Lowering her hands, Julia saw that James was still staring after Grace. He pushed his left hand through his hair, a characteristic gesture of indecision. Julia suspected he was considering following her. Then he turned towards the old school and saw Julia watching him. He raised his chin as he approached her. The defiant gesture confirmed what she had already guessed.

  She turned away, going back inside as a squall of wind drove the rain harder across the playground. Let James assume she was seeking refuge from the weather.

  Back in the dimly-lit foyer, she thought quickly. Both professionally and personally, she couldn’t divulge Grace’s pregnancy to James. The baby might not be his. Grace’s ex could be the father. And if James were the father, what effect would that have on his fragile chance of saving his marriage? How on earth would Clare react if she discovered that James had fathered a child during his affair, conducted, Clare believed, during their fertility treatment? And that was quite possible, Julia realised, quickly calculating the dates. Grace thought she was eleven or twelve weeks pregnant, and it was almost three months since her brother and sister-in-law’s last IVF cycle.

  Julia felt dizzy. It didn’t help to think that if only she had questioned Grace more closely about her PhD supervisors in that first counselling session, she would have found out that one of them was James. Then she wouldn’t have taken on Grace because of the potential conflict of interest. But they had had such an immediate rapport, she and Grace, and that didn’t happen with all clients. The truth was, she hadn’t wanted to find any reason not to work with the younger woman. And she’d needed the money, even before she’d discovered how Greg had defaulted on the mortgage. A wave of nausea swept over her as she recognised how badly she had misjudged the situation.

  James came in, turning to shake his umbrella. He closed the door against the rain and turned to her, not quite meeting her eye. ‘Hell of a day,’ he said.

  ‘Awful.’

  There was a pause.

  James looked around the lobby, taking in the peeling paint, the failed fluorescent strip lights. ‘This place looks worse than ever,’ he said finally.

  Julia shrugged. ‘We won’t be here much longer,’ she said. ‘The landlord’s served notice.’

  ‘Who’s we?’ asked James. ‘You and that bloke you brought to Aunt Ada’s lunch?’

  ‘Yes. Pete.’ She was taken aback by a pang of sadness saying Pete’s name.

  ‘What does he do?’

  ‘He’s a reflexologist.’

  ‘Mmm. Didn’t look your type.’ James looked at her fully for the first time. ‘Didn’t I notice an earring?’

  Julia shrugged. ‘Maybe. Anyway, we’re not together.’

  James half-smiled and raised an eyebrow. ‘If you’re not now, you will be if you give him half a chance.’

  She stared at him.

  He laughed. ‘Oh, come on, Julia! He couldn’t keep his eyes off you!’

  Julia spun round and went over to check her mailbox, keeping her back to her half-brother. Had Pete been that obvious? How could she have missed the signs? Too late now. She’d put him off drawing back from his kiss in the car. But she’d made the right decision, hadn’t she? Her behaviour recently meant that the last thing she needed now was a new relationship. So why did she replay that kiss and the touch of his hand on her wrist at her cottage?

  She slammed the door of the empty mailbox with a clang and turned back to James who was still grinning. ‘Why are you here, James? I’ve got supervision in half an hour. I assume you’re not here to discuss my personal life.’

  His smile disappeared immediately as his full lower lip jutted out, reminding her of the small sulky boy who always wanted his own way. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t keep you,’ he said. ‘It was Clare who asked me to call in. She thought you were upset by something she said at the café. Didn’t tell me what. And I thought, after last Sunday morning…’ He paused.

  He’d always found it difficult to apologise. Julia felt a momentary compunction. But it quickly dissolved when he went on, ‘But I can see you’re your usual collected self. So I’ll tell her there’s no need to worry, shall I?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said coldly.

  ‘Then I’ll see you around.’ He turned towards the door and retrieved his umbrella. ‘One other thing,’ he said, his back to her, ‘that woman who was leaving, is she one of your clients?’

  Julia wasn’t taken in by his casual tone. ‘That’s right,’ she said. She couldn’t resist adding, ‘You don’t know her, do you?’

  ‘No, no, she just reminds me of someone. That’s all. See you.’

  ‘Liar,’ said Julia, but he didn’t hear as the door slammed behind him in another gust of wind. ‘Two-timing bastard!’ Her words reverberated down the empty corridor.

  –  CHAPTER 18  –

  It was only as she drove south through the city for her appointment with her supervisor that Julia realised the full implications of James’s affair with Grace. If he were the father of Grace’s child, that would make her the baby’s half-aunt. Whoever the baby’s father was, she couldn’t continue counselling the postgraduate student if she had been involved in a relationship with her half-brother, something Julia strongly suspected from James’s behaviour. The affair created a conflict of interest for her. That conflict of interest meant she wouldn’t be able to see the baby either.

  And she couldn’t stop thinking about the agony it would cause Clare, having been through those fruitless IVF sessions, to discover James had fathered a child by another woman. Clare was a close friend as well as her sister-in-law. Then too, just days after having been so cruelly confronted with her own grief about her childlessness, Julia felt that this news of another baby was a further twist of the knife. But she couldn’t dwell on that when she had to get through supervision…

  As expected, her supervisor focused on the conflict of interest as soon as Julia outlined the situation. Usually these sessions ran smoothly. Today, though, Louise’s probing questions regarding how Julia was handling her grief following her mother’s death left her struggling to retain her self-control. Avoiding her supervisor’s keen gaze, Julia was aware that she was being less than honest in withholding information regarding her financial plight, although she had explained about the termination of the tenancy at the old school.

  ‘So tell me how you feel about contacting Client “G” to explain you will be unable to offer further sessions for personal reasons.’ Twice Julia had slipped by mentioning Grace by name, but Louise retained the usual anonymity of using the client’s initial to preserve confidentiality. Her small pale blue eyes bored into Julia’s. The other woman looked down at her hands, noticing her usually well-kept nails needed filing.

  ‘Obviously I see it’s necessary.’ Julia tried to speak neutrally, though there was a lump in her throat as she remembered how her client had clung to her earlier. ‘But I’m concerned that Client “G” will be very upset.’

  ‘And how do you feel?’

  ‘Sad,’ said Julia flatly

  ‘Sad,’ echoed Louise. Something in her tone caused Julia to look across at her. ‘I’m wondering if that’s all. I’m sensing you’ve become particularly close to this client.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Julia shrugged her slim shoulders.

  Louise raised her brown pencilled eyebrows so that they disappeared under her low ginger frin
ge and waited.

  Julia shifted uncomfortably in her armchair. She felt like an errant schoolgirl sent to the headmistress. She had chosen Louise as her supervisor because the other woman had impressed her in an initial trial session with her psychological acuity, challenging Julia to examine more deeply what was going on in her relationships with her clients. Today she wished Louise were less astute.

  She knew she should mention Grace’s identifying her as a mother figure. But she anticipated Louise would then want to explore how she felt about her client’s comment. After the recent self-discovery of her pain over her childlessness, the prospect was more than she could bear. The thought of discussing her newly-discovered grief with Louise set the blood pounding in her ears again. Dizziness overcame her and she closed her eyes, trying to dispel it.

  ‘Are you all right, Julia? Would you like a glass of water?’

  ‘Please.’

  Louise heaved her large form out of her armchair and went through to the small galley kitchen adjoining her office. She worked from a converted garage at the back of her house. ‘Not far to commute,’ she had smiled when they first met. ‘And because it’s self-contained, I don’t feel I’m living at work.’

  The familiar sound of running water was comforting, and Julia’s dizziness had begun to pass when Louise plodded back in and handed her the glass.

  ‘Thank you.’ Julia took a few sips, then looked over at Louise. ‘I’m sorry, I’m really tired. I haven’t been sleep… It’s been a difficult morning,’ she amended hastily.

  But Louise had heard. ‘And you haven’t been sleeping well,’ she said. ‘I can see that from the dark shadows under your eyes.’

  ‘A symptom of grief,’ said Julia quickly.

  ‘Of course.’ Louise allowed a moment to pass. ‘And general mental strain.’

  Julia paused in the action of raising her glass to her lips, darting a glance at her supervisor who surveyed her expressionlessly. ‘I don’t usually give advice, as you know, trusting supervisees to take responsibility for their self-care.’ She waited. ‘Have you seen your GP lately?’

  Julia shook her head. Of course she should have made an appointment. The sensation of blood pounding in her ears was happening frequently, and her insomnia was constant. ‘I will do,’ she promised, hoping Louise would be satisfied with this.

  ‘Good.’ Louise paused. She waited for Julia to raise her gaze from the water swirling in the glass which she twirled in her hand. ‘I have to say I’m wondering if you are fit to be counselling at the moment.’

  ‘I’m sure I am.’ Julia tried to sound calm, though inwardly her heart was beating fast. She placed the glass carefully on the side table to the left of her armchair.

  ‘You’re sure? You know how important it is that you are fully fit for counselling and how, as your supervisor, I need to be assured of that. Professional standards, Julia. I don’t need to remind you that we’re working with very vulnerable people. We might cause them harm if we aren’t well enough, physically or mentally.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Julia nodded, her eyes on her black ankle boots which badly needed polishing. Usually she was so meticulous. She pushed a strand of hair behind her right ear.

  ‘And I’m guessing your relationship with Client “G” has become complicated. You seemed evasive when I asked if you have become particularly close to her.’

  ‘I think it has become complicated,’ Julia conceded quietly. She inhaled and looked across at her supervisor. ‘And I’m sorry, Louise, but I feel I can’t talk about it today.’

  ‘Ah.’ Louise folded her podgy hands across her stomach which spilled over the waistband of her baggy grey trousers. ‘I’m grateful for your honesty, but you will understand that it causes me concern that you are unwilling to discuss it. I realise you have the difficult task of explaining you can no longer counsel her, and that will end your sessions. But I’m wondering how you are going to react if a similar issue arises in a relationship with another client?’

  ‘Surely that’s unlikely,’ countered Julia, ‘since each client is an individual, and our relationships with each one vary so much?’

  ‘That’s true. But you know as well as I do that if we are troubled by a particular issue, it can impact our effectiveness as practitioners if it isn’t dealt with. It can even cause harm to our clients.’

  Julia nodded wearily, knowing Louise was right. ‘Do no harm’ was a mantra of the counselling profession, one she had always sought to maintain. Her throat felt constricted as she realised she’d pushed it to the back of her mind in recent weeks. She had been so desperate to work, both as a distraction from her grief and also to safeguard her income. What choice did she have in view of the financial crisis precipitated by Greg defaulting on the mortgage?

  Louise’s voice came from a distance, interrupting her thoughts.

  ‘So that’s why I must insist that you take some time off.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Julia stared at her supervisor open-mouthed.

  ‘You need some time off. I’m sorry if it’s come as a shock to you, but it’s clear to me you’re struggling. And I’m very concerned you seem not to realise that yourself.’

  ‘But I can’t afford to!’ Julia clapped her hand to her mouth as Louise’s small eyes narrowed in her round pink face.

  ‘I’m afraid financial difficulty doesn’t change the situation, Julia. If you don’t take a break, I will have no choice but to contact Professional Standards.’

  ‘Professional Standards?’ gasped Julia. ‘But you can’t, I might lose my accreditation! It could finish my career!’ She wiped a stray tear from her cheeks, and swallowed, striving not to break down in front of Louise.

  ‘I’m sorry, Julia, I really am.’ Her supervisor’s tone was softer as she leaned across and placed a hand on Julia’s knee. ‘But you are simply not fit to be counselling at present. You’ve admitted to insomnia. You look unwell, pale and strained. You’re still grieving for your mother. You’ve made clear there is something troubling you arising from your relationship with Client “G”.’ She paused. ‘And that’s not all, is it?’

  She removed her hand and settled back in her chair, her eyes still fixed on Julia’s face.

  ‘Not all?’ echoed Julia. She dropped her eyes and flicked a ball of fluff off her black trousers. What else could Louise know?

  ‘No. I’m afraid I’ve had a complaint. About an altercation you were involved in last Friday.’

  Julia put her head in her hands. ‘Greg,’ she said. ‘It was Greg, wasn’t it?’ The bastard. Hadn’t he done enough damage? But when she thought of how she had hit him twice across the face, of Lisa’s fear as she placed a hand over her pregnant belly, the colour rushed to her cheeks.

  ‘He could have gone to the police,’ pointed out Louise. ‘But I don’t think from our conversation he intends to do that.’

  Julia sighed with relief. The prospect of him pressing charges had never occurred to her. She kept her head down, pressing her fingertips to her forehead, as Louise continued in her usual measured tone.

  ‘Now we’ve talked through your separation in previous sessions, and although you were naturally distressed by it, I didn’t consider that it was affecting your work. But for you to attack Greg so many months later, to lose that self-control which is one of your strongest characteristics, I suspect that something has provoked or upset you deeply.’

  She waited. Julia didn’t look up immediately. When she did, she saw Louise was watching her, the small eyes kind, her hands steepled beneath her double chin. Julia’s heart was beating quickly and there was a weight in her chest. She took another deep breath. Now that she had to take time off, perhaps it would help to share some of her burden with Louise.

  ‘Lisa is seven months’ pregnant,’ she said. ‘They were shopping for the baby when I saw them.’ She reached for her glass of water with a trembling hand and drank deeply. ‘He told me when we were first together that he didn’t want children.’

  ‘My dear,’ said Louise, who
had two adult sons herself, ‘I am so very sorry.’

  Julia nodded. Having begun to speak, it was easy to carry on. ‘And my relationship with Grace has got tangled up with all this,’ she said. ‘She told me she sees me as the mother she never had, and I think I’m in danger…’ she hesitated, twisting her mother’s engagement ring around the third finger of her right hand. ‘I’m in danger of viewing her as the daughter I will never have.’ She took a deep breath, immediately feeling lighter. She hadn’t allowed herself to analyse her relationship with Grace with such honesty before. At the same time the thought of not seeing the younger woman again because of her relationship with her half-brother brought tears to her eyes. She bent to find a tissue in her black shoulder bag.

  Louise waited until she had composed herself before she spoke again.

  ‘There’s a lot about mothers and daughters here, isn’t there?’

  ‘There is.’ Julia was struck by the insight. She looked towards the window as a rare burst of sunlight broke through the clouds. It fell on a framed picture resting against the wall below the sill. She’d never noticed it before. She could see that it was a Madonna and child painting, unusually painted in red, orange and yellow. The colours of fire, thought Julia, vaguely recalling that Louise was Catholic.

  Her supervisor noticed the direction of her gaze. ‘The most famous mother of all,’ she said. ‘The ideal. As you can see, I’ve not hung the picture yet.’

  ‘May I take a look?’ Julia half-rose from her chair.

  ‘Of course,’ Louise waved her hand in invitation.

  Julia’s heart had begun to bump hard against her ribcage for a reason she couldn’t explain. She gasped as she picked up the painting. ‘It’s quite disturbing, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is,’ Louise agreed. ‘Certainly not your usual serene Madonna and child. But perhaps a more realistic representation.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I do.’

  Julia studied the oil painting. Close up, her impression of fire was proved correct. The background of swirling grey and black suggested smoke. Mary’s robe was red, with orange sleeves. She wore a yellow head dress above her dark hair, which tumbled in disarray around her shoulders. Flames leaped around her head. Her mouth was open in a silent scream. Her large black eyes, staring out to the left, were pools of fear. She was looking away from the naked baby she clutched to her breast. The tiny fingers of the infant’s right hand scrabbled at a strand of his mother’s hair. His face was hidden from view, buried against her. Tongues of fire leaped around the infant’s head too, illuminating the small dagger he held in his left hand. It was poised above Mary’s heart.