Watching Over Me

by M K Farrar

  Edward was clearly an angry young man, but with Robert for a father, and a mother who’d abandoned him, she could hardly blame him. This wasn’t something she was going to be able to deal with in one session, and it was already far later than she’d been planning on leaving. Gary was going to be in one of his moods by the time she got home, stomping around the flat and barely speaking to her. Sometimes, she thought he preferred not talking to her rather than arguing because when they argued, she was normally able to put across a perfectly reasonable case to prove her point. At least when he wasn’t speaking to her, he could keep convincing himself that he was the one in the right.

  Amy placed her notepad and pen onto the coffee table in front of her and sat back in her chair, folding her hands in her lap.

  “Edward, I believe you’re dealing with a lot of stress and anxiety...”—she missed out saying that it was due to his home life, and the fallout of his mother deserting him—“and I think you have some anger and impulse control issues that I’m sure we can work through. Of course, we can’t do it all in one session. It’s going to take time. Because of your age, I’d normally prefer to do a family-based session...”

  She trailed off, allowing their reaction to her suggestion to follow.

  Edward immediately tensed and hunched further into himself.

  Robert Swain gave a huff of exasperation. “I shouldn’t even be here now. I’m supposed to be at work, but I got called out to deal with this mess. I can’t take every week off to come here and sit in this room. Edward’s perfectly old enough to get himself here.”

  With that kind of attitude, perhaps it was best that the father didn’t attend. Sometimes, having an uncooperative or defensive family member could hold progress back rather than helping it.

  There was one thing Amy was sure of: parents had the power to screw up their offspring. It was what she was afraid of most. In the right hands, a child could be nurtured and cared for and loved, and raised to be a successful, balanced, caring adult. But in the hands of the wrong parent, that same kid could also be raised to be an anxiety-filled disaster.

  It was something that had never been fully agreed on in the scientific world—if we were the product of its genetics or its surroundings. Nature or nurture.

  Amy didn’t feel she had either side to offer a child. She would be carrying her mother’s genes, and she had no experience of what it was to be a loving mother, either.

  In a way, these were her kids, the ones she was able to help here at the clinic. She had no idea if she even wanted to have any of her own. She hadn’t exactly had the best upbringing. How could she understand how it was to be a mother when she had never been taught?

  “Is that okay with you, Edward?” she asked. “If you come and see me here without your father?”

  “Yeah,” he muttered. “I can do that.”

  “See,” Robert replied brusquely. “I told you he didn’t need me here.”

  “I’m sure I can help you, Edward,” she said, ignoring the father. “It’ll take some time, but we can put some strategies into place that will help you deal with your emotions in a more constructive way.”

  She got to her feet to signal the session being over, and both the father and son rose with her. She gestured towards the door and saw them out, noting the time on the wall clock as she went.

  Shit, she was running seriously late now. She needed to get home.

  Chapter Two

  Because of the lateness of the hour, even Linda had already packed up and gone home.

  Amy was relieved to be the last one to leave the office. Her boss, and the owner of the clinic, Timothy Verte, had a way of acting that often left her feeling a little uncomfortable. He’d never done anything inappropriate, but he had a way of always standing too close to her when he was talking and holding eye contact for too long. When he smiled, she always felt like there was something else going on inside his head other than what was coming out of his mouth.

  Maybe it was simply that he intimidated her. It was understandable. He was in his mid-forties and seemed mature and together. Though she was approaching thirty herself, she didn’t feel like any part of her life, except for her career, was together. Timothy had built this practice up from scratch and was well respected in their profession. He’d taken a chance on her, and she didn’t want to mess it up. There had been plenty of men who’d wanted her job, and yet he’d chosen her.

  Their other colleague, Patricia Doran, kept herself to herself. Amy got the feeling Patricia didn’t like her much, though she’d never done anything to upset the older woman. They’d barely even had a proper conversation. Perhaps she saw Amy as a threat? To be a woman competing against the men for jobs, you had to be even better than the men. There was no time for casual chats or socialising. It was unusual, even, for a woman of her age to still be in a profession and not at home having babies and building a home. Twenty-eight was hardly over the hill, but she’d only just finished her training. Despite Gary’s patience, she was starting to see cracks appearing in their relationship. They used to go to parties where it was just couples, but recently everyone seemed to be popping out babies. The house parties they went to now often involved the children who lived at the house hanging from the stair railings, wanting to get included in the fun, while the parents flapped them back off to their beds again.

  Everyone seemed so busy these days—busy with jobs, and families, and babies. She missed her university days, where everyone had been in the same boat and there had always been someone to talk to. There were people she was in touch with, but by the time she got to the weekend, she was exhausted, and all she wanted to do was climb into bed, watch mindless Saturday night television, and eat junk food. The idea of late-night drinking in the city really didn’t appeal, and she was a little embarrassed to invite people over for dinner. Their flat just off the high street wasn’t exactly somewhere you wanted to show off.

  It was approaching six now, and so Amy locked up the building as quickly as she could and stepped out on the street. She shivered and pulled her jacket around her, wishing she’d thought to bring a bigger coat.

  Another few weeks and it would be dark before she left work. She hated this time of year, feeling as though the days were plunging into a never-ending night. The only thing she liked was when the London streets were lit up with Christmas decorations, but that was still another couple of months away.

  Since it was already so late, she considered grabbing a black cab instead of taking the Tube, but the roads were busy, and it would probably take her even longer. Plus, Gary would moan about her spending the extra money, even if she was the one to earn it.

  Amy hurried down the street towards the Tube station. She was able to catch the District Line all the way home, so at least she didn’t have to go through the bother of changing lines. Fishing in her jacket pocket, she closed her fingers around her season ticket, and she joined the crowd of people entering the Tube station. She took the escalator down to the trains, heading deeper underground. The rattling screech of a train approaching tore up the tunnel. The temperature grew warmer the deeper she got, and cigarette smoke cloyed the air.

  A train was already at the platform, and she picked up her pace, hurrying to catch it before the doors slid shut. She jumped on board just as they did, ducking out of the way so as not to get caught between the doors.

  Businessmen sat with their newspapers unfolded and stretched out, taking up far more room than was necessary in the already crowded carriage. Amy cast her gaze around for a spare seat, but, unable to see one, gave in and held on to one of the silver poles instead. Each time they reached a station, she was bumped and jostled from every direction as people got on and off.

  Her thoughts kept going to her final session of the day. Something about the whole situation just felt off. Had Robert Swain tried to find his wife since she went missing, or had he simply shrugged and got on with his life? Perhaps he’d been happy to see her go. Maybe he’d even been the one to suggest it.
If he’d forced his wife to leave, it would be easier for him to tell his son that she’d gone voluntarily, because of Edward, rather than lay the blame at his own feet. What about the woman’s family or friends? Surely she had connections outside of her immediate family. She might not have a job, if she was focusing on taking care of Edward, but it would be unusual for her to be a total recluse. Someone else must have either noticed her missing or would know where she was now.

  Amy knew she should be concentrating on Edward and not his missing mother, but she couldn’t help it. Where could she go to find out if there was any record of Mrs Swain settling down somewhere else? There was a good chance she might have gone back to her maiden name, though Amy had no idea what that was.

  It would be on Edward’s birth certificate.

  She could tell herself this wasn’t any of her business, but it was her business to try to help Edward. Of course, her instincts might be completely wrong, and the mother didn’t want anything to do with the boy. In that case, attempting to bring her back into Edward’s life might cause more harm than good.

  Finally, the Tube train pulled up at her stop, and she moved forward, ready to disembark as soon as the doors opened. She stepped out onto the platform and joined the throng of people all heading in the same direction, up the escalators, towards the exit.

  At the top, she passed a homeless man lying asleep underneath a Tube map on the wall, only a few unfolded pieces of cardboard as a bed, and his jacket pulled up over his head. His shoes had holes in the toes, and his trousers were filthy. Amy paused long enough to drop a fifty pence piece into the small bowl beside him. It wasn’t much, and probably wasn’t even the right thing to do, but she felt bad for the man. Of course, she didn’t know his story, but a lot of people had been badly hit by the recession. There had been a ton of job losses, and that, combined with the crazy interest rates, meant people had lost their homes as well. She knew there was the chance this poor man had been living on the streets long before any of that had happened, but she still didn’t want to walk by without at least offering something small.

  In the station hall, commuters were queued up at the bank of telephones, calling home to let spouses or other family members know they were going to be late, or that their plans had changed. Amy hurried past them, not even contemplating calling Gary. Maybe she should, but she was almost home anyway. They only lived a ten-minute walk from the Tube station, so she’d be back soon.

  As she walked from the station and took a couple of turns, away from the high street, the number of people quickly thinned out. She reached her building and stopped outside. The flat she shared with Gary was on the first floor, so she let herself in and then trotted up the stairs to their front door.

  Amy sucked in a breath, put her key in the lock, and opened the door. The flat was in silence, which wasn’t a good sign. She stepped into the hallway, dropped her keys and handbag on the hall table, and shut the front door behind her.

  “Hi!” she called out, making her voice as cheery as possible. “Sorry I’m late. I had a patient come in as an emergency.”

  No reply came, so she went through to the kitchen. She wasn’t surprised to see Gary sitting at the table, an empty plate in front of him. There was also a half-drunk bottle of red wine and an empty glass beside it.

  “Oh, you started without me then?” she asked.

  “I was hungry,” he muttered.

  “Sure, no problem.” She bent to kiss his cheek, planting her lips onto scratchy skin. “Is mine in the oven?”

  “Yeah. It’s chicken Kiev and potatoes, but you’re lucky I didn’t feed it to the dog.”

  “We don’t have a dog,” she replied, still trying to keep her voice as bright as possible.

  “No, we don’t. Just you and me here, isn’t it?”

  She didn’t reply, understanding exactly what the insinuation was. She was twenty-eight now. In another eighteen months, she’d be turning thirty. Most women her age had already had children, or at least were actively trying. And Gary was three years older than her, so he was already in his thirties.

  Her heart ached. Was this even fair on him? He couldn’t take all the blame for the cracks in their relationship. They’d already invested four years of their lives together, and she’d always been the one who dragged her feet and changed the subject when he mentioned marriage and babies. Most other women would be delighted they’d found someone who wanted to settle down. She’d thought she’d bought herself more time by agreeing to them living together, but it had only made their lack of a family more obvious.

  She used an oven glove to take out the plate. Some of the garlic sauce had leaked out of the breaded chicken and congealed around the potatoes, and the salad looked decidedly warm and floppy, but there was no way she was going to complain. It was good of him to cook for her at all—she knew plenty of women whose men barely even knew how to boil an egg, never mind have a meal ready for them for when they got home from work. She was hard on Gary, but they were her issues, not his. If he’d met any other woman, he’d probably be happily married by now with a couple of cute kiddies, but he’d had the misfortune of meeting her instead.

  “This looks great,” she lied, placing the plate on the table and grabbing herself a knife and fork. “I’m starving.”

  He glanced up and gave her a rueful smile. “Do you want a glass of wine to go with it?”

  “Sure, that would be lovely, thanks.”

  He got up and fetched her another glass.

  The chicken was dry, and the potatoes were greasy, but she ate with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

  “So, how was your day?” she asked between mouthfuls.

  “Same old,” he replied, pouring the wine.

  Gary worked as an engineer. He was lucky to still have a job. Unemployment in the industry was rife. Only a few years ago, inflation had been crazily high and was only now starting to come down, and it had hit a lot of people hard. The high interest rates meant they’d been unable to think about buying a place and would need to rent for a little while at least. Not that Amy minded. Making that commitment of buying felt in a similar vein to marriage. It was guaranteed that Gary would expect the babies to start arriving not long after.

  “What about you?” he asked. “Your job is far more interesting than mine. What was the emergency?”

  She was bound by confidentiality and couldn’t give names, but there was nothing that said she couldn’t discuss a vague idea. “A boy who’s struggling. His father thinks the kid is the problem, and admittedly, he does have some issues around anger and impulsion, but I think it’s more than that. The father is a hard man, and the mother packed her bags and left one night and hasn’t been seen again. I think the boy is taking too much of the blame for the abandonment.”

  “Jesus, poor kid.”

  “Yeah, you can say that again.” She chewed at the corner of her thumbnail. “I know it’s too early to even be thinking this, and I’ve barely scraped the surface, but I can’t help thinking there’s more to the story.”

  He sat back down, folding his arms across the table. They were good forearms, strong and well-defined. Gary had curly, light-brown hair and blue eyes—his appearance a contrast to her dead straight, almost black hair, which she wore with a fringe above her hazel eyes. They made a good-looking couple. Everyone commented on how they’d have gorgeous kids one day, but the comment always made her stomach sink.

  “Can you find out what happened to her?”

  She twisted her lips as she thought. “I’ve considered it, but that’s not really part of my job description.”

  “I thought your job description was about helping kids.”

  He got to his feet, picking up her empty plate, and placed a kiss on top of her head.

  She smiled up at him gratefully. “Yeah, it is.”

  She gave him a hard time, but often she thought it was her who didn’t deserve him.

  “Well,” he said, “sounds to me like finding out what happened to
the mother will also be helping the child.”

  “You’re right.” Amy nodded, happy to have her thoughts confirmed. “I think it will.”

  Chapter Three

  The following morning was the usual rush of routine.

  Gary had left for work with a kiss and a warning not to be home late, which she knew was only partly in jest, and then she left twenty minutes later to do her own commute into the city.

  At least he didn’t seem to have been too angry with her. He’d even shown an interest in her work, which was something that didn’t happen often. Maybe she was right to think that she needed to look into things further and try to find out what had happened to Mrs Swain. Gary hadn’t told her it was a bad idea, and none of her business, which she was sure he would have if he’d thought so. He rarely encouraged her to do anything that might include working longer hours.

  She didn’t know why this case was playing on her mind more than all the others. She’d even woken at three a.m., and the first thing that had jumped into her mind was Edward Swain, and the bruises on his arms, and the way he’d pulled into himself the moment his father lifted his hand or snapped at him. But Edward had said he’d caused the bruises himself, and his file said he had a history of self-harm. The boy already had a case worker with social services, and there was no mention in their file of Edward experiencing violence at home. So why was she getting those vibes from Robert Swain? And why did the missing mother feel like a hole in a jigsaw puzzle that she needed to find?

  The Tube was its usual busy, overcrowded place at this time of day, and Amy willed for the journey to be over, exhaling a long sigh of relief as the train doors opened and she was able to step out onto the platform again. From the station, it was only a five-minute walk to her office.

  Linda was already sitting behind her desk, the handset of the telephone pressed to her ear. She raised her hand in a small wave, and Amy gave her a smile and nod in return. It was still too early for any patients to be in, and so the waiting room was empty.