by John Nicholl
Molly decided to enjoy a cup of her favoured herbal tea before waking her children… She could do with the brief reprieve, and it wouldn't do them any harm to get some extra sleep. Why not put the radio on in the kitchen and make herself a hot drink?
She placed a peppermint tea-bag in a mug, poured in the boiling water, spooned in an over generous helping of honey, agitated the bag with a tarnished tea spoon, and added a few drops of cold water from the tap before checking the clock. She took a large gulp, reluctantly put the mug to one side, and decided that waking her children couldn't be put off any longer after all.
‘Time to get up, you two. Dad will be picking us up in an hour. Breakfast will be on the table in five-minutes.’
Anthony shouted, ‘Thanks, Mum,’ and suddenly appeared from his bedroom fully dressed. Molly chose to ignore the predictable mumbled complaints emanating from her teenage daughter’s bedroom… Siân’s reaction could have been a lot worse given the circumstances.
Molly allowed Siân another ten-minutes before finally heading back upstairs and knocking repeatedly on her bedroom door. ‘Are you up, love? The bathroom’s free.’
‘Do I really have to go, Mum?’
Molly took a deep breath, and began counting to ten… Be patient, Molly. Be patient. ‘The doctor wants to see us all together, love. We talked about this last night, didn't we. I really haven't got time for this now.’
‘All right! All right! I get the message.’
Molly put four slices of white bread in the toaster, switched on the kettle for the second time that morning, and placed two boxes of cereal and a carton of fresh milk on the kitchen table. Anthony loved sugary cereals; but Siân had begun eating muesli with skimmed milk every morning, as part of a New Year resolution to lose weight she didn't need to lose.
Molly filled a glass with cold water from the tap, steadied herself, and took a large refreshing gulp… Should she ring Mike? What if the tart answered? She may do without that this morning, of all mornings. Was Mike really capable of forgetting such an important appointment?
She took another swig of water… He was a useless git sometimes. It really could happen if his mind were focussed on other things.
The phone rang and rang before Molly finally heard Mike’s familiar voice say, ‘Hello.’ Molly closed her eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks that Tina hadn't answered. ‘Do you remember you're picking us up for the clinic at ten, Mike?’
‘I haven't forgotten, Molly. I was getting ready when you rang.’
‘So it’s Molly this morning, is it? What happened to Mo or love? I suppose that bloody tart’s listening? I wouldn’t want you getting into any trouble.’
‘Please, Molly, not now. I will talk to her about us, I swear.’
‘Sorry, I missed that, Mike. You seemed to be whispering?’
‘Molly, just leave it, will you! We can talk later, after the appointment if you still want to. Do I need to bring anything?’
‘No, Mike, just be on time for once in your life.’
‘Right then you two. Have you had enough breakfast?’
Anthony had just finished his second bowl of Sugar Puffs and was enjoying a glass of chilled apple juice from the fridge despite the winter weather. ‘Can I watch a video, Mum?’
‘Yes, I suppose so, cariad, but please be quick. Dad's picking us up for the doctor soon. What about you, Siân, fancy a cuppa?’
Siân rose from the table and tossed a tea bag into her mug without reply.
Molly noted the length of her mini-skirt… It was one more battle that was best postponed. Siân was cooperating, and for now that was enough. ‘Take what you need for school, love. Dad can drop you off after the doctor.’
‘What’s the doctor actually going to do, Mum?’
Molly paused before responding. ‘I don't really know to be honest, love. Dr Procter didn't really say very much about that. But I'm sure Dr Galbraith will help sort things out. Come on, love, finish getting ready. Dad will be here in about ten-minutes.’
Siân looked pensively towards the floor. ‘He's not bringing that tart with him is he, Mum?’
Molly couldn't help but smile. ‘No, love, the tart won't be coming.’
Mike Mailer parked his shiny new Arctic white Ford Escort XR 3 convertible sports saloon outside the detached Welsh stone cottage he had shared with his wife and children. He’d borrowed the full cost of the car by taking advantage of an employees preferential loan rate from the bank, after Tina persuaded him that it was high time he prioritised their needs above those of Molly and the children. Mike had serious misgivings at the time, and was badly regretting capitulating… What the hell was Mo going to say when she saw the car for the first time? He hadn't been as forthcoming with money for the kids as he should have been due to the loan repayments. Whatever she said, it wouldn't be pretty. And what would he say in response? What could he say? He was in the wrong. That was blatantly obvious to anyone.
Mike turned off the engine… Should he knock on the front door, or just sound the horn and wait?
He went to open the car door, but changed his mind almost immediately and pressed the horn hard three times… He just couldn't face going into the building that had so recently been his home.
A few seconds later Molly left the cottage, followed by Anthony and finally Siân, who was dragging her feet at the back. Mike felt as if the swords of Damocles were hanging over him as his family walked down the fragmented concrete path towards his recent extravagance. He got out promptly, and opened both doors before ushering his children into the somewhat cramped rear seats. He took a deep breath… Maybe he could avoid a row, but probably not? Who was he trying to kid? There was a shit storm coming his way. ‘You’re all looking smart this morning.’
Anthony smiled, Siân didn't respond at all, and Molly fixed him with an accusing glare that left him in absolutely no doubt how she felt… At some point in the not too distant future he was going to cop it big time. It couldn't be avoided in the long run, but it would be avoided for now.
Mike turned the key, the engine burst into life, and they began their journey with everyone sitting in apprehensive silence. He repeatedly tried to engage his children in conversation, but it seemed no one was in the mood to talk. It took just over twenty tense minutes to reach their destination. There were only two other cars in the car park when they arrived, and ample room for the convertible. Mike parked alongside Dr Galbraith's luxury limousine and quipped, ‘Nice car, bet it's the doctor’s,’ in a final unsuccessful attempt to lighten the pervasive mood. No one moved an inch until Molly said, ‘Let’s go you lot. We don't want to be late. Out you all get.’
Dr Galbraith watched from his office window as the Mailer’s walked across the car park. He looked at the family, but only truly saw Anthony. He focussed on his potential victim as if he were witnessing the greatest sight of his life… Short ginger hair, a little off putting possibly? But, no, no, the style suited him. And he was tall for his age. He was slim. Those had to be good qualities, didn’t they? Yes, yes, of course they were. Of course they were. He’d do just fine.
He pressed his face against the blinds with his nose touching the glass… Come on, you little bastard. In you come. In you come.
Molly eased open the heavy door leading into the clinic's brightly lit reception and walked in sheepishly, with the rest of the Mailer clan following close behind. Sharon Breen, who acted as both secretary and receptionist, stood up behind her desk and smiled warmly. ‘You must be the Mailer family. Please take a seat. Dr Galbraith shouldn’t be too long. He doesn't like to keep his patients waiting.’
Molly said, ‘Thank you,’ the brief exchange was over, and silence reverberated around the room.
After five-minutes the Mailer family were still waiting in various states of nervous anxiety. Sharon looked up from her desk with a smile of genuine regret. ‘I’m really sorry about this. He shouldn't be too much longer. He must be doing something really important.’
Molly ackno
wledged her warm-heartedness with a forced quickly vanishing smile, but didn't reply.
In reality, Dr Galbraith wasn't doing anything at all except waiting, and watching the seconds tick by on the wall-clock above his desk. He made a point of never seeing a family until exactly ten-minutes after their appointed time had elapsed… He hated every excruciating minute. But it reinforced his importance, and therefore his power. The sacrifice was probably worth it.
He checked the clock against his Cartier, straightened his cartoon tie, pulled up the zip of his trousers, waited for his erection to subside, and cursed the repetitious throbbing in his head… Only eight-minutes had passed, but could he wait another two? Why was he struggling so badly? He’d always managed the anticipation in the past. What had changed? Why the hell couldn't he do it now?
The doctor blinked repeatedly and wiped the sweat from his brow with a shirt sleeve, leaving moist stains on the cuff… Was he losing his touch? No, no, of course he wasn’t.
He ran a hand through his short black hair and rose to his feet… He could no more wait another two-minutes than two-hours. The little bastard was special. That must be it. What other explanation was there?
Dr Galbraith closed his eyes momentarily in silent meditation… Come on, man. Focus. Game face.
He opened his office door, stood facing the family, smiled, introduced himself, and shook each of their hands in turn. ‘Welcome, welcome. Marvellous to see you all. Please accept my sincere apologies for keeping you waiting. Unavoidable I’m afraid; something of an emergency. I’m certain Sharon, here, has been looking after you. Please join me in my office. I’m sure we’ll all have an extremely productive morning.’
Dr Galbraith watched with eager attention as the Mailer’s entered his office… The bitch mother took the lead as she had on arrival. That was well worthy of note. No doubt he could use it to his advantage.
He sat in a chair he’d positioned close to the centre of the room, and beckoned the family to sit in chairs placed in a semi-circle, so that each were facing him. The doctor's chair was larger and higher than the others.
Molly sat to the immediate left of the doctor, with Anthony next to her. He hurriedly pulled his chair closer to his mother, and clung tightly to her arm. Mike sat to the right side of the doctor, with Siân immediately next to him. When they were finally settled in their seats, Dr Galbraith spoke up, clearly enunciating each word. ‘You may have noticed the video camera and microphones?’ He pointed flamboyantly to the wall mounted camera high in one corner of the room and to the two sensitive black microphones on each of the walls. ‘I find it particularly helpful to record all appointments and the majority of therapy sessions. I have a similar set up in the therapy room which I will show you later. It's an essential part of the process. So you've no objections, I presume?’ His tone strongly suggested it was a statement of fact rather than a question.
The family members looked at each other sheepishly, but nobody said a word.
‘Mrs Mailer, I assume you're in agreement?’
Molly nodded meekly.
Dr Galbraith smiled… Of course he hadn’t lost his touch. What the hell was he worrying about? Things were already going his way.
The doctor remained silent for a second or two before elucidating his thoughts. ‘Let's start as we mean to go on. Mr Mailer, you move to sit next to Mrs Mailer, Siân, you stay where you are, my dear. Anthony, you can sit nearer to me.’
Both parents thought this a very odd start to the appointment, but neither vocalised their thoughts: Mike for want of an easy life, and Molly not wanting to seem in any way uncooperative in the interests of her son’s wellbeing.
Anthony stared at Molly with tears welling in his eyes. ‘Mum, I want to sit by you.’
Molly scowled unconvincingly. ‘It’ll be all right, cariad. Listen to the doctor. I'm only here next to Dad.’
As Molly rose from her seat with the intention of comforting Anthony, who was sitting on the very edge of his chair with tears rolling down his freckled face, Dr Galbraith raised his right hand in the style of an assertive police officer stoping traffic. He reached behind him, opened his desk drawer, and took out a white paper bag of sherbet lemons. He stood facing Anthony’s chair and offered him a sweet. Anthony looked away, met his mother’s eyes, and shook his head reluctantly. The doctor sat, moved his seat forward, took a single sweet from the bag, unwrapped it slowly, popped it into his mouth, and sucked it in exaggerated style, which amused Anthony despite his tears.
‘M-m-m, delicious, absolutely delicious!’ He held the bag out for the second time. ‘Go on, take one. Take one. You won't be sorry.’
Anthony took one, but didn't unwrap it.
Dr Galbraith took three sweets from the bag, and handed one to Molly, Mike and Siân in turn. ‘Come on, let’s all have one. I can’t resist them.’ He sat without speaking until each of the family opened their sweets, put them in their mouths and started sucking. He placed an open hand on Anthony’s shoulder and held it there for a second or two. ‘Thats more like it. What do you say, Anthony? Nice, eh?’
Anthony nodded, and grinned for the first time since arriving at the clinic.
The doctor did likewise. ‘What do you say, Mum? Nice?’
Molly looked at Anthony… He was grinning. He seemed more at ease. He obviously liked the doctor. The strange psychiatrist with his unconventional methods really did seem to know what he was doing.
‘Mrs Mailer?’
Molly smiled, and said, ‘lovely.’
Dr Galbraith laughed. ‘Quite right, Mum. Quite right.’
Neither Mike nor Siân really knew what to think, and remained silent.
Dr Galbraith smiled at each of the family in turn. ‘Right, we must get on. Let’s make a start. Your general practitioner, Dr Procter, has asked me to see your family because Anthony here needs my help. He needs my urgent help. You may be wondering why, if that is the case, I have arranged to see you all here this morning?’ He paused for a second or two, as if carefully considering his subsequent choice of words, and continued: ‘Experience has taught me that in the vast majority of cases, it is best that I meet the patient's immediate family in order to gain a proper understanding of the child's problems. If I fully understand the family, the particular complex dynamics involved, I understand the child.’ He paused again, and in a contrived manner intended to suggest his words were of no great significance, added, ‘I will of course need to see Anthony on a one to one basis at some point in the near future if therapy is to be successful.’
Molly's anxiety at this proposition showed clearly on her face.
‘Let's not worry about that for now, Mrs Mailer. Nothing to worry about, nothing whatsoever. Rest assured, we will get to know each other properly before then.’
Molly still didn't respond, but it was glaringly obvious from her anxious expression that her concerns hadn't been adequately alleviated.
Dr Galbraith met her eyes and broke into an engaging smile. ‘Oh come, come, Molly. It is all right if I call you Molly, isn't it?’
Molly nodded reticently… She was warming to the good looking doctor and his unusual methods.
‘Let us proceed. I read Dr Procter’s referral letter with interest, and have a good basic understanding of the facts. It would be extremely useful, however, if each of you were to outline the events that have lead you to my door. In your own words, so to speak.’
For the next hour or more, Dr Galbraith asked each family member considered questions in turn, building up a comprehensive detailed history of all events leading to Anthony's behavioural issues. When conversation stalled, or threatened to become heated, Dr Galbraith smoothed the conversational wheels with a smile, empathetic words, or the enthusiastic offer of another sweet.
At the conclusion of the process Dr Galbraith stood and smiled, focussing primarily on Molly. ‘Thank you all for your contributions. You’ve all done marvellously. You should all be very proud of yourselves. Mr Mailer, or should I call you Mike? I appreci
ate that you are not finding this process easy. You are in the firing line, so to speak. Feelings of guilt are never easy to bare.’ He laughed. ‘Given some of your verbal statements, non verbal gestures and facial expressions, I strongly suspect that you doubt the value of psychiatry, and are here more to please your wife than wishing to fully engage in the therapeutic process. Not to worry. It is of no real consequence. It is to your credit that you are here at all.’
Mike grinned sheepishly and nodded… The doctor had it spot on. Perhaps there was more to this than he’d thought.
‘Molly, my dear, I believe you've found the morning somewhat cathartic. A significant part of you has enjoyed telling your story. Getting it off your chest, so to speak. Nothing wrong with that, my dear. Nothing whatsoever! You have been hurt, of that I have no doubt. You have had to deal with emotive feelings of abandonment, anger and disappointment, while continuing to care for your traumatised children. Such things are never easy. It is to your credit that you are prepared to forgive your husband, subject to specific conditions of course. Conditions that are yet to be fulfilled.’ He smiled. ‘Forgiveness has a great capacity to heal even in the most difficult of situations. Your obvious commitment to Anthony’s wellbeing and his necessary treatment will pay undoubted dividends in due course. Thank you, my dear.
Siân, my dear girl, I’m sure you'll agree that at your age parents have a tendency to be highly embarrassing at the best of times. All this personal stuff must have been truly excruciating for you. You want your brother to get better, that is clear to me, but you will no doubt be delighted to hear that I will not need to see you again. Having you here today has been very helpful indeed. Thank you, my dear.’
