‘And, finally, I’ve brought along four orphaned kittens – only really because I didn’t want to leave them alone. They’ve been with me a few days, and they’re doing well. Once they’re old enough to be desexed, and have been fully vaccinated, they’ll be looking for new homes. I’ll be sad to see them go, but I want to help as many animals as I can, so those who can will need to leave eventually. They’re pretty small and quite noisy, but I’m sure they’d love a cuddle.’ Damien opened the box and took the first kitten out. There was a series of oohs and ahhs as he crossed the room to find a lap for the creature. He found himself drawn to an old lady who sat expressionless, just staring ahead. He didn’t know why he chose her.
‘Would you like to hold this one?’ he asked, squatting down beside the old lady’s chair. The woman held out her hands and accepted the kitten, then gently brought it up to her chest. The kitten snuggled in and, yet again, Damien felt his heart strings being tugged painfully. He had the feeling he was seeing something really special, as the old lady’s mouth had turned up ever so slightly into a smile.
Before long, the animals and residents were settled and everyone was getting on well. The room was a sea of excited chatter and soothing tones. Damien stood back and marvelled at it all. This is what life’s about, he thought, the simple things. He reckoned he’d brought some real joy to these people. And the animals were loving the attention.
‘It’s going great. A huge success,’ Mrs Timms said, appearing beside him.
‘Yes. I’m so pleased.’
‘Fancy a cup of tea?’
‘That would be lovely, thank you.’
They stayed an hour and a half, even delaying the residents’ afternoon tea by half an hour. But no one had wanted to see the animals go.
‘It’s okay, everyone. Mr McAllister will bring them back again next week, won’t you?’
It was the right time to leave. A few people were starting to yawn. And Damien was beginning to think he might be pushing it with all the bladders and bowels – of his charges, not the residents.
He lavished praise and thanks on the big dogs as he settled them on the back of the ute, and then Jemima, and finally Squish, before heading home. He stopped at the butcher for some bones as treats for Bob and Cara and Squish. He’d see if Jemima would like to share one of his peaches.
He was on a high as he drove out of town. It felt so good to do something for someone else, just because. ‘Did you see how their eyes lit up, Squish? They loved us. Well, you, Bob and Cara, the kittens, and Jemima. I was just the hanger-on. But that’s okay. Mission accomplished.’
While he’d sat having a cuppa with Mrs Timms and keeping an eye on everything, she’d mentioned that there might be a grant she could apply for to pay him to come and visit with his animals. God, he’d do it for nothing, but if he could be paid, that would be awesome. She’d said there were government grants and funding for all sorts of things if only you knew where to look and were prepared to deal with the paperwork. She’d even offered to lend him a hand with that side of things, since she’d done heaps of them and been quite successful over the years. Apparently there was quite an art to successfully applying for funding.
Mrs Timms had also suggested that perhaps kindergarten and primary school kids might like a visit and that it would be good for teaching them about responsible pet ownership. He’d definitely look into that too.
Since it was all going so well with Mrs Timms, Damien had almost got bold enough to ask if the hostel might be interested in a kitten or two as permanent residents, but she’d got in first. She thought they might like two and they could see which ones seemed to fit in best. Damien hoped that if all the kittens proved themselves over the coming weeks, she might decide two weren’t enough to go around and keep them all.
Chapter Eleven
Jacqueline had finished her lunch and gone through a stack of private emails and was getting ready for her first afternoon session when she remembered the letter Louise had delivered to her earlier. She should read it and she had a couple of minutes before Mrs Smith’s appointment – if the woman showed; she made it to around two out of three scheduled visits, and never really seemed to realise she had missed one. She’d just turn up the next week as if nothing was amiss and carry on where she’d left off last time. Blissfully unaware, Jacqueline often thought. Mrs Smith was a patient who treated her more as someone to pass some time with. Jacqueline had a few of them. She didn’t mind. Whatever helped. They were pensioners: if they wanted a free chat session on the government via Medicare, then who was she to argue? And, anyway, any interaction was good for a potentialy lonely person’s emotional and mental wellbeing, and that was what she was there for. And Jacqueline was learning a lot about the ways of the town and its attitudes from these clients. So she figured it was a win-win.
She retrieved the letter from her handbag. The simple ‘If undeliverable, return to GPO Box 5899, Adelaide, SA, 5001’ in the top left-hand corner wasn’t familiar, and shed no light on the contents. No doubt an invitation to a conference, or something else she couldn’t be bothered attending. She slid a nail under the seal to open it and drew the crisp sheet of paper out, unfolded it, and laid it out flat on her desk in front of her. There at the top of the letter was the letterhead of the Australian Health Practitioner Regulation Agency. As she read, she felt the blood drain from her head and the pit of her stomach turn molten.
Dear Ms Havelock,
Re: Notification of breach of Australian Psychological Society Code of Ethics, item C.4.3 – sexual activity with a client.
It has been reported by a concerned member of the public, who wishes to remain anonymous, that you have engaged in sexual activity with a client named Mr Damien McAllister.
Before proceeding with further investigation, the board requires your response to this serious allegation in writing, postmarked no later than fourteen (14) days from the date of this letter.
Regards,
Dr Alastair Douglas
President
Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit! The words swam before her eyes and she couldn’t get her brain to formulate anything coherent.
When there was a tap on the open door, she plastered a smile on her face and looked up, ready to welcome Mrs Smith in and get on with her job. But it wasn’t Mrs Smith.
‘You must be waiting for a client – since your door is open,’ Ethel said, looking like she was about to back away.
Jacqueline leapt up. ‘No, don’t go.’
‘Is there something wrong? Only, you look a little pale,’ Ethel said, stepping into the room. ‘Have you had some bad news?’ she said, pointing to the letter.
Jacqueline nodded and swallowed. ‘Oh, Ethel,’ she said, putting her head in her hands and slumping back down into her chair. ‘Thank God you’re here.’
‘Whatever is the matter?’ Ethel moved a step inside.
‘Come in. Please. And can you close the door?’
‘But what about your next patient?’
‘Most likely a no-show – if she was coming she’d be here by now.’
‘So what is it that has you so rattled?’ Ethel said, sitting in one of the chairs in front of Jacqueline’s desk.
Jacqueline silently turned the letter around so Ethel could read it. It seemed to her to take an age for Ethel to get her glasses out of her handbag, put them on, pick up the paper, start reading, and then for her mouth to fall open, for her to take her glasses off again, fold them up, and look up at Jacqueline with concern etched across her face.
‘Oh dear.’
‘Yes.’
‘So, what are you going to do?’
‘What I was going to do a week or so ago – hand in my resignation and suffer the consequences.’
‘You’re not going to fight it?’
‘What’s there to fight? I’ve been through this with you,’ Jacqueline said wearily. ‘I’ve done the wrong thing.’
‘Now, dear, tell me if I’m completely out of line here, but have you ac
tually had, quote, “sexual activity” with Damien? It’s just …’
‘Ethel!’ Jacqueline said, aghast.
‘I know it’s a very delicate subject, but if this goes anywhere,’ she said, pointing to the letter, ‘it’ll be out anyway.’
‘Which is why I’m just going to resign. Plead guilty. But to answer your question, and there’s no way to put this delicately, no, Damien and I have not had a sexual relationship. We didn’t get a chance. We weren’t going to do that on your couch or when my parents, or you, were in the next room,’ she said, blushing furiously.
‘It’s as I suspected. So there it is.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Your defence.’
‘Ethel, I have no defence,’ Jacqueline said with a sigh. ‘It’s all about crossing the line. An emotional relationship or a physical one – regardless of actually having, er, intercourse – would still be considered wrong, a violation. It’s all about protecting the client, who is considered vulnerable – hence them seeing a psychologist – and messing further with their already fragile state of mind.’
‘But it says here in black and white: “sexual activity”. Therefore, the way I see it, that’s the only charge you need to answer. And in this case, you are not guilty. It is not asking you if you’ve had an emotional relationship, a non-sexual physical relationship or any of that wishy-washy stuff open to interpretation, is it?’
‘But …’
‘Get with the program, Jacqueline. Start playing by their rules. Or do you just want to give up your job, your career?’
‘No.’
‘Well?’
‘But it would still mean I couldn’t have a relationship with Damien for two years. Nothing would have changed,’ Jacqueline said, unable to hide her frustration.
‘Oh. Right,’ Ethel said, looking clearly deflated.
They sat back in their chairs and were silent for a few moments.
‘Could you write and ask for permission to have a relationship with Damien?’
‘It would be a very long shot.’
‘But worth a try, right?’
‘I don’t know, Ethel. Why would they grant permission – effectively a breach of the rules? It’s no skin off their noses if they quash my love life. They’re all about keeping their profession squeaky clean. And fair enough, too.’
‘Well, I bet this sort of thing happens all the time – relationships forming with past patients before two years is up. You can’t help who you fall in love with, or when.’
‘Yes, it probably does happen all the time, but most likely in a city where you’re so much more anonymous than out here. I wonder who dobbed me in – that lady at Hope Springs CWA?’
‘No, I doubt it. I can’t imagine these organisations act so quickly. She only raised it the other day.’
‘But she could have already written to them, or phoned them.’
‘Yes, she could have. But if that was the case, she wouldn’t have been able to resist telling me she had the other night. Of that I’m sure.’
‘Hmm, you’re probably right. So, who?’
‘No idea. Maybe that nasty Bolton fellow? He was pretty upset at being dragged off in handcuffs. And he did see how Damien was there for you. Probably put two and two together.’
‘But he wouldn’t know Damien had ever been to see me professionally.’ The cold finger of fear traced a line down Jacqueline’s back. She shivered. Had Jacob been in her office? She felt her blood disappear again while she looked around her room, scrutinising every item. All appeared just as it should. But she’d moved everything and dusted just the week before, when it had been quiet. Anyway, Jacob would have been careful not to leave any sign. When he’d been in her house in the city he’d left a sign – subtle, but noticeable for someone tidy and observant. He’d wanted her to know he could get in any time he liked.
‘It could still have been him,’ Ethel said. ‘What if he didn’t know anything, but has reported you just to cause you grief – payback? If only you could find out who made the report.’
‘It will all be kept confidential for now. And rightly so. People need to be able to make complaints without fear of retribution.’
‘I suppose so. So you’re really going to resign? And write and plead guilty?’
‘I don’t see any other alternative. I’ve got to cop it on the chin, Ethel, as much as I don’t like it.’
‘Well, at least discuss it with Doctor Squire. Perhaps he can help,’ Ethel said, shrugging her shoulders helplessly.
‘I doubt it. But I won’t just hand in my resignation without an explanation. That would be too strange. He’ll probably be pleased to see me go. I can just hear him, “Oh, the young of today”,’ she mimicked.
‘He might surprise you.’
Yeah, and pigs might fly, Jacqueline thought.
‘I wish there was something I could do to help,’ Ethel said, lifting her hands and dropping them again in a gesture of helplessness.
‘I do too, I do too,’ Jacqueline said sadly.
There was a feeble knock on her door. They both looked up, startled.
‘I’d better leave you to it,’ Ethel said, jumping up. She grasped Jacqueline’s hands, gave them a squeeze, then offered her a grim smile before letting them go.
Standing at the door was Jacqueline’s next patient, Mrs Smith, flushed with embarrassment, and ten minutes late.
‘It’s okay,’ Jacqueline said. ‘Come on in. Ethel was just leaving.’
The two old ladies exchanged greetings as Ethel left and Mrs Rose Smith entered.
‘I’m so sorry I’m late. I clean forgot. Well, almost,’ she said, clearly flustered.
Jacqueline struggled to concentrate for the rest of the afternoon. Thankfully each of her patients was like Mrs Smith and didn’t seem to want any more from her other than for her to listen to them. Some were there for a natter and some were there to hypothetically discuss problems their friends were having. Jacqueline urged them to get their friends to make an appointment.
She went through the motions until five p.m. and then she was free. She practically bolted out the door. She’d meant to get a few things from the supermarket, but couldn’t face the extra walk up there and back and putting on a cheery front to all the people she might meet along the way. She’d live without milk. She just hoped there was another portion of her mother’s lasagne in the freezer.
Oh God, she thought, as she collapsed on the couch, what a bloody mess. She yearned to call her parents, hear their words of comfort, but feared coming clean and disappointing them.
Ethel must have seen her arrive, because just a few minutes later she was on Jacqueline’s doorstep, ringing her bell, steaming casserole in hand.
‘Oh, Ethel, bless you,’ she said, ushering her friend in and giving her a tight hug.
‘If you want to be alone to think things through, I’ll completely understand,’ Ethel said.
‘No, please, come in. I could do with the company. There’s nothing really to think through. I’ll do the letters tomorrow. Glass of wine? I’m opening a bottle, seeing as I might not be here much longer,’ Jacqueline said wistfully.
‘Fiddlesticks. We’ll have none of that negative talk. It’ll work out. You’ll see.’
Jacqueline couldn’t muster the energy to point out that it couldn’t possibly be fine, and wouldn’t work out. It was a done deal. She thought she could practically hear the cogs turning in Ethel’s brain, searching for a solution. She could knock herself out, meddle anyway she liked, but there wasn’t anything that could be done. At least whatever Ethel did, she couldn’t make the situation any worse. Jacqueline tried to force it all out of her mind – she wanted a quiet evening with her good friend for company and a nice glass of wine or two and a decent meal. She’d deal with the mess that was her professional life tomorrow, or maybe bury her head in the sand for a few more days.
Chapter Twelve
On Friday morning, Damien was surprised to hear a knock on his caravan door. He
’d heard a vehicle arrive, but had stopped taking notice days ago on account of all the coming and going for the house building project. He thought they must be close to pouring the slab any day now the site was cleared, but he was staying well out of it and letting those who knew about building deal with it. He had enough on his plate.
He was further surprised to see his auntie Ethel standing just beyond the steps, and even more so to take in her slightly haggard appearance. Usually she was so bright and bubbly; today it seemed each of the steps was like climbing Everest for her. A jolt of fear ran through him as he reminded himself she was no spring chicken. What would he do if she got sick and/or died? The thought filled him with terror. But that was life, wasn’t it? People got old and died. He shook it aside. Everything was going so well, the last thing he needed was to start worrying about something he had no control over.
‘Good morning. Lovely to see you,’ he said, taking care to sound extra cheerful. ‘Cuppa?’
‘A cup of tea would be much appreciated, thank you,’ Ethel said, taking a seat on the wraparound leather couch behind the table.
‘Are you okay?’ he ventured, leaning on the bench while waiting for the kettle to boil. ‘It’s just you seem a little down, or something.’
Ethel flapped a hand, as if in frustration or dismissal, he couldn’t tell which.
‘Fine. Just one of those nights. Didn’t sleep too well.’
‘Anything I can help with?’
‘No, afraid not,’ she said quietly. ‘But, thanks anyway,’ she said, offering him a feeble smile.
He turned back to the bench to prepare their mugs, wondering why she was there at nine o’clock in the morning, or even out for that matter. It was forecast to be a hot windy day – a ‘shocker’ in CFS terms.
‘But sure could do with a cuddle with one of these guys,’ she said, looking about the van. Squish took it as his cue. He hopped up onto the couch, threw himself into Ethel’s lap, and gave her a hearty lick. ‘Yes, thank you, that’s lovely, Squish,’ Ethel said, looking less impressed than her words suggested, wiping the slobber off.
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