A Doctor to Heal Her Heart

by Annie Claydon

  He walked over to one of the glazed doors leading to the veranda, twisting the key in the lock and opening it. ‘So, your computer program. The work you’re doing here with us. That’s your phoenix?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He was gazing out at the broad expanse of lawn. ‘I mean that you have a reason to do what you’re doing, just as Juno does. Just as the donor of this house did.’

  ‘Yes, I do. I made that clear at the interview.’ She’d said personal reasons. Personal. ‘Does that really matter?’

  ‘I think so. Sometimes it’s helpful to examine our motives for what we do.’

  Right. So he was thinking she needed counselling or something? Sam felt the muscles across her back and shoulders stiffen. ‘And...?’

  ‘We rely on the generosity and good hearts of a lot of people. But it would be ungrateful of us to give the impression that those gifts will make things right for them. That’s another process entirely.’

  He was watching her now, his gaze seeming to probe the nastier corners of her soul. The anger, the grief, the night she’d gone into Sally’s empty office, screaming and smashing until she’d been exhausted, then cried over a pink stapler that she’d hurled against the wall. Sam could almost feel herself pushing him away, closing the door and locking it, the way she’d done with Sally’s office.

  ‘That’s clarified your position, then.’ The words were brisk, businesslike, and they felt good. She’d been drawn in too far already, and needed to keep things on this less personal footing with Euan.

  He waited, obviously wondering if she was going to say more. Cave in, and start baring her soul to him. Like hell she was.

  ‘Okay.’ His eyes told her that it wasn’t okay at all. That this was just the start of something, not the end. ‘Would you like to see the grounds?’

  ‘I’m a bit tired. Can we do it another time?’ Sam wanted out of this world. The one where you couldn’t just put the clamour of voices to sleep by closing the lid of your laptop. Where real people did real things, and if you were going to push them away, some kind of physical effort was needed.

  ‘Of course.’ He closed the glazed doors and locked them. ‘I’ll take you back now.’

  * * *

  She’d asked him to leave the makeshift blind over the skylight in her bedroom, and then shooed him away. A good night’s sleep, without the morning sun breaking in directly on her face, had obviously done her good and Sam had regained some of her colour and lost the air of trying to balance on shifting ground. And, being Monday morning, she was back in business mode.

  She was sitting in David’s office when they returned from their Monday morning meeting, dressed in a pair of dark, slim-legged trousers and a neat shirt, with a peacock-blue jacket slung across the back of her chair.

  When she raised her gaze from her writing pad, her eyes looked bigger and yet somehow soulless. Make-up, he supposed. Or, more accurately, war paint.

  In front of her, were four A4 sheets filled with writing and diagrams. David craned over her shoulder to look at them, and shook his head, bemused. ‘What’s all this?’

  ‘It’s the schema for the Kathryn House information. Euan took me to see it yesterday and explained a bit about the services you plan to provide from there.’

  ‘Ah. Yeah, I think I might have a list somewhere.’ David flipped through a pile of papers on his desk and gave up, obviously unequal to the task of finding it. ‘Actually, I think I’ll make a new one. Things have changed a bit in the last couple of weeks.’

  ‘Good. Thanks.’

  ‘What are you planning to do today other than sort out that laptop for Juno?’ Since he was standing directly in her line of sight, Euan reckoned it was impossible for either of them to pretend that the other was invisible any longer.

  ‘I learned a lot at the weekend.’ She focussed on him without a trace of hesitation. ‘If it’s all right with both of you, I’d like to do some work on the database set-up today.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’ve got plenty of time, even after Joe delivers the laptops and I’ve sorted the website software on Juno’s.’ Now that she was looking at him, her gaze seemed to melt into his, forged together in a blistering heat.

  ‘If that’s what you want.’ Euan almost staggered back when she broke eye contact with him.

  ‘Well, I don’t want to get under your feet too much.’

  That was utter rubbish. She’d tried one approach, and it hadn’t worked out the way she’d expected it to. In anyone else Euan would have put that down to inflexibility, and maybe she was inflexible in her determination to make this project work. But that wasn’t all. He had a strong feeling that the way he’d questioned her last night had a lot to do with it as well.

  ‘That’s okay. Whatever works for you.’ He shot a glance at David, who nodded in agreement. ‘If today’s enough time to do what you need to do, I was thinking of getting together a group of people who’ve been through rehab with us. Dual purpose—it’ll give me a chance to hear a bit of feedback and you a chance to get an idea of the process and what it means to our clients. Would tomorrow be too soon?’ If she thought that he was going to give up on her, she could think again.

  She considered the prospect and then nodded. ‘Sounds good. I’ll compile a list of questions I want to ask. Would you like me to email it through to you so you can combine it with your list?’

  She was assuming he had a list. Euan had reckoned on taking a reactive approach, hearing first what everyone had to say. ‘No, that’s fine. I’ll probably just go with the flow.’

  She gave him a little frown, and then obviously decided to agree to differ. ‘Okay. What time shall I come?’

  ‘About ten?’ That should give her enough time to plan whatever she wanted to plan.

  She nodded. ‘Ten’s fine. Would you unlock the desk for me, please?’

  Euan silently cursed himself. He’d forgotten to give her laptop back last night. ‘Yeah. Sorry.’ David raised a questioning eyebrow, and Euan confessed his mistake. ‘I locked Sam’s laptop in your desk yesterday.’

  ‘Ah. Good idea. You can’t be too careful, can you?’ David pulled a bunch of keys from his pocket.

  She smiled. One of those composed little smiles of hers, which Euan couldn’t even begin to fathom the meaning of. ‘No. You can’t be too careful.’

  * * *

  The fifteen-minute walk to the clinic took half an hour if you took a detour, stopped at the coffee shop and then went down to the beach to stare at the sea while you drank. Pebbles scrunched under him as Euan sat down on the shingle.

  Sam didn’t fool him. She was accomplished, driven and successful. Under all of that there was someone who was lost enough to believe that other people’s expectations of her were what really mattered. He’d gone too far in trying to get her to open up about things she obviously preferred to keep private, and instead of just telling him to butt out Sam had reacted by transforming overnight into someone else.

  He spun a pebble towards the sea, and it fell short by twenty feet. It was ridiculous to suppose that the images of Sam that had haunted him last night were anything other than dreams. He didn’t have any space in his life for a relationship, let alone with someone as high maintenance as Sam, and he’d proved beyond all doubt that his talents lay elsewhere.

  ‘Right.’ He addressed a seagull, which was eying him cagily from the top of one of the wooden windbreaks. ‘Calling her high maintenance isn’t really fair, is it?’ The high-maintenance part was only because he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  The seagull didn’t reply. Taking that as a prompt to get his act together, Euan swirled the dregs of his coffee, draining them in one gulp, and got to his feet. He could do better than this. He would do better.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SAM WAS FULLY aware of how much she’d missed Eua
n. She’d had twenty-four hours to explore the extent and nature of the feeling, and she’d worked almost every waking moment in an attempt to give herself something else to think about.

  She saw Liz walking in front of her and ran to catch her up, falling into step beside her. ‘Are you going to the clinic today?’

  ‘Just for the morning.’ Liz was looking summery and relaxed. ‘I’ve got my book club this afternoon.’ She patted the cloth bag that hung from her shoulder. ‘I’m only halfway through the book.’

  ‘Well, I guess you’ll get more out of the end once you’ve discussed the beginning.’

  Liz laughed. ‘S’pose so. I think I’ll just keep quiet, the others don’t like it much if you haven’t read the book when they have.’

  ‘You could always bluff it out...’

  ‘I’m not very good at that kind of thing.’ Liz reached inside her bag and displayed the cover of her book. ‘It’s a good read so far. Would you like to borrow it when I’ve finished it?’

  ‘Yes, that would be great. Thanks.’ It would be ungracious to refuse, but Sam didn’t have much time for reading these days. She’d probably keep it for a week and then gave it back, untouched.

  Liz used a key for the outer door of the clinic and then rang the buzzer, a succession of short, sharp rings to announce herself, and then waved up at the security camera. The door buzzed open, and Sam followed Liz inside.

  Euan was leaning over the reception desk to reach the door release button, and he turned to greet them. Every time she saw him he seemed to impress Sam all over again, as if her imagination wasn’t big enough to hold him and the reality was always better.

  ‘Hey, Liz. Sam.’

  ‘Morning.’ Liz bustled past him. ‘I’m going to make a cup of tea before the rush starts. Sam?’

  ‘Oh. Yes, thanks.’

  ‘Euan?’

  ‘Thanks, but I’ve had one already.’

  Liz disappeared into the kitchen, and Sam swallowed down the lump in her throat and reminded herself that she wasn’t sixteen any more.

  ‘I overstepped the mark on Sunday.’ Euan’s habit of getting straight to the point flustered her even more.

  ‘No...no, you didn’t. I just—’

  ‘Don’t want to talk about it. I should have respected that.’

  ‘Thanks. I... We’re not going to have to start all over again, are we?’

  He laughed, and suddenly all the worries that had kept her sitting in front of her laptop far into the night dissolved in a puff of smoke. ‘Not unless you want to. But personally speaking, I think we’ve made some good progress. Be a shame to waste it.’

  Her fingertips began to tingle. Either she was getting another migraine or Euan just had that effect on her. ‘Yeah.’ She was going to say ‘Me too’ but that was two words too much at the moment. ‘So, did you manage to set up the group session?’

  His gaze softened into a gorgeous heat, which threatened to melt every last one of her defences. ‘I did.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

  He nodded, obviously pleased with her answer. ‘Good. I might live to regret it, they’re a pretty outspoken lot.’

  ‘They won’t... I mean they wouldn’t give you a hard time, would they?’

  ‘Don’t see why they should stop now. The moment I stop having a hard time from our clients is the time I know I need to apply for another job.’ He chuckled at her look of concern. ‘It’s okay. We’re okay.’

  His eyes questioned her again, as if he was wondering whether they were okay. Sam had been wondering that, and now she knew. As long as they stayed on their present path, working together, friendly but not too much personal intimacy, they’d be just fine. ‘I appreciate it, Euan. This is really going to help me get a feel for things.’

  ‘Good.’ He grinned, looking at his watch. ‘I’ve a couple of things to do first, so I’ll leave you with Liz. The group get-together starts at ten-thirty, upstairs in the community room.’

  * * *

  The group that Euan had assembled couldn’t have been more diverse. Jamie was there, along with a young woman who had left her toddler downstairs with Liz. A middle-aged man, who looked as if he’d be more comfortable in a suit and tie, a red-haired girl who was a student at the university, and a young man with tattoos all the way up his arms. Juno came in late, muttering something about an overnight curing process by way of an apology.

  ‘So, there are no rules, then?’ Sam was responding to Jamie’s laughing description of some of the subjects that he’d raised for therapy group discussions, and she was met with a chorus of nos.

  ‘First one’s not to overturn the tea things.’ Juno nodded towards the side table, stacked with cups and saucers and a couple of flasks that Liz had brought in before they’d started.

  Jamie laughed. ‘You were so mad that day....’

  ‘Yeah. Mad’s the word for it.’ Juno gave him a rueful smile.

  ‘Or punch the moderators.’ Dianne, the young mother, broke in.

  Euan nodded. ‘That’s a personal favourite of mine. We have a very strict set of rules. Break them and you’re out.’

  ‘For good?’ Sam looked around at the circle of faces.

  ‘No. We’ve all broken the rules at one time or another.’ Tim, the man who should have been wearing a suit, and who looked as if he’d never broken a rule in his life, spoke up. ‘But a condition of returning is to undertake not to do it again. You have to earn your place if you want it back, and if you transgress again...’

  ‘Three strikes and you’re out.’ Dianne was nodding. ‘Only it’s not as easy as that.’

  ‘Why not?’ It sounded to Sam like the perfect way out for anyone who didn’t want to go through the rigours of therapy.

  ‘Because when I was thrown out of the group Euan took me on for personal counselling.’ She grinned at the assembled company. ‘If you guys think that the group’s tough, try doing it one to one. For the first three sessions I turned up five minutes before the hour was up.’

  Sam wanted to ask, but she wasn’t sure whether she should.

  ‘If you have a session booked, that’s your time,’ John explained, flexing his tattooed arms. ‘If you turn up late the counsellor will confront you about it and then finish the session on time.’

  ‘But...’ Sam frowned. ‘I don’t understand. What’s the good of a counselling session if you don’t turn up?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Jamie grinned at her. ‘What John’s saying is that you take responsibility for your own actions. We all get held up once in a while, but being late all the time is a deliberate act. Apart from when your glue won’t stick, eh, Juno?’

  ‘Hey! I was up until two this morning—’

  ‘And this isn’t a therapy group.’ Euan cut in. ‘The rules don’t apply.’

  ‘You mean I can punch you.’ Dianne’s eyes were alive with laughter.

  Euan pulled a face, rubbing at his jaw. ‘I’m getting myself into trouble now. Look, guys, I want to hear what you’ve got to say about the rehab process, things that worked for you and things that didn’t. And Sam’s here to get an idea of what that process is like from your point of view.’ He leaned back in his chair, his body language clear about the fact that he was there to listen, not to talk. ‘I think Sam’s got some questions...’

  Sam had her questions on a typed sheet, inside the portfolio on her knee, but it suddenly didn’t seem right to draw it out. ‘I’m here to listen. So...um...who wants to start?’

  * * *

  ‘Good session?’ Euan asked her afterwards. Something about Sam had changed. When she’d demonstrated her software she’d been impressive, beautiful and quite definitely in control of the proceedings. Now she was beautiful, clearly happy not to be in control and all the more impressive for that.

  ‘Yeah. I
learned a lot.’

  ‘Did any of it help?’

  ‘All of it helped. I’m going to need to adjust a few things. There were some good points that I hadn’t thought about.’

  ‘We don’t want to take advantage of you, you’re already giving us a great deal of your time...’

  ‘I’m not looking to just do the bare minimum. I’m here to learn and to make my product better. And to give you something that exceeds your expectations.’ She shrugged. ‘That’s the way I work. You don’t get a say in it.’

  He thought about asking why Driftwood should be so important to her, and decided that would be a bad idea. He’d already crossed the line twice. Three strikes and, according to the rules that he’d made, he should be out. ‘As long as you’re okay with it.’

  She nodded. ‘I’m okay with it.’ She turned, almost as if she sensed that Jamie was hovering behind her, staring at the back of her head. ‘How are things, Jamie? Getting to grips with the blog?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s great. I’ve almost written my first post, it’s called Where do we go from here?’

  ‘Blimey.’ She smiled at Jamie. ‘And do you know the answer to that?’

  ‘Nah. Maybe someone else does.’ Jamie’s gaze was darting between Euan and Sam. ‘I’ve...um...got something...’

  ‘Shall we go and get some tea?’ That was Euan’s usual way of getting someone who wanted to talk to sit down and open up.

  ‘We could do. But I was thinking more of having tea with Sam.’ Jamie grinned at him.

  ‘Is this some kind of code?’ The puzzled look on Sam’s face made Euan want to smile.

  ‘Yeah. It means I want to talk to you both.’

  Sam shrugged, as if Jamie might have said that in the first place. ‘Let’s talk, then.’

  Jamie waited until the room had cleared and closed the door. ‘I’ve got Kirsty’s computer.’

  Sam looked at him blankly. ‘Kirsty...?’

  Euan sighed. He had a nasty suspicion he knew where this was leading, and he wished that Jamie would just let it go. ‘Kirsty is one of our clients. She’s been in hospital for a while.’