by M K Farrar
When Monday morning rolled around, she was more than happy to go into work. She hadn’t been able to get her mind off Edward and the possibility he was being abused at home and she needed to speak to someone about it. She didn’t like the idea of talking to Timothy, but there was one other person who could give her advice—the other female therapist, Patricia Doran.
Amy went through her morning patients and instead of leaving the office at lunchtime, as she normally did, she went out into the waiting room. Linda hadn’t gone for lunch yet either and was still sitting at her desk.
“Linda, has Doctor Doran got anyone in with her right now?”
Linda glanced down at the paperwork on her desk. “No, I don’t think so. Says on the schedule that she’s free.”
Amy already knew that from when she’d checked earlier, but there was always the possibility of a last-minute appointment coming in. The last thing she wanted to do was interrupt a session. She didn’t feel like Patricia Doran liked her for some reason, and she didn’t want to give her any further reason to think badly of her. Maybe she was making a mistake by asking the other woman’s advice. Patricia could easily go back to Timothy and say something. But Amy planned to keep things vague, so she hoped neither of them would guess exactly who it was she was talking about.
Nerves churned through her stomach as she paused outside the older woman’s office. She didn’t want Timothy to see her, though, so she knew she had to get on with it. Sucking in a breath, she quickly raised her fist and rapped on the door.
The feminine voice was muffled by the wood. “Come in.”
Amy braced herself and opened the door and stepped through. Doctor Patricia Doran was sitting behind her desk, a pen in her hand, and her glasses only partly hiding her blue eyes. Her brown hair was pulled back into a chignon at her nape, and her pin-stripe suit was bulked out with padded shoulders. She made for a formidable figure. It was no wonder she dealt with adults. Amy thought Patricia Doran would scare the life out of a child.
“Amy,” she said. “This is a surprise. How can I help you?”
“Umm... I wanted to ask your professional advice about something.”
Patricia gestured to the chair normally meant for patients. “Of course. Sit.”
“I’m actually asking on behalf of a friend who is in the same line of work. Is that okay?”
She flicked her hand in a ‘that’s fine’ motion. “Whatever I can do to help.”
“Okay, great. Here’s the situation. The friend of mine has a patient, and she believes there may be some violence in the home. The parents are claiming the child is causing the injuries themselves, but my friend thinks there may be more to it.”
“I see. What does the child say?”
“He—she,” she corrected herself, “agrees with the parents, but my friend isn’t so sure. She’s worried about losing the patient, however, and thinks if she says the wrong thing, the parents will stop bringing the child in for their sessions.”
“Just playing devil’s advocate, but if the parents are harming the child, why are they bringing them in to see someone in the first place? Wouldn’t they be hiding the child away?”
“Social services are involved because of issues in the school setting. They’re the ones who referred the patient for counselling.”
Amy worried she was getting too close to the truth and Patricia would realise she was talking about Edward Swain.
“Maybe you—I mean, your friend—should go and talk to someone in social services and see if they share any of your friend’s concerns.”
“And if they do?”
“Then the concerns are justified, and it should be reported to the police.”
“And if they say there’s nothing to worry about?”
She shrugged, and Amy knew she’d answered her own question. She got to her feet. “Thanks for your help, Patricia, I really appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.”
Amy turned to leave, but Patricia’s voice stopped her.
“And Amy, you can come to me, you know. If you need to talk about any other friends, you know where I am.”
Amy’s cheeks grew hot. “Thank you. That’s kind of you.”
“Us girls have to stick together, right?”
The tightness in her chest eased just a fraction for the first time in a while. “Right.”
Amy let herself out of the office and crossed the waiting room. Linda glanced up and gave her a smile, then returned her attention to her work. Amy was relieved not to have seen Timothy. She didn’t want him asking her what she was talking to Patricia about. She would have struggled to lie.
In her office, she pulled out the case file and flicked through to see who the referral had come from. The social worker was called Ros Sampson, and her contact details were beside her name.
She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of doing this before. Now Patricia had suggested it, it seemed obvious. She guessed that was just her inexperience showing. Hopefully, she wouldn’t make too many more silly mistakes.
Amy picked up the phone and dialled the social worker’s number. The other woman answered after a couple of rings.
“Hi, is that Ros Sampson?”
“Yes, it is. Who’s calling?”
“My name is Doctor Amy Penrose, and I’m the psychotherapist one of the children in your district was referred to recently. I wondered if you might have time for a quick chat?”
“Yes, of course? Is there a problem?”
Amy glanced anxiously towards her office door. She didn’t really want to do this over the phone. She didn’t know who might be listening, and besides, she also wanted to be able to get a look at the person’s face when she was asking the questions. It was much easier for someone to hide something over the phone than it was face to face. Not that she felt the social worker would be hiding anything.
“Actually, I wondered if we’d be able to meet in person? Are you free later at all?”
“I can’t today. My schedule is crammed.”
“No, of course. Tomorrow lunchtime?”
“I can do that.”
She gave a name of a coffee shop—not one of the ones she normally frequented, but one a little farther away, thanked her, and hung up.
It might not be enough, but at least she was doing something.
Chapter Twelve
She got back to the flat just before six. Searching for her keys in her handbag, she didn’t notice the cardboard box sitting outside her front door until she was almost standing on it.
Amy frowned. She didn’t think she’d ordered anything, but it had her name and address printed on the top. Could it be something for work that had come here instead of going to the office? It seemed unlikely but made the most sense.
She scooped up the box. It wasn’t heavy, and she gave it a shake. It didn’t rattle particularly, so she was none the wiser about the contents.
She wasn’t going to know what it was until she got inside and opened the box. Using her key, she unlocked the door and pushed inside. She already knew Gary wasn’t going to be home. He’d told her that morning that he planned on going to the pub with some colleagues after work. She didn’t mind. They were both avoiding each other, but it was easier when they weren’t together. She didn’t want to admit the truth to herself—that her relationship was most likely over. She felt less bad about the idea of being single than she did about feeling guilty about Gary having wasted the past four years on her. He deserved better.
Or that was what she’d told herself, but the missing pill was still playing on her mind. Maybe it was just her being paranoid, but it felt like he was playing games with her. Perhaps all the years of bitterness had finally bubbled over. He’d realised he wasn’t going to get what he wanted from her—a family—and seeing their relationship going down the pan, he figured he’d mess with her a little before things ended.
That didn’t sound like him, but really, how well did anyone know someone? Even after living together so long,
now the gap had widened between them, she was starting to feel as though she had never really known him at all.
Amy set the box down on their small kitchen table and opened one of the kitchen drawers in search of scissors. She located a pair and carried them back to the box. Within seconds, she had the top open, parted the cardboard flaps, and peered inside.
A baby!
She jolted back, her heart pounding. “Jesus Christ.”
Her mind raced, trying to put together what she had seen. No, no, no. Her initial reaction had been wrong. She’d thought there was a baby in the box, but there couldn’t have been.
Sick to her stomach, she crept forward again. Reaching out her hand, and with one finger, she pulled back one of the flaps enough to let her see inside.
She exhaled a shaky sigh. It wasn’t a baby, as she’d first thought, but the contents were still freaky. She reached into the box and pulled out the life-sized doll. Its fake eyelids swooped up and down with the movement, the glassy blue eyes staring back at her.
Tears filled Amy’s eyes. Who the hell would have sent this to her? Was this Gary’s idea of a joke? Would he come home from the pub and say, “Surprise, you didn’t want a real baby, so I got you a doll instead!” The possibility that was what had happened was more reassuring than the idea that a stranger had sent it to her. Was it someone from the party, after she’d made such a scene about how parents screwed up their children? Was it supposed to be a joke?
Disgusted, she threw the doll back into the box. The moment Gary got home, she’d have to question him about it. If he thought this was funny, then her instincts about her never have really knowing him were true.
Quelling her emotions, Amy stepped forward and inspected the box, trying to spot a return address or even an invoice in with the doll that might give her some idea who’d sent it. There was nothing except for her name and address, however, and the company it came from. It looked like one of those catalogue toy stores.
That was something else that gave her the chills. Whoever had sent the doll knew where she lived. There was a good chance it was supposed to have been a playful joke, and maybe she was blowing the whole thing out of context, but there was also the possibility that it was sent out of spite. They’d wanted to freak her out and had succeeded in doing so.
Amy was still sitting, staring at the damned box, when the front door opened. She jumped at the sound, her heart racing. There was no denying that she was on edge. Was it only the arrival of the package that had caused it?
Gary walked into the kitchen. “Hey.” He clocked the box. “What’s that?”
She folded her arms tightly across her chest. “You tell me.”
“Huh?”
“You want to tell me why I found this box when I got home?”
He stared at her, clearly baffled. “What the fuck are you talking about, Amy?”
“This!” She gestured to the box still sitting on the kitchen table. “What do you know about this?”
“Absolutely nothing. Did you order something?”
He walked over to the table and unfolded the top and peered inside. He frowned and then reached in and pulled the doll out. Amy averted her eyes, not even wanting to look at the thing. It was just a doll, but to her it meant so much more.
“It’s a doll.” He sounded as confused as she felt.
“I can see that.”
“Why would I have sent you a doll?”
“I thought... I thought it might have been a joke or something. You know, because of what happened at the party and because I keep saying I’m not ready for kids. I thought you might have sent it as a joke, like ‘hey, something to practise on’ or something.”
Even as she said the words, she realised how ridiculous that sounded.
He stared at her. “Jesus, Amy. Do you really think I’m that insensitive?”
“Well, no, but what’s the alternative? Someone else sent it to me? Why would someone do that?”
“Maybe it was meant for someone else?”
“My name and address are on the box.”
“Maybe the delivery people got it mixed up with another order and you were delivered the wrong item.”
“I doubt it.” His words sparked a thought. “But you have given me an idea. Maybe the company it came from can tell me who placed the order in the first place.”
“You really think whoever sent it would have used their real name if they’re trying to play tricks on you?”
She shrugged. “I have no idea, but surely it’s worth a phone call to find out.”
They both looked towards the phone socket, where he’d wrenched it out after the last call, and neither of them had wanted to plug it back in again.
“It’ll be okay for a few minutes,” he assured her. “No one is going to be calling during that time period.”
“They must be the same person—whoever sent the doll and made the phone calls.” She thought of something else. “And there’s been a couple of occasions this past week where I’ve been sure someone is watching me.”
“I’m sure you’re just spooked from the—” he started.
But she slammed both hands down on the kitchen table, the loud bang reverberating up through her wrists and arms. He started back in alarm.
“Stop trying to minimise what’s going on here. I’m an educated woman, not some frightened schoolgirl. I know what I feel and see and hear. Stop trying to make out like I don’t know what this is.”
He frowned at her. “What is it, Amy? ’Cause I sure as hell don’t know. I barely know who you are lately.”
She gritted her teeth. “You know what, I’ve been thinking the same thing about you.”
He sighed and turned away. “I can’t deal with you when you’re like this. Let me know when you’ve calmed down, and then we can talk.”
Gary walked out of the room, and she was left staring at the empty space where he’d been. She wanted to call him back, but why bother? Their relationship was clearly at breaking point, and she was going to have to deal with things on her own, anyway.
Right now, she was more focused on finding out who might have sent the doll than she was in trying to save her doomed relationship.
She stood from the table, fished the Yellow Pages out from the cupboard under the sink, and carried the tome back over to the table. She dumped it down with a thud then leafed through the wafer-thin pages until she reached the name and number of the toy company stamped on top of the box. She followed the line across to the phone number and went to the phone and dialled. She was going to be lucky if there was anyone manning the phones at this hour.
To her surprise, someone answered. “You’re through to Tops Toys. How can I help?”
“Yes, hello. I hope you can help me. I had a parcel delivered today and I wondered if you could tell me what name the order was placed under.”
“I can look that up for you. What’s the name and address?”
Amy rattled it off.
“Just give me a few minutes. It was a busy weekend.”
“Sure.” Tell me about it.
There was silence for a minute or so, then the woman came back on the line. “Ah, yes, here it is. The order was placed by a Doctor Amy Penrose.”
Amy sighed. “No, it wasn’t. I’m Doctor Penrose, and I didn’t place the order.”
“Well, that’s what the slip says. It looks like the account details to pay were also under the name of Penrose.”
Her stomach lurched. “What?”
“Yes, they definitely were. I’m assuming you didn’t know about this?”
“No, I didn’t. I think it may have been a badly thought out present from my boyfriend.”
“Oh dear.”
She didn’t know what else to say. She guessed she was going to have to call down to her bank and get her bank card stopped. Whoever had found her purse must have decided to make use of the name and address that would have been on one of her IDs and sent her the doll. Was it just a coincidence, or had whoever ha
d found the purse known her? If so, why wouldn’t they just have given the purse back? Taking it like that was tantamount to stealing. Another horrible thought went through her head. What if she hadn’t left her purse in the sandwich shop, like she’d previously thought? What if someone had stolen it out of her bag?
Could that person be the same one as whoever was making the nuisance phone calls?
She shuddered violently at the possibility that someone had it in for her.
“Well, thanks for your help,” she managed to say, wanting to get off the phone.
“You’re welcome.”
And she hung up.
Amy chewed at her thumbnail and glanced back towards the door Gary had exited from only minutes earlier. He wouldn’t have taken her purse, would he? He certainly had the opportunity when her back was turned when she came back from work. But what about the phone calls? He’d been asleep during the first one. Unless, of course, he had put someone else up to them. Maybe he’d only been pretending to be asleep, waiting to see what her reaction would be.
One thing was for sure, she no longer knew if she could trust him.
Chapter Thirteen
Gary slept on the sofa that night, and she didn’t even care.
Amy had barely slept herself, tossing and turning into the early hours, trying to figure out who would have stolen her purse and ordered the doll.
Whoever had sent it to her had done so maliciously—of that she had no doubt. But was Gary the one responsible? He really had seemed completely baffled when he’d seen the box, but he’d acted that way over her missing contraceptive pill and the phone calls.
She didn’t know who to trust anymore.
By the time she’d got up and dressed, he’d already left for work. She checked the side of the kettle with her palm. It was cold. He hadn’t even been able to stand the idea of sharing a cup of tea with her that morning and had just got up and left the flat, clearly figuring he’d pick up breakfast on the way to work. She didn’t blame him. If he did have nothing to do with what was going on, then she looked like a total nutcase. A nutcase who made unfounded accusations towards him. No wonder he didn’t want to speak to her.
