Watching Over Me

by M K Farrar

  But no, she was sure she’d heard breathing down the line, and it hadn’t been her mother’s. If someone had asked her to put money on it, she’d have said the breathing belonged to a man. She knew deep down that there was no possible way she could prove it, but something in her gut told her, and not only that, but whoever was on the other end had known exactly whose number they’d called.

  Amy finished with her last patient before lunch and left the office. She still needed to try to find her purse, so she headed down to the sandwich shop to see if she’d left it there. The contents could all be replaced—except for her student ID, which was out of date now, anyway—but it would be easier to get the purse back again.

  Like the previous day, she waited in the queue until she’d reached the counter. The same girl as before was serving, and she gave Amy a smile of recognition.

  “Hi. I wondered if a small brown purse was handed in yesterday?”

  The girl behind the counter wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. No purses. We had an umbrella and a kid’s toy handed in, but that was all.”

  She gave a rueful smile. “That’s okay. I thought I’d ask.”

  “Do you want to order a sandwich?” the girl asked, brightening her voice.

  “Yes, thank you. Chicken salad, please.”

  Yes, people did like their routines, herself included, except sometimes they could be taken too far.

  After finishing her lunch on a bench in a small square of gardens surrounded by a wrought-iron fence, she headed back to the office.

  Her next patient was Kristie—a seventeen-year-old who was crippled by agonising self-consciousness. Kristie had been seeing Amy for a couple of months now, and the young woman was already making great progress.

  Amy welcomed her into her office. They sat down, and Amy got the teenager talking about how her week had been.

  The door to her office burst open. “What the fuck have you been saying to my son?”

  Amy stood from her desk, instantly defensive.

  Linda came tumbling through the door after him. “Mr Swain, you really can’t—”

  But the damage was already done.

  Amy shot an apologetic glance to Kristie. “I’m so sorry about this.”

  The girl shook her head, her lips pressed together.

  “Can you give us five minutes?” Amy asked her.

  Without a word, Kristie picked up her bag and jacket and went back into the waiting room, brushing past Robert Swain and giving him a curious, cautious look as she went. Ideally, Amy would have asked Mr Swain to be the one to leave, but she could already tell from his body language that he intended on giving her a fight, and she didn’t want Kristie to witness what she imagined would be the whole, ugly event. She gave a nod to Linda as well, telling her it was okay for her to leave.

  Amy waited until the door had shut and then opened her mouth to speak, but he didn’t give her the chance.

  “You heard me. What the hell have you been telling Edward?”

  “Mr Swain—Robert—please come and sit down. I can’t speak to you when you’re shouting at me from the other side of the room.”

  He took a couple of fast, long paces towards her, but he didn’t sit down. Instead, he placed one hand, palm down, fingers splayed, on the surface of her desk, and pointed his other finger at her.

  “Answer my question. You’re supposed to be helping us, not putting crazy ideas inside my son’s already crazy head. What the fuck were you thinking, trying to make out like I had something to do with my wife disappearing? I should report you!”

  Amy did her best to keep her voice as calm as possible and hoped the shaking didn’t betray her nerves. “Mr Swain, I simply asked Edward some questions around his mother’s disappearance and how it affected him. I didn’t imply that you might have something to do with it, though I’m fairly sure she wouldn’t have abandoned her son without good reason.”

  “You know nothing about our family!”

  Amy cleared her throat, trying to contain herself in front of this wall of fury. Was this what Edward’s mother had had to put up with, day after day? Was this what Edward was seeing in the home as well? It was no wonder the boy was struggling to cope with day-to-day life. The home should be a place of sanctuary away from all the shit the rest of the world threw at you, not the place that caused all the problems.

  “You have to understand that a child’s home life is instrumental in their development. I can’t possibly look to treat Edward without bringing up his mother vanishing overnight and what effect that might have had on him emotionally. And yes, of course your name was brought up as well. You can’t expect me to care for your son without talking about either of his parents, and just the fact you’re implying that I should gives me cause for concern.”

  Robert deflated a little, hot air seeping out of a balloon. “I wasn’t implying that,” he muttered. “It was more what you said than anything else.”

  “Mr Swain, I’m not sure exactly what Edward told you, but I’m sure it came across the wrong way. I’m a professional, and there’s no way I’d imply that you had anything to do with your wife’s disappearance. I certainly wouldn’t want to put that idea in your son’s head when he’s already dealing with so much.” She took a breath and continued, calmer this time. “I invited you to come and sit in on the session—in fact, I would prefer it if you were with us—but you declined, citing work as your reason for not being available for your son. The option to join the sessions is still open, however. If you’d feel more comfortable being around when Edward comes and talks to me, that’s absolutely fine, but you need to commit to it. You’re either here or you’re not. You can’t just turn up when it suits you.”

  Robert Swain’s body language changed. He removed his hand from her desk and shoved it into his pocket. His shoulders dropped and his neck bent—a contrast to the chin raised, chest-puffed-out stance he’d had when he’d burst in.

  “I already said that I had to work,” he said gruffly. “It’s not easy, you know, having to raise a kid like Edward on your own. I’ve still got a mortgage to pay, which has been ridiculous since the interest rates went up, and I know they’re laying people off at work. If I give my boss any sign that I’m not committed to my role, I’ll be the next one told not to bother coming back in the following day. And how do you think that’s going to help Edward, huh? If he doesn’t even have a roof over his head.”

  He had a point. Maybe she’d been too hard on him. For all she knew, everything they’d told her was the truth, and he’d been left in the difficult position of having to raise an almost teenage boy, who clearly had issues, on his own.

  “You’re right, Mr Swain. I’m sorry. I hadn’t meant to cross any lines. I realise this is a difficult time for you. I promise to be more...delicate with how I word things in future when I’m speaking to Edward.”

  “Yeah, I’d appreciate it if you did.”

  “Of course.” She gestured to her office door, hoping he would take the hint.

  She didn’t want to spend any more time talking to him. How much had her boss, Timothy, heard of the conversation? She bet everyone, including Linda, had practically had their ears pressed to the other side of the door to get an idea of what was being said. No one would have missed Robert Swain marching across the waiting room, demanding to be seen, and then pushing past Linda and shouting as he burst into her office. She shrivelled inside. There was no doubt that Timothy was going to want an explanation. This was his practice, and anything like this ultimately reflected badly on him.

  It wasn’t even having to explain what had happened that had her worried. It was more that it meant she’d have to spend some one-on-one time with her boss.

  Chapter Seven

  With Robert Swain pacified and out of the building, Amy finished her session with Kristie. She was full of apologies about what had happened, but Kristie waved her off, probably more embarrassed than Amy was.

  She had two other patients for that a
fternoon, and she did her best not to allow the incident to distract her.

  At the end of the day, she picked up her bag, ready to leave. Exhaustion weighed down her limbs, and her eyes were sore and scratchy. All she wanted was to get home and climb into bed. She didn’t even care about cooking dinner. Cereal and toast would have to do.

  A knock came at her office door, and she froze, her heart sinking. Deep down, she’d known she wasn’t going to get out of here without the dreaded talk with Timothy about the events of that afternoon.

  “Come in.”

  The door opened, and her boss stepped through. He was far taller than her—well over six feet—and his pinstripe suit only made his long, narrow frame seem even longer. His black hair was scraped back from his temples, and a part of her was tempted to point out that he was receding and could probably do with a different, more flattering hairstyle.

  “Timothy,” she greeted, plastering on a smile. “What can I do for you?

  “Hello, Amy. Sorry to keep you when you’re heading off home, but I just needed a quick chat.”

  “Sure,” she relented, gesturing to a chair.

  He took the seat, and she dropped her handbag back on the floor and sank into the chair opposite.

  Her boss steepled his fingers and pressed them to his lips, and leaned forward, the hint of a frown across his forehead. “Do you want to tell me what happened today?”

  She sighed. “It’s just a misunderstanding. The boy’s father took something too personally. I don’t know if it’s a guilty conscience, but I was simply asking some questions around Edward Swain’s mother leaving overnight, and how Edward felt about it. Edward said that his mum and dad used to fight all the time before she left. It’s only natural to assume that Robert Swain knows more than he’s letting on.”

  “Amy, we’re not some kind of investigative agency. We’re here to help people with their mental health and learn coping mechanisms.”

  “I know that.”

  “So next time they come in—assuming they even decide to come back here—can you stay away from anything to do with the mother leaving?”

  She sat back in disbelief. “How am I supposed to treat him if I can’t ask about what was probably the most defining point in his life?”

  “You’ll have to ask around it. Be less...concise.”

  She could barely believe what she was hearing. “And what about his relationship with his dad at home? Am I allowed to ask about that?”

  “Of course. Just don’t say anything accusatory. We’re not here to judge, Amy. We’re here to help.”

  In their role they were supposed to be curious but not judgemental.

  “The boy has bruises all up his arms. His dad says he does it to himself.”

  He cocked both eyebrows. “Is that what Edward says, too?”

  Reluctantly, she nodded.

  “Then unless there’s any real sign that the kid is in danger at home, you’re going to have to believe them both. That man is the only parent he has now, and maybe he might not be perfect, but you and I both know how easily these things get blown up and then that boy will end up in a kid’s home somewhere. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you how bad some of those places can be. The fact the father has brought him here in the first place shows he cares about him.”

  “His social worker arranged for him to come here,” Amy said. “He’s been expelled, and the school district refused to place him in a new school unless he got some help. It’s not all the father’s doing.”

  “That may well be, but it shows the father wants him in school.”

  “Yeah, so he can go to work guilt free.”

  She was being harsh again. She let out a sigh and sat back. “Okay, I’ll be more delicate next time, I promise.”

  Timothy leaned over and placed his hand on her knee. “Thank you, Amy. I knew you’d see the light eventually.” And he gave her knee a squeeze before releasing her and getting to his feet.

  Even as he left her office, she could still feel the pressure of his fingertips on her skin.

  SHE’D GONE TO BED THAT evening with her stomach in knots. It wasn’t only due to the confrontation with Robert Swain, but also because she couldn’t get the thought of Timothy’s hand on her knee out of her head. It twisted her up inside, and she’d been more snappish with Gary than usual that evening. He’d asked her what was wrong, but she didn’t want to tell him about either incident so had simply replied with ‘nothing’. To avoid any more awkward questions, she had locked herself in the bathroom and taken a long bath until bedtime.

  By the time she climbed out, the bath water cool, Gary was already asleep, and she was grateful to get in beside him without having to make any more conversation. After the disturbed night and the stressful day, she was asleep within minutes as well.

  She had no idea how much time had passed when she jolted awake again.

  Her stomach lurched. The bloody phone was ringing. A check of the clock told her it was gone two in the morning.

  With her heart pounding, she swung her legs out of bed. Beside her, Gary stirred.

  “What’s going on?” he grumbled.

  “The phone’s ringing again.”

  He pushed himself to sitting and scrubbed his hand over his eyes. “What?”

  But she wasn’t going to sit there and explain to him something he was more than capable of figuring out for himself. Her mood went from frightened to irritated, and she jumped to her feet and headed for the bedroom door. It was already open a crack, but when she opened the door fully to step into the hallway, the ringing grew louder.

  Suddenly feeling exposed, she paused long enough to snatch her dressing gown off the back of the bedroom door. She wrapped it around herself and hurried to the kitchen.

  Footsteps came from behind her.

  Gary’s hands on her shoulders gently manoeuvred her out of the way. “Let me get it.” He snatched the handset off the hook and wedged it against his ear. “Who the fuck is this? You need to stop calling this number, or next time we’ll get the police involved.”

  Could the police even do anything? This was hardly a high-level crime—a couple of odd phone calls in the early hours of the morning. This was London, and she imagined the police had far more important things to attend to. But maybe the threat would be enough to make whoever it was think again before picking up the phone.

  The person on the end of the line clearly wasn’t responding, and Gary gave a growl of anger and slammed the phone back down.

  Immediately, it started ringing again.

  “Leave it,” she said. “Let’s just pull it out at the wall.”

  He gave her a glance over his shoulder and nodded, then bent to do it. He was left standing there with the phone cord dangling from his hand, but they both exhaled a breath of relief. It wasn’t ideal, but at least they could go to bed without having to lie there, waiting for the phone to start ringing.

  “We’re going to have to plug it back in at some point, though,” he told her.

  “I know, but hopefully by then, whoever has been calling will have got bored and moved on to someone else.”

  She hoped she was right.

  “Such a bloody childish thing to do in the first place,” he muttered as he dropped the cord and turned to head back to bed.

  Chapter Eight

  The following evening was the party.

  Amy really didn’t want to go, but she’d promised Gary, and after the week they’d had, and with the threat of the nuisance phone calls still hanging over their heads, she didn’t want to stay in the flat by herself.

  “It’ll be good for you,” Gary insisted. “It’ll help take your mind off everything.”

  In the end, she’d filled him in about what had happened with Robert Swain but kept the talk she’d had with Timothy to herself. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t told Gary. Perhaps it was simply that she knew he wouldn’t be happy if she admitted to him the full truth about how she felt when Timothy was around. Things were alr
eady fractious in their relationship, and she knew, in part, it was because of her work. She didn’t want to give Gary another reason to complain about her career. Still, the memory of Timothy’s hand on her knee lingered, and she struggled to put it out of her mind. She needed to, though. She loved her job, even if it meant putting up with Timothy and his invasion of her personal space. She wondered if the other women in the office felt the same way, but both of them were older, so perhaps he wasn’t quite so hands-on. But she didn’t want to say anything in case it got back to Timothy and made things difficult. She barely spoke to the other doctor at the practice, and Linda could be a bit of a gossip on occasions. It wasn’t worth the risk.

  They arrived at Ashley and Liz’s flat shortly before eight.

  It took a few knocks before the couple hosting the party opened the door. She was hit with a blast of cigarette smoke and people chatting and music in the background. Amy would never have guessed there was a baby in the house.

  “Gary! Amy! It’s so lovely to see you both,” Liz declared.

  Her husband, Ashley, hovered behind her shoulder.

  They stepped through, and Gary pushed a bottle of wine into Ashley’s hands, and Amy handed Liz a bunch of flowers they’d picked up on the way over.

  She allowed the other woman to peck her on the cheek, though she’d always found this thing of kissing hello with people she barely knew to be awkward. Ashley leaned in to kiss her as well, and Amy did her best to make sure he didn’t linger too long. He’d clearly already had a couple of drinks, and it was only early.

  “Is the baby sleeping?” she asked, looking around.

  Liz and Ashley had had a baby girl six months earlier. It was part of the reason Amy hadn’t wanted to come, though she’d never have said so to Gary.

  It was almost eight, and so she assumed that was the case—not that she knew anything about babies.

  “Yes, she goes down at six forty-five and will sleep until six the next morning,” Liz replied with a proud smile.