by Fox Brison
I nodded my head slowly and blew my nose quite astringently. “Sorry. That was gross.”
“Not at all, there’s nothing better than a good blow.” I don’t know if sharing helped or I was delirious but I definitely felt lighter and I burst out laughing “Oh Christ, that sounded awful.” Emma cringed but saw the funny side and we both had a good giggle. “It says here you want to have ten sessions in a month is that correct?” She must have noted my grimace because she corrected herself. “It says here your coach wants you to have ten sessions in a month?”
“Yeah, it’ll be the start of the clay court season soon, followed by the grass which is my best surface. I think David’s hoping for some sort of miracle and I can climb the rankings a bit.” I chuckled again, this time with more than a hint of disbelief.
“It’s not long but we’ll certainly do our best to get you to where you want to be.” Emma was ignoring my pity party for one in the corner. “How about tomorrow? Same time?.”
“Hmmm? Oh,” I checked my mobile and the calendar was surprisingly clear, “it appears I have a hole in my schedule, so I’m all yours.” Emma passed me a little card with the time on. “Thanks,” I said, putting it into my wallet.
“If you give me a minute I’ll see you out.” Emma retrieved a bunch of keys from her desk and setting the alarm she quickly secured the main door. “I do love your van by the way,” she said as we walked together. “I actually Googled it last night, well not Kermit specifically, that would have been creepy. I meant camper vans of his ilk. Is it all kitted out? What year is it?”
“He’s registered 1970. And yes, there’s a bed in the back and a little kitchenette.”
“Why a camper van? I would have thought something a little more sporty would be in keeping with your image?” Emma was teasing and it elicited a dry chuckle.
“If only. I spent most of my money buying a small business in Cambridge when I stopped playing, and well Kermie’s an old boy but he’s never let me down.” I rummaged in my bag and eventually located the keys in one of the many zipped compartments. “Do you want to take a look inside?” It seemed natural to ask and Emma nodded enthusiastically.
“I’d love to. I always thought I would like one of these, the hippy in me I guess.”
“Sorry, just… oof… hang on… wow c’mon Kermie, give me a break… sorry about this, Emma it sticks sometimes,” maybe I have a touch of mea culpa Tourette’s. I struggled with the side door but it just wouldn’t budge.
“Here, let me help.” Emma wrapped her arms around me and placing her hands on top of mine, we grabbed the handle together. “After three?” she suggested and we both pulled sharply.
The door released and I almost went flying into the hydrangea but luckily Emma caught me. “Thanks,” I said breathlessly. Her arms felt so good I could have stayed safe in them for the rest of the night, heck for the rest of my life. Straightening myself up, (thirty-fifteen to me in the pun stakes) I hopped in the back and proceeded to give Emma the grand tour. “You pull this down and vi-o-la, a comfy bed big enough for two.” As soon as the words left my mouth I felt the heat rise in my cheeks.
Emma simply smiled and sat beside me before doing the obligatory bounce test. “Feels very durable!” she delivered the line without the slightest hint of irony. “He’s very cool, George, I can see why you’re so fond of him.” She climbed out, and, as she did so, her charcoal grey pin striped pencil skirt clung to her curves giving me the perfect view of her shapely bottom. “I don’t want to make you late for your dinner plans.” She said. I quickly ducked my head as I followed hiding the sudden flash of lust in my eyes, and the unexpected flush of arousal colouring my cheekbones.
”I’ll see you tomorrow, George, have a good evening,” Emma shivered in the spring air and quickly headed for the house, giving a short wave of farewell, before suddenly stopping. “By the way,” she said turning around, “I’m not sure if it’s the quote you mean, but John Donne was the one who said ‘No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent; a piece of the main.’ Maybe something to think about?”
Oh, you’ve given me plenty to think about Dr Myers, plenty! I thought as I pulled away.
Chapter 12
Emma
“Client notes Georgia Maskel, session two. First surprise was George returning, second was her new haircut. This may signify a subliminal need for change and for a new start.
She began opening up about her life pre-ban… hmm… never mentions it was because of drugs? Interesting. Pursue this in a later session if it becomes more noticeable.
Referred to her mother as coach. Maybe we could use this to disassociate. Again, noted no emotion when she talked about Helen Maskel, but there was a distinct warmth whenever her father was mentioned. And tennis. She has a blatant love for the game, which is good news.
Didn’t have many friends on tour. Who felt it ruined her edge when she faced them in a match. Herself? Her mother?
She was also passionate with her lover, yet apologised for losing control… passion not control. Does George see the difference? Does she know the difference?
She is very self-aware, maybe too self-aware. Need to find out more? What drives her to be so hypercritical?
Freely admits she was taking risks with her career. Why? For attention? Did she take the drugs on purpose to sabotage it? Was she trying to punish herself?” The tape clicked off and I checked my handwritten scribbles. Damn. I put on my glasses and checked again. There it is. I clicked the recorder on again. “No, she was trying to punish her mother? Mother seems to be controlling factor in George’s life. The yin to the father’s yang? Mother’s only, and this is emphasised, only concern is with George’s tennis career. How did that make George feel? Was this something that contributed to her…” I cross referenced my notes, “to her loneliness? Did Helen Maskel purposefully isolate her daughter? And again the subconscious trust issue… she mentioned everyone, including her father, as lying… no wait…” the papers flicked, “their relationships were lies. Why was her relationship with her parents a lie? It must have been after the argument with Ana that she took the drugs…” I frowned and paused the recording. Was that the catalyst? I thought again about the timing, no, she must have taken them before the argument with Anastasia Kerberov. I quickly started recording again. “Obviously Ana’s betrayal hurt. Horrible, horrible accusation. Maybe I should watch the press conference to see the depth of the betrayal? Mother saved the day. Why? Because she loved Georgy? Or because of her own reputation? Or was it another way to control her daughter? Georgy again left feeling positive. She was more open than I thought she would be, less reluctant considering the circumstances. End recording.”
Chapter 13
Georgia
“So, what happened to you last night?” Jules asked throwing herself onto the sofa. It had just gone one o’clock, and she’d finally crawled out of her pit.
“Didn’t you get my message?” I called from the kitchen. After spending an hour with a six year old who showed more promise than the average, I’d wasted three hours battering balls served at me with the speed of a male player. The machine at the other end of the court was hit more than once, so was Adam, the incompetent hitting partner David had hired, who thought it would be fun to catcall from the safety of the opposite baseline.
It was fun when the first ball hit him in the head and the second in the stomach.
When the third hit him in the crotch, I’d finally gained back my good humour after a sleepless night tossing and turning.
“Yes, I got your four word, ‘sorry can’t make it tonight’ message.”
“Five words,” I corrected and then watched Jules proceed to count on her fingers – twice.
“Four, five whatever. The point is I tried calling you back about twenty times. Did you switch your phone off?”
“No I took a drive out to the fens, my therapy got a little heavy. I’m sorry, Jules, I just didn’t feel like facing anyone.” I looked
over and saw Julia with her eyes closed rubbing her left temple. “Still, it’s good to see the celebrations went ahead without me. You look like the living dead.” I poured her a large glass of orange juice. “Here,” I said passing it over. Her face was pale and waxy and she had dark circles under both eyes. I was really starting to worry. “Seriously, Julia, are you okay?”
“This is what I look like without make up, George. We can’t all be blessed with your flawless complexion,” she mumbled softly. Anything louder than a whisper was no doubt like a jackhammer pounding her tender head. That was one thing I didn’t miss about giving up alcohol - the hangovers. “All I need is a couple of paracetamol and I’ll be right as rain.” She expertly washed down two pills with the juice I’d handed her. “You sound like you might approve of this shrink, given that your therapy got a little heavy. Are you meeting the doddery Dr Myers today?” Julia burped a little then held one hand over her mouth and the other to her stomach. I gave a silent count to three. She took a couple of shallow breaths and finally removed her hand from her mouth.
“I like her approach, that’s all,” I explained when I was certain Julia wasn’t about to projectile vomit the orange juice everywhere. “I’m due there at four thirty this afternoon and I only came home to shower and change.”
“Her approach?” The fact my therapist was a woman was the only thing Julia heard. She perked up considerably and couldn’t contain her mirth; grinning like a Cheshire cat she followed me into my bedroom. It seemed for Julia Ryan the best hangover cure was not a greasy fry up, but the chance to take the rise out of her best friend. She lay down on my bed and stroked Ruby who was purring like a luxury sports car. “I see. So what’s this woman like then?” she drawled suggestively.
“Please, Julia, she’s my therapist.” I shook my head but couldn’t stop the tell-tale colouring of my cheeks. Damn I’m being way too sensitive. I grabbed my towel and went into the bathroom, more as an avoidance tactic than the desperate need to shower. Although maybe another cold one is due, my cheeks were blazing. Looking at myself in the mirror above the sink as I waited for the water temperature to right itself, I barely recognised the strange haze in my eyes, it had been absent for so long.
Desire.
The absolute unequivocal need for another woman.
I hadn’t felt this desperate ache since Ana and had never felt it so quickly.
Ever!
I barely knew Emma but the past couple of nights my dreams were filled with her smile and my waking moments were mere countdowns until I could see her again. I knew it was stupid, almost a teenage crush, but she made me feel so at ease in my own skin. However, there was no way on God’s green earth I was going to admit that to Julia. She’d grasp onto it like a dog with a lamb bone, tenaciously tearing at it till she got to the marrow of the matter.
I shouldn’t even have been admitting it to myself!
“She’s younger than any of the others I’ve seen before, so maybe that’s the difference. She seems more relatable.”
“Relatable or dateable?”
“For the second time, Julia, and I’ll say it slowly this time so it’s easy to understand. She. Is. My. Therapist.” The fact was I didn’t know didley squat about Emma Myers, for all I knew she was married with three kids. Although she wasn’t wearing a ring… she’s your therapist, Georgy, keep saying it.
She’s your bloody therapist.
“I’m jesting, I know you wouldn’t… well...” Julia popped her head around the bathroom door, I could hear the conciliation but also the hesitation in her voice. She sat on the toilet. “Well, you know?” I knew what she meant, but it was probably already too late. That horse was so far out of its stable it was jumping Beecher’s Brook at the Grand National.
“I won’t.” We were talking in half sentences, but understood each other perfectly. “Look, she’s nice is all, and I don’t feel like running for the hills after every session. I even managed to tell her about Anastasia and Melbourne.” I squirted the shampoo into my hand, but it was empty. “Hand me another bottle of shampoo, will ya?”
I heard the cupboard door open and then Julia’s hand was thrust through the curtain, “I’m glad, George, really glad you’ve found someone you think might help you to get your spark back,” she said seriously before quickly reverting to form. “Just so long as that spark is on the tennis court and not in your pants,” she teased. I swiftly poked my head out from behind the shower curtain and she winked impishly.
“You’re incorrigible, and have definitely been reading too many of those lesbian romances!” I said with mock severity.
“And you’ve been doing the crossword again,” she called back as I ducked my head under the water, allowing some of my cares to wash down the plughole with the foam.
Chapter 14
Georgia
With every passing session the journey to Emma’s clinic was taking less and less time, so I arrived early.
Again.
Talk about being keen! It wasn’t just the familiarity of the route which caused my punctuality, I was leaving earlier. Emma did say late clients caused her a massive headache. I blushed furiously, at the trying to justify my eagerness as a simple case of conscientiousness. Yeah, like that was the real reason. I picked up my Kindle hoping to kill a few minutes reading the new Rachel Spangler novel, but I barely made it through one chapter before throwing it onto the passenger seat in a fit of frustrated pique. No, the book wasn’t that bad, I loved Rachel Spangler, but the fact of the matter was I was simply too nervous to concentrate.
Or was it excitement?
Hmm. Ten minutes before seeing Emma wasn’t the best time to dwell on exactly which of these emotions was most prevalent.
The weather had broken and the conditions were now more befitting for the time of year; basically March winds and torrential rain. I picked up my phone and decided to try and complete level 1071 on Candy Crush which had been besting me for over a week. Seriously, psychiatrists should consider prescribing several levels of the game rather than Prozac to combat anxiety, because I’m telling you it could distract a horny rhino. The beeping of my phone alarm interrupted me with six moves left, but I was nowhere near getting through to the next level and I scowled. Still stuck. The story of my life really.
It’s a shame there wasn’t a lollipop hammer or colour bomb bonus in real life to make my problems disappear.
Lifting my jacket over my head I made a harried dash toward the annexe. However, for the first time since I’d started visiting Emma, the outside door was locked and I almost bounced all the way back to Kermit. The bang produced a petite grey haired woman who, peering through the glass, glared at me like I was an idiot, and an illiterate one at that. Opening the door she pointed to a sign on the wall. “You have to ring the bell, dearie,” she said with a lilting Scottish brogue.
I smiled, even though I was drenched and was more than likely going to have a shiner in the morning (and hey let’s add in the little titbit that I wanted to strangle someone for locking the door) but the situation dictated politeness rather than ill-humour. It didn’t take the rain long to plaster my hair to my head, and I quickly picked up my jacket which I’d dropped in the collision. Water was running down my neck into the back of my oversized check shirt and my jeans were as effective as a swimsuit, the wind cutting right through the damp material.
“Yes. Sorry,” I tried to explain my actions so that the woman wouldn’t think me completely stupid, “the thing is the other day it wasn’t locked.” The old lady shook her head and sucked her teeth. Lucky her. My teeth chattered. Loudly. “My name is George Maskel. I have a four thirty appointment with Dr Myers?” Blimey O’Reilly, let me in already! “Dr Myers. Emma. You know. The psychologist?” I expounded but the woman just looked at me with a puzzled frown and stared at my tattered jeans and worn Converse trainers. I realised I probably didn’t look the part today. Our washing machine was on the blink and I was down to the bare bones of my wardrobe. In fact, I knew I didn�
�t fit the mould; I looked like a reject from High School Musical 5, Hobo Hoedown.
Sartorially elegant I was not.
If the gatekeeper wouldn’t let me pass in a second I was going to go all Lexa on her arse. I tapped my toe, blew into my hands and finally she took the hint.
“Dr Myers leaves it unlocked sometimes when I’m not here, but I’ve told her it’s not safe. Well you’d better come in, dear, or you’ll catch your death standing there in the rain. I’m Mary, the receptionist.”
So this was the elusive assistant. Christ I could’ve done with her being elusive for one more bloody day, I might not have ended up looking like a drowned rat. I didn’t know why I was so bothered about how I looked… Okay, so I did know why, but again I didn’t want to linger too long on the notion.
Mary stepped back into the office and at last I made it into the dry waiting room. Still eyeing me rather suspiciously, she bent over the desk and checked something on her computer. Pursing her lips, she looked at me again before picking up a cream phone. “Dr Myers, there’s a young woman here.” Her tone held a warning note to it. “Ah I understand now… no, no it’s quite alright, dearie. Just make sure to… I’m sorry… yes of course.” She put the phone down and smiled. “You can hang your coat up there, Georgia. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?”
“No, thank you. I’m okay.” I said whilst shaking myself off and running my fingertips through damp hair in an attempt to make it look less like a cow pat and more like the trendy eighty quid haircut I’d paid for.
Yes, the hairdresser saw me coming. And no I wasn’t trying to impress.
Much.
“Dr Myers will be with you shortly, she’s just finishing up with her three o’clock.”
“Actually, it’s George. Or Georgy.” I’d barely sat down when the door to Emma’s office opened.