by Fox Brison
I had faced several demons in under twenty four hours; I didn’t think I could face any more.
Chapter 37
Emma
“Mum…” Lawrie dropped his sports bag at the bottom of the stairs. “Mum!”
“Where’s the fire?” I stuck my head into the hallway. “Not there, Lawrie.”
“Mum, can I go and watch George play Laura Hargreaves? They’re having an exhibition match two weeks from tomorrow. Laura Hargreaves! I can’t believe it.” Lawrie joined me in the kitchen and sat on a stool, making me dizzy as he twirled round and round. I placed an apple and a cheese sandwich in front of him.
“Milk or water?”
“She’s ranked fourteenth in the world rankings and even beat Venus Williams last week, although Venus retired injured, but still.” It sounded as if Lawrie was quoting someone.
And he was.
“George reckons that because of the help you’re giving her she might have half a chance. Against Laura Hargreaves. She’s got a weak backhand that George says she can dominate. It’s her serve she has to worry about. Can I have some fizz please?”
“When did you see George? Milk or water?”
“I saw her at the tennis centre. Water please.”
“Lawrie, I don’t think it’s a good idea. I won’t be working with George for much longer.” My son was getting far too close to Georgia and it was making me nervous for many reasons, not least past history repeating itself. Fuck you’re such a hypocrite, I inwardly berated myself.
“She says I can!” Lawrie stuffed half the sandwich in his mouth and dared me to call him for his manners.
“I’m sure she did. She’s a polite young lady, unlike you with the stuffing of the food in your mouth. No!” I said, holding up my hand. “If you must eat like an animal remain silent until you’ve finished. I don’t particularly want half-masticated cheese spat in my face. Regardless of what George says, you’re not going.”
“That’s so not fair,” he scowled and thumped up to his bedroom leaving the rest of his snack on the kitchen counter.
I shook my head for a third time and went through to my office. I liked to say hello to Lawrie when he returned home from school and most afternoons I managed to have a snack with him. However, this afternoon I wished I hadn’t bothered. It had been hectic, several clients either running late or running over, and I had Georgia about to arrive for her next session.
Her decision to play Laura confused me.
There was clearly… hatred… no… anguish… whenever the subject of the British number one was mentioned. Maybe even… of course, you idiot, George is obviously jealous because she thinks Laura replaced her in her parent’s affections.
Georgia was waiting in the reception area when I arrived at both my clinic and conclusion. We smiled, barely at each other, the sort of smiles that show more unease and discomfort than pleasure and warmth. We headed into my office and I heard Mary locking up. After sitting in silence for a few minutes, I finally spoke.
“How was Eastbourne? Why did you run away?” I was more caustic than I’d planned to be, but inside I was still terrified by what might have been.
“Wow, okay, cut to the chase!” Georgia was immediately on the defensive. “Good afternoon, George. Good afternoon, Emma. So how was your day? It was fine thank you. And yours?”
“Sarcasm isn’t a useful tool in any situation,” I said a touch tritely.
“No?” Georgia stood. “Neither is being antagonistic. And I didn’t run away, I just needed a time out to think.”
“George, I was way out of line in our last session, and I apologise for that. My need to help you was greater than your need to help yourself, and that can never be a good thing. I’ve thought long and hard about this and believe me it isn’t a decision that I’ve come to lightly-”
“No, Emma, you don’t understand,” George quickly interrupted me, “it’s what I needed. You’re really helping, I’m feeling so much more confident. I’ve even got a match lined up with Laura Hargreaves no less! It’s a long story, and let’s just say Julia had a major part to play in it, but after the initial shock and terror I’m actually glad it’s happening.”
“Yes, Lawrie mentioned it. I’d have thought Laura Hargreaves was the last person you’d want to play. And lose to.”
“Okay, who stole your last Malteaser?” Georgia was pale, her blue eyes striking as they sparkled with anger but she quickly regained control. “Lawrie’s such a cool kid. He was super excited when I said he could come and watch.”
“Actually, George, neither of us will be coming. I don’t think it’s appropriate.”
“It’s not appropri-? Why?” George was gobsmacked. “You don’t think I have iniquitous intentions towards your son, do you?” She was angry. Very angry. She turned her back on me and stared out of the French doors. I could see her reflection in the glass, her shoulders were rigid and her face was set as if in stone.
“Of course not!” Now I was feeling defensive. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea. I’m your psychologist and my son has a little hero worshipping going on. It might be best if we took a step back.” Stop talking Emma. You don’t want to step back. You want to step forward into her arms. You want her to be part of your life, to be part of Lawrie’s life. And that is scaring you. “As your psychologist it is not conducive to a positive working relationship for the client to become too involved with the clinician.”
“For fuck’s sake, did you just quote a medical text book at me? Step back?” Georgia was confused. For a heartbeat. “Wait a minute. Wait just one minute. Are you… Are you dumping me as a client?”
“George, I warned you the lines were becoming blurred-”
“Blurred? By me?” she sounded incredulous. “Shit, I’ve been nothing but professional throughout this whole process.”
“Are you denying you have feelings for me?” I hoped she would. Kind of. If she did then maybe we could maintain a professional relationship. If she didn’t then at least I would know for sure, but that would open up a whole new can of worms. Oh Emma why the hell did you start down this rabbit hole? Alice is talking to Dorothy in the land of Oz, you bloody fool!
“Not at all. I fancy you something rotten. I would like nothing better than to strip you naked, lay you on this couch and make you come until you screamed my name!” Georgia was panting now, obviously upset with herself for admitting the way she felt about me, and probably just as angry with me for forcing what wasn’t really an issue, not yet. “But I can control myself around you Dr Myers. I’m not some hormonal teenager going through my first crush. I dream of making love to you. I wake up in the morning and my first thoughts are of you. But I push them down, ignore them. Because I can be fucking professional!”
“George, please, don’t be angry.”
“Don’t be angry?” She gave a humph of derision. “Don’t be angry? I’m bloody furious. I’ve finally built up a rapport with a psychologist who might be able to help me get over my mental inadequacies, and she dumps me from a great height. Because what? I made friends with her son…” Georgia raked her hands through her hair. “Yeah right. Don’t be angry? This is my career you’re pissing about with, Emma. My life.”
“George-”
“Tell Lawrie I’m sorry he can’t come to the match, and please I’d appreciate it if you didn’t contact me again. I’m going to be too busy finding a new sports psychologist.”
“I have the name of someone and she’s highly thought of in the field-”
“Unbelievable.” George shook her head and reached for the door handle before stopping and walking back into the room “At least there’s one thing I can honestly say, Doctor. I may be fucked up and stunted emotionally, but I’ll admit to it. And I’ll be brave and admit to having feelings for you. Can you say the same thing?”
“How dare you,” I said coldly.
“How dare I? How dare I? I dare because you accused me of something so awful! What sort of person do you think I am?
Using a kid to get to his mother. Or worse.” Georgia’s voice was a whisper of anguish.
I felt awful. And guilty. And terribly, terribly defensive. “I didn’t exactly say-”
“No, but the implication was there. What was it you said? Ah yes. Be brave. Be brave, Emma, and stop using Lawrie as an excuse to run away and hide.”
Ouch. I flinched as the barb hit too close to the mark and I reacted appropriately – with cold detachment. “I’m not hiding, nor running away from anything.” Standing tall and proud, my brown eyes flashed as if a lightning storm was rumbling through them.
“No?” Georgia strode towards me. I quickly shuffled back until I hit my desk and could go no further. She was so close to me, invading what little personal space I had left, and placing her hands on either side of me she gripped the desk. My breath increased, racing like I’d just competed in the university boat race. George moved closer and stood on her tiptoes, leaning into me she whispered “Are you sure about that?” I moaned as my nipples immediately hardened and pushed against my white silk blouse. “Tell me you don’t feel it. Tell me you want me to walk out of this room and never look back. One word. Tell me to leave.” Her lips brushed my earlobe and then my neck. I tilted my head, allowing her better access. Our bodies melded together.
Oh God.
I was on fire, and all it took was a simple whisper of a question and a butterfly kiss barely touching my neck. How can she do this to me? I thought as she gripped me by the hips. I was about to give in to the desire I’d been fighting almost since we met when I heard an angry buzzing behind me.
“Ignore it,” Georgia whispered, huskily as her lips traced my collar bone.
I wrenched away. “I can’t. You need to leave.”
“That was the word,” she said sadly. She left and didn’t look back.
I sat down heavily and held my head in my hands, willing to hold back the tears that were leaking though my fingertips and onto the leather blotter on my desk. I wondered if that was the last time I’d ever see Georgia Maskel.
And why the hell, when I had been the one to push her away, was my heart hurting so much?
Chapter 38
Georgia
“I like Colchester, it’s a great day out.” Julia said sipping a glass of Californian chardonnay.
I shook my head at her subtle as a brick fishing expedition. In a week’s time I was due on court with Laura Hargreaves, in a showdown I’d mentally dubbed my own personal Wimbledon Final. I’d been training like a demon for the past week, and was due to play a tournament in the city of Colchester two days from now for match practice, hence Julia’s attestation of her love for the place. I was knackered and wanted nothing more than my supper and bed, certainly not an in depth discussion with Jules on why I didn’t want her to come and watch me play.
My training till I dropped routine also distracted me from thinking about Emma. I still wasn’t certain exactly what our relationship had evolved, or rather devolved, into. Professional? Certainly, despite Emma’s protestations. Personal? Possibly. Definitely possibly. However, whether the relationship was professional or personal, one thing was irrefutable; it was over. I’d already booked in with a psychiatrist Dana recommended, Dr Sweeney. After the advances I’d made my allergy to therapists wasn’t nearly as severe, and I finally held my hands up in surrender admitting that I needed help.
I was only an island if wanted to be one, and I no longer wanted to be surrounded by stormy emotional seas of insecurity, doubt, loneliness and self-loathing.
We’d only had one session but she was nice, calming, and I had growing confidence in myself that the progress I’d made thus far was only going to continue under the gentle guidance of Dr Sweeney.
But she wasn’t Emma.
***
The night was chilly, so Julia lit the wood burner and several large candles, strategically placed in the living area, cast friendly shadows which added a warm embrace to the room. Maybe it was indicative of my change in mindset. Before the shadows were dark and ominous, now they were something to be embraced not feared.
Okay, a psychiatrist would have a field day with me using a candle as an analogy for my life!
Dana was cooking and soft music played through the Bose speakers, the chef insisting cheesy listening was the order of the day rather than anything with a heavy bass. “No, you don’t and no it’s not.” I finally answered Julia and smiled at her pout. “You’re such a kid when you don’t get your own way.”
“If I come I get to see you in your skimpy gear!”
I burst out laughing. “You get to see me in my skimpy gear every day and yesterday you walked in on me in the shower. There’s nothing left for you to see!” Dana popped her head into the living room after hearing my last comment.
“I’d run out of conditioner, you’ve nothing to worry about, sweetie,” Julia promised adding, “she’s a bit scrawny for my liking, and she’s only playing at butch with the hair.” I hit her arm and Dana shook her head and went back into the kitchen, chuckling all the way.
“Look it’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer, I really do, Jules. But I’m sure you and Dana have better things to do on a Saturday than watch me play tennis.”
“Actually,” Dana came back through and Julia got up before sitting back down on her knee. “We would love to come. I know a particularly nice restaurant where we can celebrate after.”
“What is it with you head shrinkers and pressure?” I said, but with a hint of humour rather than rancour. I was actually feeling really mellow for a change and wasn’t dreading the thought of the tournament.
“No pressure. Seriously, George, we want to come and watch so we can say, we knew her when.”
“When she played in shitty regional tournaments?” Dana smiled at my attempt at humour. “God, I thought you two would jump at the chance of getting rid of me for the weekend, or, worst case scenario, a day at least. Surely there’s one room you haven’t christened yet.” I knew I was making excuses. It wasn’t that I didn’t want them there, because, deep down inside, I would have loved to have had someone in the family seats watching me once again. But I was politely trying to say ‘I don’t want you to come in case I fall apart and freeze if I reach match point.’ Emma had given me more than a few tools to fix the problem, but now it was up to me to see if I could get them to work. Dana must have heard the quiet pleading in my voice and interrupted Julia before she could argue any more.
“Come on let’s eat, I’ve made a vegetarian lasagne. Julia insisted pasta and veg are your staples a couple of days before a tournament.” She lifted Jules from her knee and headed to the kitchen to dish up.
“Are you sure?” Julia held me back from following. This time it was a gentle enquiry and that softness almost had me caving.
“Yeah, I’m sure. It’s not that I don’t want you there, I’m just…”
“I know, sweetie. I’m scared too.” Julia grabbed my hand and pulled me up from the sofa.
I instinctively knew what she was frightened of and I tried to put both of our minds at ease. “I’m going nowhere, Jules. I’d rather give it up than go back to how I was. This is, hopefully a new leaf, a new me on the court.”
Once in the kitchen, Julia poured the wine and we scoffed the whole lasagne.
“I swear Dana,” I said hand on stomach. “If Jules hadn’t snapped you up I might have done after tasting this. It was sublime,” I toasted Dana’s culinary skills with a glass of water. “I would offer to do the wash up, but that’s Jules’ job. I need an early night.” I made a quick escape because the last thing I wanted to watch was Dana and Julia playing kissy face all night.
Jealous much? Oh hell yeah. I wanted what they had, but there was more chance of me winning Wimbledon than of winning Emma’s heart.
And that realisation sucked big time.
Chapter 39
Emma
The sports centre was brightly lit and echoed with balls bouncing off rackets, oomphs of effort and the
occasional burst of laughter from an over exuberant child. I couldn’t concentrate on watching Lawrie. My heart was slowly breaking, and I didn’t feel as if I would ever smile again, although I raised a weak one when Dana sat next to me.
“I thought you had clients all day?” I said.
“A couple rearranged,” Dana answered with a shrug. “We seem to be spending an awful lot of time in this place.”
“It’s not exactly the most comfortable either.”
“No, no it’s not.”
“How’s… how’s Julia?” That wasn’t what I wanted to ask, but realised I had no right to ask the question I really wanted to.
“Good. She has this crazy idea we throw a sickie and go and watch George playing in Colchester tomorrow.”
“George is playing a match tomorrow?”
“Yeah it’s a small weekend tournament. Match practice before the big one. You fancy coming?”
Oh no, that would be such a bad idea.
And all my decisions of late had been good?
I thought back to the clips I had watched of George over and over until my eyes were red and sore. And then I watched them again. I eventually fell asleep on the sofa and was woken at eight am the next morning by Mary frantically ringing the doorbell and knocking on the door. She was worried because for the first time in seven years I wasn’t at the office when she arrived for work.
I was worried too, worried that if I went to Colchester George would tell me to take a hike. However, after all those hours studying her matches, I had a germ of an idea of what was going on in her mind when she reached match point. It was an idea so small I was sure it was wrong, yet so big it would explain everything, and it grew more substantial with each video I watched. Seeing her play live would prove my theory one way or another. I may no longer have been George’s therapist, but I still owed her.