Dr Samantha Willerby Box Set

by A J Waines

  Should I keep working with her, or let her go?

  My gut was saying No way, but the professional side of me was prodding me, exhorting me to follow through.

  Knowing Erica died out of the blue didn’t help. I’d contacted Professor Dean to see if I could get hold of Erica’s notes from her sessions with Rosie, but he hadn’t got back to me. Erica’s death must have stirred up considerable loss and abandonment for Rosie and it wasn’t that long ago. I was reluctant to replicate that in any way.

  I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. The bottom line was I had a responsibility of care towards Rosie; I’d taken that on when I’d started seeing her, privately, at home.

  I stared at my dripping reflection. Come on – it wasn’t such a big deal. I’d offer her six further sessions, making it clear that we were preparing for an ending. I wanted a clean ending that left Rosie fortified and hopeful about her future. I’d give her details of private therapists she could work with longer term and we’d get it all set up with a smooth transition. There were plenty of psychotherapists who were happy working from home.

  I let out a deep sigh and buried my face in the towel. I had to get this right. I’d failed to respond to a patient in crisis once before and look how that had ended up.

  I slept fitfully that night, close to the surface; I couldn’t get scenes of Miranda and Con out of my head. They’d lived together as flatmates for a while, over a year ago, but Miranda had moved out in a shot when Dad offered to pay for a flat of her own with studio space. It had never occurred to me that something might have been going on between them.

  At what point did she and Con turn their casual friendship into a more intimate one? I tried to find memories of the two of them together to recall how they’d acted around each other. Should I have seen it coming? How many times had they slept together? Did he say the same things to her as he’d said to me? Did he hold her, kiss her in the same way he’d kissed me?

  Stop…

  I woke up in a sweat and squashed an earbud into my ear to make the radio block out my thoughts.

  Soon after, patchy dreams took over. Rosie was playing with the quartet and I could hear them, floating on a tiny island in the middle of a lake. I saw edited highlights from the DVD we’d watched together and then suddenly I was awake. It was as though two wires in my brain had connected and made a spark, but like a scout’s campfire, I couldn’t get the spark to catch.

  I got out of bed, put the kettle on and tried to step back into the dream. The image of a man standing kept flashing into my mind. I had to see Rosie’s footage of the party again. There was something there I’d missed. Something that was trying to get through to me.

  I paced around the flat in my pyjamas, making a little circuit of the bedroom, sitting room and kitchen. The ironing was folded on a chair. When had I done that? The dishes were cleared from the draining board. I stood in the kitchen biting my thumbnail, trying to recall when I’d stacked everything away. I put it down to overwork.

  In the light of my dream, the next morning I made a decision and picked up the phone. Rosie sounded both surprised and overjoyed to hear from me.

  ‘I know we don’t normally have contact between sessions,’ I said, ‘but I wondered if you could bring the disc of the Hinds’ party again on Thursday.’

  ‘Why? What’s happened?’

  ‘I’d like to see it again. I’m not a hundred per cent sure,’ I said, ‘but I think there’s something there that could be useful.’

  I heard a tiny hiccup on the other end of the line. ‘Thursday – that’s our last session…’ She dropped the words like rocks.

  I put her out of her misery. ‘Okay. I’ve been thinking. We could have another six sessions if—’

  ‘Really?’

  Her eagerness made me want to weep. ‘Just six, mind. This is more than I usually offer, but—’

  ‘Oh, yes – yes, please!’ she squealed. It was as if I’d given her a million pounds.

  ‘We’ll talk about it on Thursday. I’m sorry to bother you.’

  ‘It’s no trouble at all. Thank you for…you know...’

  I pressed end call and got ready to pop out. I needed, among other things, more Hula Hoops. They may be junk food, but they were an absolute staple in my diet and I only had a few crumbs left in the last packet. I must have worked my way through it in my sleep!

  On the way back from the corner shop, I had a creepy feeling that I was being followed. Was it Bruce? I really didn’t have the energy to cope with this now.

  I stopped abruptly and shot round, but there was no one there. I picked up my pace and dragged my hood over my head against the sleet that was slicing the chilled air. I was being ridiculous. My imagination was running riot. Nevertheless, at the last corner I broke into a run and scrabbled around with numb fingers at the main door trying to get it unlocked. I raced up the stairs and as soon as I got inside my flat, snapped the bolt across.

  I huffed and puffed like a fox getting down its burrow just in time.

  Chapter 30

  Rosie

  I can’t tell you how relieved I am! Sam told me we could have six more appointments. I nearly fell to my knees. I was so scared she was going to end it. I was getting desperate, but now everything is going to be all right.

  She even rang between sessions, which I thought we weren’t supposed to do! Of course, I’d speak to her every day if I could. I kind of do in my head anyway, but it’s not the same. She’s so caring – the look in her eyes when I showed her my family photos. I thought she was going to burst into tears…for me!

  I’ve forgiven her for letting me down over the auction house, because she’s starting to feel like, well, family. Finally, for the first time in my life, someone warm, funny, caring and incredible really cares about me. I’m so excited. I’ve got such plans for the two of us.

  At the music store, Sid seems happy for me to take the odd afternoon off. It works perfectly for me. It’s only a twenty-minute journey from Charing Cross to Clapham. I wonder if Sam has discovered any of my little liberties by now. I haven’t taken much and I do plenty of good things in return, so there’s no harm done. It’s lucky we’re about the same height, and now I’m losing weight I could probably squeeze into most of her clothes if I wanted to.

  I tried on her velvet dress last time and the new pyjamas straight out of the packet. Maybe she got them for Christmas, who knows? The boots are tight, but I couldn’t resist them. I’ve polished them up and I’ll wear them at the weekend. The belt is cool, too. She had lots of others curled up in her drawer, so she probably won’t notice that one is missing. I have my eye on one of her towels and a scarf for next time – the pale blue one I’ve seen her wearing, but I’m careful not to take too many things at once. I watched a DVD while I was there and cleaned the windows. I haven’t done anything terribly bad – not really.

  I told Sam I’d met someone really nice recently, but I didn’t go into details. I don’t want Sam to think I’m a total saddo who doesn’t have a life – and it was only half a lie. I did meet someone a few months back and we had a cool chat, but it wasn’t a man. I didn’t tell Sam that, because I don’t want her getting the wrong end of the stick. I’ve always fancied guys and I’m not into women ‘like that’, but I’m definitely going to see my new friend again.

  The stuff about the crash doesn’t go away and as I lie on my bed reflecting, I keep coming back to the question of my viola. Why is finding it so important? Would it matter if I never saw it again? Could I let it go and stop these annoying half-memories from plaguing me? I’m not sure how much progress Sam and I are making on that front.

  In my dreams I keep hearing that phone call – the one that drifted up the stairs before the crash. Sam and I have gone over that scene time and time again, but I’m not getting any idea who the voice belongs to, or how it might be connected to me.

  Maybe the crash was about me, but I can’t think why. I may have been insignificant all my life, but
this is hardly the sort of attention I’ve been craving.

  Bottom line is, I can’t give up; the compulsion to know what happened is too strong. Even if the crash wasn’t about me, I seem to be the one left with the aftershock. I’ve been wondering why some memories seem locked away and thinking maybe my brain is trying to protect me. When we crashed into the lake, when the van started filling up with water, did awful things happen that my mind can’t cope with?

  ‘Sometimes the brain is too terrified to let the memories come out,’ Sam explained, when I asked her about it. ‘Sometimes the real truth never emerges.’

  That was not what I wanted to hear. How awful would that be? To live with a huge question mark hanging around my neck every single day for the rest of my life?

  If I’m really honest, I’m worried that I might have done something bad when we were all fighting to get out. Why can’t I remember Richard after we went under water? Did he escape? Is Max still alive – was it really him I saw on Oxford Street – or is his body going to surface in the lake, like Stephanie’s? I’m doing my nut with so many questions.

  Oh, Richard, I wish you were here, so I could ask you in person. Get it all out in the open, once and for all. I’m never going to get anywhere like this.

  It’s Saturday, so I take a Tube up to the Urban Shack Café. I’ve been going there to eat lately. I want to be with chatty, up-beat people and switch off from the constant muddle over the crash.

  The couple who work there are obviously high on cannabis, you can smell it when you walk in. Dezzie, the guy making coffees has a pinafore around his waist with a red London bus on it and a fat crocheted cap on his head in red, yellow and green. His girlfriend, Shontal, has a little tot who often sits in his pushchair by the till. And there’s a yappy dog, that has to be shut away if the health inspector shows up.

  Dezzie shouts at people as they step inside: ‘Come an’ join da pardie!’

  He seems to recognise me or maybe he’s just friendly with everyone. Trade is good around here and it’s always busy. There are four people huddled around a table playing cards at the back and a woman is breast-feeding her baby just inside the door.

  There’s an old tune – Funky Town – blaring through the speakers. The music is always loud, heavy on the bass, so the windows rattle. It’s not the place to come for peace and quiet.

  I find a seat by the window and Shontal comes over to ask what I want. She never has a notepad. People order from a menu that covers three blackboards, another good selling point, and she always seems to get it right. You can have bangers and mash, risotto, bagels, jam and scones, paninis, curried goat, mushy peas or a weird sort of dried fish – they’re not fussy about sticking to one culinary style.

  By the time I’ve finished my toasted teacake, a nice-looking man on his own has joined my table. He smiles back when I look up; a broad lasting smile that makes his eyes twinkle. Forget the Great Boar, this is a much better place to meet people. I’ve always relied on guys needing a few beers to blur the edges when they look me up and down, but now I’ve changed my image, perhaps I don’t need my edges blurred any more.

  I glance down at my lovely boots. My feet are not only a bit bigger than Sam’s, they must be a slightly different shape as well, because I’m working new creases into them. I’m sure she won’t mind.

  The nice-looking man orders a falafel burger and ginger beer and I ask if he lives around here. He tells me he’s been playing five-a-side in the park nearby and has worked up an appetite. He looks like he’s about to ask me something, but as soon as an empty table becomes free at the back, he gets up and leaves me on my own.

  It’s so easy to misread people. I wish there was some kind of rulebook we all had to live by, so it was easy to know whether someone was interested or not. It would save a lot of time.

  I look at my watch. It doesn’t look like my new friend is coming in for lunch today. Shame. Never mind, I can easily see her another time and I don’t want her thinking I’m deliberately trying to bump into her.

  I don’t know what to do with myself when I get home. I’d quite like to go for a swim, but since the crash, I haven’t been able to bring myself to step into the pool. To kill half an hour I run the shower. I close my eyes and, as whorls of steam suck the air out of the room, something comes back to me.

  It was when we were in the van just after we’d left Hinds’ place. Stephanie had definitely wanted the window open. There were button controls on the armrest beside Max, but when he tried them they were locked, so she asked Richard, who had the master controls on his side.

  ‘They’re not working, I’m afraid,’ he’d said. ‘Problem with the electrics. We can’t open the windows, but it isn’t far.’

  Max had said, ‘Bloody piece of junk,’ under his breath, but I don’t think Richard heard him. That would explain why the windows weren’t open when we went down, why the others couldn’t get out.

  But it raised another question.

  Was Richard telling the truth? Had he made sure the others wouldn’t have a chance of getting out so he could get his hands on Max’s violin?

  Chapter 31

  Rosie

  I finally cracked on Sunday afternoon. I was sick of huddling over my useless electric heater watching rubbish on television, so I blocked my number and rang Sam’s flat. After five rings it clicked to the answering machine. Was she there, not picking up, or had she gone out?

  I couldn’t stop thinking about her. The way things were between us now, it felt so much better than it ever had with Erica. We’ve got a bond that can’t be broken. Sam just needs to see it, that’s all.

  I had a yearning then to be surrounded by her stuff, to touch the things she owned. I decided to take a chance – even though I usually only go when I know she’s at work – and headed over there.

  All is quiet as I pad silently up the stairs. I wait outside her door, then press my ear against it. Not a thing. I ease my key in the lock and dart inside. I stand on the mat for a few seconds, just to make sure. Her coat has gone from the hall rack and there’s an empty space in the middle of a row of shoes. I let myself exhale.

  Now I’m here I feel so much better. I won’t stay long. I go to the kitchen first, leaving the door ajar so I can hear if she comes back, and make myself at home. I help myself to a chocolate biscuit. Just one. I fold the packet just as she left it and put it back in the cupboard. She has some swish crockery; big white dining plates edged in silver. I lift up one of the glasses – it feels light in my hand. I flick my nail against it and it sings. I imagine Sam drinking from it and press my lips against the rim.

  I hastily put it back and go into the bedroom. This is what I’ve really come here for. I peel back the duvet, kick off my trainers and climb in. I’m tempted to take off all my clothes, but I don’t know how long I’ve got. I curl into a foetal position and close my eyes. I’m snug and safe and happier than I’ve been in ages. So close to her.

  I must have been nearly asleep, when I hear a key rattling in the lock. I jerk upright. I wasn’t expecting her to be so quiet. She’s inside before I know what’s happening.

  I throw myself off the bed as I hear her footsteps in the hall, then she clomps across the lino in the kitchen. For some reason, I decide hiding under the bed isn’t a smart idea, so I creep out of the bedroom and into the sitting room, crouching down behind the settee.

  She comes in and I peek round the edge to see what she’s doing. She keeps stopping every few steps to listen, as if she knows someone is there, then she starts opening doors and checking cupboards – the one in the hall first, like she’s searching for an intruder.

  Her face is serious when she comes back into the sitting room. There are no cupboards in here. I squeeze my fists and will her to go into another room, but she’s so close, almost within reach. I snatch a gulp of air as she approaches the sofa, barely two feet from where I’m squatting.

  I’m lucky. Her mind seems distracted by the long billowing curtains. She creeps towa
rds them, not looking my way. As she ruffles the fabric at arms’ length, I dodge behind the comfy chair by the door, hoping she doesn’t hear my feet scuff the carpet. She lifts the second curtain and then draws them both, before heading for the bedroom. I daren’t let out a breath. She’s checking every room.

  She’s huffing to herself as I hear the click of the wardrobe opening. I glide behind the sitting room door, watching her every move through the crack. And then – I was right – she ducks down and looks under the bed, all the while with her phone in her hand like it’s a weapon. My trainers are still beside the bed. Will she see them?

  I could run for it now, but I know she’d hear me and it would all be over. She wouldn’t understand, she’d be shocked and furious and I’d lose her forever. So I stay still and wait.

  Instinctively, my hand goes to my phone in my pocket. Did I switch it off? I pull it out gingerly and press the button. I think about what else I brought in with me. My jacket – I hung it under Sam’s dressing gown on the back of the bedroom door. She can’t have seen it. Not yet, anyway. That would give the game away for sure; I know she’d recognise it. She’s a stickler for details.

  Suddenly she’s in the sitting room again. She’s like a wound-up toy spinning all over the place. Why can’t she calm down? I want her to change into comfortable clothes and put some music on. I want her to come and join me, sit down, so I can watch her closely. I’m getting fed up with all this dashing around. Let’s have some downtime, Sam.

  I’m terrified she’ll find me, yet part of me is thrilled to be this near to her. This is what it’s like to be with the real Sam: no professional front to hide behind, no airs and graces, no pretending.