Unexpected

by stacey-leanne

  “Yes, anything.” I nodded eagerly.

  “We insist you take until January off, then when you’re back you will initially work on the day time shifts and only three days a week.” She held up her hand as I opened my mouth to protest. “This is not a debate Mrs Taylor this is how it is or not at all.” She paused waiting to see if I remained silent before continuing. “Secondly you will attend counselling sessions which we will arrange, if you fail to attend these sessions we will suspend you pending another board meeting, which given how busy we are could take months to organise.” I stared at her blankly.

  “You can’t force an adult to attend counselling!” I laughed.

  “No, but those are the conditions for your return to this hospital, it is entirely up to you whether you agree to them or not.” She folded her hands on the table and returned my stare.

  “How often?” I asked.

  “Once a week for six months.” She replied, the two men shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

  “Ok.” I relented.

  “Good, well then I think we are done here. I’ll get my PA to email you the date and time of your first appointment.” She smiled tightly and stretched out her hand for me to shake.

  “I felt about twelve!” I shouted from the kitchen over the noise of the football Chris was riveted to on the TV.

  “Well at least you’ll be back in work.” He replied reaching for another beer.

  “Yeah I know, but a counsellor?” I weaved between the sofa’s and plonked myself next to him a glass of red wine in one hand and a large bag of crisps in another.

  “It might be ok Beck’s.” He threw an arm around me and took a swig of his drink.

  “You know what they’re like, toffee nosed gits that think they know it all. It’ll be some old man who looks like Einstein staring at me trying to convince me the universe has a bigger plan and everything that happened was destined to be.” I stuffed a handful of crisps into my mouth and crunched loudly.

  “When do you have to go?” Chris asked.

  “Tomorrow, that woman works fast.” I replied sulkily.

  “Want me to come?” He placed his beer on the table and reached for a cigarette packet offering me one first.

  “No it’s ok, I think I need to do this alone.” I told him placing the narrow white stick between my lips and craning forwards into the flame of the lighter. Chris flicked the lid on the small silver box shut and placed it carefully back on the coffee table, pulling a glass ashtray closer.

  “You sure? I don’t mind, you know that.” He added blowing smoke up towards the ceiling before focusing back on the game.

  “Why do you still do that?” I smiled.

  “What?” He flicked the ash into the tray and glanced at me.

  “Blow your smoke up into the air away from me, when we met it made sense, I didn’t smoke but now I do so why do it?” I watched him redden slightly and cursed myself for saying it. Smoking had only been a vice I’d adopted since the attack.

  “Habit I guess.” He forced a smile but kept his eyes trained straight ahead, the muscles in his jaw twitching as his teeth clenched.

  “Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to upset you I wasn’t thinking.” I placed my cigarette in the tray and kneeled forwards resting my legs either side of his. I’d found myself apologising a lot recently, if he saw me cry I said sorry, when he’d walked into the hospital and first saw me lying in the bed he cried, I apologised, it had become a habit.

  “It’s ok, I just hate thinking about it all.” He leant forwards one arm wrapped around my waist, I’d of liked to believe it was affection but he was merely stopping me falling backwards off his lap as he leant to put his own cigarette out. He flumped back onto the couch and placed his hand on my knee.

  “I know, I’m sorry.” There it was again, another apology. I raised my hand to his face and cupped his cheek stroking the crease next to his mouth with my thumb.

  “I’m going to get some more beers, want anything?” He lifted me lightly to the side and stood up grabbing the car keys and his phone.

  “The game hasn’t finished.” I frowned.

  “It’s ok I won’t be long.” He smiled tightly and darted into the hall, a moment later the front door opened and closed and the car purred into life. I lay back on the couch trying to control my breathing, fighting the hot flood of tears that were raging to escape. Three months had passed and still he couldn’t bear to be close to me, my own husband couldn’t stomach my touch. I grabbed my phone and pressed the email button, scanning through in an attempt to distract my mind, one nearest the top caught my attention, a confirmation email from the secretary of Dr L Hill. I laughed bitterly and threw my phone to the floor, well this counsellor might be from some high end private practice in Chelsea, but he would need the powers of a God to fix this.

  “Will you be ok by here?” Chris asked leaning forwards to stare up at the street of towering white terraced houses. We were in one of the richest parts of the city, surrounded by walled gardens and pristine super cars.

  “I think I will narrowly escape kidnap.” I joked.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” He asked reaching out of the window to gently tug at my hand.

  “I’m sure. Get to work, one of us needs to make some money.” I laughed lightly and stepped away from the van watching as he waved and pulled back out into the reams of traffic. I began to walk down the street looking up at the shiny black doors, nearly every single one had a gold plate next to it listing names alongside buzzers. I checked the writing on the back of my hand, 114. Moving along the row I passed the entrance to one of the gated gardens and stopped to peer in, the grass was short and glistened with the winter frost which coated the wooden benches and clung to the leaves of unknown plants. Tugging the collar of my coat up against my chin I turned away, crossing the street to aim for one of the end buildings returning my attention once more to the numbers on the doors. There it was, 114 white and black matching all the others, I climbed the flight of stone steps and ran my finger over the plaque. Dr. L. Hill MD, PsyD, LGPC. I paused, my finger hovering over the buzzer for a moment before I let it fall.

  “Doctor Hill’s office.” A voice called softly through the speaker.

  “Oh hi, yeah I’ve got an appointment for 9.15.” I replied quietly looking around over my shoulder.

  “Name please.” The voice chirped.

  “Mrs Taylor.” I replied.

  “Do come in Mrs Taylor first door on the left.” With that the lock clicked and a faint buzzing sound reached my ears, I pushed the wooden frame lightly and felt it swing inwards allowing me to step inside into a narrow hallway. Black and white tiles mirrored the buildings outer colouring flowing under my feet in a diamond pattern, in front of me a staircase of solid mahogany stretched upwards to a darkened landing, rich maroon carpet coated its treads. The door to my left opened quietly.

  “Hello there Mrs Taylor my name is Christine I’m Doctor Hill’s personal secretary.” The girl couldn’t have been older than nineteen but she puffed her chest out importantly and smiled brightly. “If you would like to come through.” She gestured to the room behind her which was lined on two sides with shelves piled high with very old looking books, a desk sat in front of the shuttered window with a tall lamp on three long wooden legs at its side casting out a warm orange glow. “Can I take your coat or offer you any kind of refreshment Mrs Taylor?” The girl queried brightly.

  “No thank you.” I smiled, the way she kept saying my name so formally was a little unnerving.

  “Ok, well if you’d like to go through the doctor is expecting you.” She pointed to a narrow doorway in the back wall that I hadn’t noticed before.

  “Sounds like something from Doctor Who.” I joked but she merely looked affronted and returned to her computer screen with an expression of quiet contempt. Pressing down the handle I entered the room softly shutting the door behind me. The first thing I noticed was the smell, not the manly, stuffy leath
er and pipe smoke scent I had been expecting but light and floral. Secondly, it was lit very sparsely with small globe lamps and a glowing coal fire in front of which sat a leather recliner and a small tub chair, modern art brightened the walls in contrast with the dark shutters on the two oblong windows which were painted deep red to match the carpet. A large bookshelf took up the length of one wall and I marvelled at the multi coloured leather bound spines.

  “Hello Mrs Taylor.” The voice made me jump. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to startle you.” To my right tucked away in a nook was a low coffee table and beside it two more tub chairs, from one of these chairs Doctor Hill had spoken. I gawped dumbfounded, a tall dark haired woman was rising to her feet smoothing down the front of a pair of black trousers and straightening the hem of a black and white striped shirt, she smiled confidently flashing perfect rows of white teeth between ruby red lips. She held out her hand for me to shake.

  This certainly wasn’t what Einstein was supposed to look like.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I sat awkwardly in the tub chair feeling as though somehow I was meant to be in the recliner, vintage images of women lying back in dismay while a doctor leant forwards taking notes skipped across my mind.

  “Coffee, black no sugar.” Dr Hill smiled handing me a plain white mug.

  “Thanks.” I sipped the dark liquid, she pressed a button on the side of the other leather chair and the extended bottom began to fold and retract inwards, she sat down crossing her legs and placed her own mug onto the red brick hearth.

  “So, I’m guessing that as Miranda booked this in for you that it wasn’t your idea to be here today?” She questioned, her accent I noticed was mildly American.

  “Miranda?” I questioned frowning slightly.

  “Oh yes I’m sorry Miranda Roberts, she’s one of the governors at the hospital you work at, she recommended you come today.” She picked up her mug and sipped, something with a string and fancy label dangling over the side.

  “Oh, sorry I didn’t remember her name.” I shook my head slightly.

  “It’s Ok.” Dr Hill smiled politely.

  “My memory just doesn’t seem to be too good, I’d blame it on concussion but it’s probably more to do with the amount of daytime TV and red wine I’ve consumed in the last few months.” I gave a small hollow laugh. Dr Hill smiled again, her eyes creasing at the corners.

  “Yeah I had a car crash a few years back, broke both my legs so I know the monotony of being cooped up only too well.” She rubbed her left knee. “Purely metal pins holding me together now!”

  “Oh my God, that must have been awful what happened?” I asked, she paused and smiled at me again. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that. It’s none of my business.” I reddened.

  “You apologise, a lot.” She laughed. “Is that something you do when you’re nervous or is it a general thing?”

  “What makes you think I’m nervous?” I countered sipping the coffee.

  “Well, you’re hands are sweating, you’ve rubbed them on your jeans several times, you’re looking around in small glances probably planning an escape route, you can’t hold eye contact with me.” I looked up and tried my hardest to seem nonchalant about meeting her emerald eyes, I lasted a few seconds then sheepishly grinned and looked away.

  “Ok, you’re right I am nervous.” I agreed.

  “Why?” She asked.

  “Why?” I repeated watching as she gave a quick nod. “Well I don’t know you, I’ve never been to a counsellor before.”

  “No it’s more than that.” She added delicately holding the string that trailed into the mug bobbing it up and down. I fell silent, watching her unsure what it was she wanted me to say.

  “This isn’t a courtroom Mrs Taylor. I’m not here to make you recount what happened when you were attacked, I don’t need to hear step by step every detail unless that’s what you want to do. I’m here to listen, to whatever you want to say to me, if that’s the deepest darkest thoughts and feelings that you can’t vent anywhere else, fine. If it’s about the weather and what you’re doing for dinner, fine. It’s entirely up to you, there’s no pressure here, so relax.” She reached across and patted my knee twice.

  “I’m sorry.” I smiled trying to take a deep breath.

  “Stop apologising, you have nothing to apologise for.” Her stare pierced me and I nodded tears dotting my eyes.

  “So then, what are you doing for dinner?” She smiled.

  I walked to the local newsagent, grabbing a packet of cigarettes and a lighter before meandering through the park back towards home. A light dusting of snow had fallen during the hour I had been inside the tall white building, the benches empty and the small pond not quite frozen was bare of the usual array of ducks. I brushed the flakes aside and plonked myself onto the wooden slats of the nearest seat and lit a cigarette my fingers red with the cold. I’d ended up telling her everything, every single detail that I had recounted to the police, to the judge, to Chris. Only this time I had told her more, more than facts, I’d admitted that I still felt damaged, that my husband couldn’t bear to touch me. She had listened quietly, nodding at points, asking “Why?” from time to time and although when I finished she looked slightly angry not once did she look at me with pity which was refreshing.

  “You’re not damaged. You’re a human being who has survived an act carried out by someone who is most definitely damaged. Damaged implies that you don’t function in the way you were intended to, which you do, you are compassionate and strong where as he clearly isn’t, if anyone is damaged it’s him not you.” Her words ran through my mind and the more I thought about it the better I felt, she was right, humans weren’t supposed to go around hurting other humans. I pulled my phone from my pocket and opened the screen to Chris’s number, a few seconds later his deep voice sounded down the line.

  “Hey are you ok?” He asked, I could hear the sound of hammers and drills in the background.

  “Yeah I’m actually quite good.” I laughed.

  “How was Einstein?” He had moved out of the building work, it was quieter now.

  “She was a surprise.” I said.

  “She? Well at least I don’t have to worry about some Liam Neeson type trying to analyse you.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

  “What do you fancy for dinner? I feel like cooking.” There was a pause, we’d been living on take away for quite some time. “Chris?”

  “I’m here sorry.” A voice interrupted high pitched and unmistakeably female.

  “There you are, I wondered where you sneaked off to I’ve been trying to steal you all day.” It was hurriedly muffled, scrapings echoed down the phone as though he had pressed the mobile against the heavy fluorescent jacket I knew he would be wearing.

  “Who was that?” My heart was beating fast.

  “Oh, a new receptionist she’s got some paperwork I need to do, urgently.” Chris sounded panicked. “I’ve got to run Beck’s I’ll see you at home Ok?” The phone cut off with a beep, leaving me standing in disbelief.

  “So what do you think? Do you think he’s fucking her?” I was back in Dr Hill’s office, the week had flown by with a heavy unspoken question dangling between me and Chris. It had unnerved me even more that the tension was so palatable but he hadn’t questioned what was wrong.

  “I think that you are sure that he is, so if I had to answer I’d say yes.” Dr Hill finished crunching the ginger nut biscuit she had in her mouth and wiped the crumbs off her hands, I stared at her.

  “Sorry did you want me to lie?” She asked.

  “No but I didn’t think you’d be so blunt.” I was a little irritated.

  “Maybe I’m just reading too much into it, misjudging him because my own head has been everywhere.” I reasoned.

  “Mmhmm.” She nodded sipping her tea. Her dark hair was loose falling at the shoulder with a nineteen fifties wave.

  “What does that mean?” I demanded.

  “It mean’s bullshit.”
She placed her cup onto the coffee table and leant towards me. “You’re instincts aren’t clouded because you were attacked, you’re not hyper emotional or irrational. You’ve been with this guy like a decade, if you think something is wrong, then chances are it is.” Her American accent was broader when she wasn’t guarding her words so much.

  “Where are you from?” I asked suddenly.

  “I’m from Virginia. A small town called Vienna.” She answered.

  “Why are you here? In Britain I mean.” I added.

  “Well, my father was British but he left when I was around three and came back here. I stayed in the states with my mom but when she died last year I decided to come across and try and find him.” She took a sip of tea and smiled at me again.

  “Wow, I didn’t actually expect you to answer that.” I laughed.

  “Why not?” She frowned creasing the perfect olive skin.

  “Because isn’t it against some code of conduct to get into personal conversations with a patient.” I teased whilst blushing at my own tenacity.

  “I’m a counsellor Rebecca, conversations are kind of what my job entails.” It was the first time she had called me by my given name instead of the formal Mrs Taylor and for some bizarre reason it sent a shiver right through my stomach.

  “So what are you going to do?” She asked wiping her hands again and leaning back into the chair.

  “I don’t know. What would you do?” I said.

  “Ah, now that I can’t supply.” She smiled wagging a finger. “I can’t tell you what to do, you have to decide that for yourself, I can’t even tell you what I would do as that may influence a decision you may later regret then blame me.”

  “I wouldn’t blame you!” I huffed.

  “You’d be surprised at what people blame on their doctors.”

  “Dr Hill…” I started.

  “It’s Lana.” She seemed to falter slightly. “I know it’s not the most professional thing to do but I always hated being called ‘Dr Hill’ it’s too formal for me with some people, so just call me Lana.”