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- Herausgeber: Forest Room Press
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
What happens when a trusted and leading psychiatrist becomes his own patient?
Sam Tyler is a highly regarded Sydney psychiatrist with a regrettable past. Four years ago, while his police officer wife, Sophie, was gunned down during a routine patrol, Sam was in bed with another woman. Picking up the pieces of his professional life and re-establishing himself as a doctor with an impeccable reputation, the past is unleashed with terrifying consequences when Alice Lacey, a new patient, reignites his guilt over the death of his wife. Will Sam be able to protect his fragile patient when his own past is threatening to destroy him?
The Good Doctor explores the darker territory behind one man’s professional façade, and what happens when that barrier finally breaks.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
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About The Good Doctor
What happens when a trusted and leading psychiatrist becomes his own patient?
Sam Tyler is a highly regarded Sydney psychiatrist with a regrettable past. Four years ago, while his police officer wife, Sophie, was gunned down during a routine patrol, Sam was in bed with another woman. Picking up the pieces of his professional life and re-establishing himself as a doctor with an impeccable reputation, the past is unleashed with terrifying consequences when Alice Lacey, a new patient, reignites his guilt over the death of his wife. Will Sam be able to protect his fragile patient when his own past is threatening to destroy him?
The Good Doctor explores the darker territory behind one man’s professional façade, and what happens when that barrier finally breaks.
For Janice
Contents
PROLOGUE
‘You bloody goose, Jarrod, I could have shot you.’
Sophie had already lowered her gun. Hands shaking, she re-holstered.
The probationary constable seemed to be holding his breath.
‘What were you doing coming around the other side?’ she went on, heat still prickling beneath the neck of her uniform. ‘You were supposed to be behind me.’
‘I thought I could head them off,’ he said, finally breathing.
‘Head who off? There’s nobody here.’
‘But the alarm’s still sounding.’
‘Look, you can’t just make up your own rules. You stick with me, okay? Do exactly what I tell you.’
‘Yeah, sorry.’
Sophie turned away and spoke into the microphone attached to her jacket collar, telling the operator that the warehouse appeared intact and there was no sign of any person in the vicinity.
‘Key-holder is on their way to your location.’ The operator’s voice was mixed with radio static. ‘They’ll reset the alarm.’
‘Copy that.’
The rain started again. Sophie headed to the police car. The probationer followed. She could hear his boots scraping on the gravel.
Idiot.
He’d only been out of the academy two weeks. She shouldn’t even be out here tonight with him – she wasn’t his buddy – that was Maria. But as usual her colleague had complained of a headache and changed the duties around on the roster so that Sophie had to take her place on the car crew. Maria would be sitting back in the station, drinking coffee, keeping warm.
And tonight of all nights.
Sophie knew she should be home sorting her marriage woes, not out in the drizzling dark with a useless freckle-head who’d spent the first hour spouting his philosophy about women in the job.
They waited in the car for the key-holder: an elderly man who stuck his face in the passenger’s side window, looking past Sophie to the probationer. ‘Happens a fair bit, alarm going off. Third time this month I’ve been called to reset it. Still, keeps me employed.’
‘Tell whoever, if it keeps happening they’ll be fined,’ Sophie said, drawing the man’s attention. Yes that’s right, I’m in charge.
‘Might do them some good,’ the old guy said. ‘Anyway, thanks for coming out. You got better things to do, I know.’
Jarrod drove. He was quiet since his close-up with Sophie’s Glock. Rain sprinkled across the windscreen. The wipers creaked left to right. Everything was fogging up. Sophie reached across to hit the demist switch, Jarrod eyeing her remorsefully.
‘Are you going to report me?’ he asked. ‘For what happened back there?’
Correct procedure required an incident report. Jarrod would have to go for retraining, maybe get rapped over the knuckles for insubordination. But she hadn’t really come close to shooting him. Fourteen years on the job had taught her to keep her finger off the trigger and identify her target. Still, she’d pointed the gun at him and that probably wouldn’t bode well for her either.
‘We’ve had our serious talk. Let’s leave it at that.’ She flipped open a folder and reached for the radio handset in the centre dash. ‘We better get this paperwork delivered before it gets too late.’ She used a small pocket torch to read: Interim restraining order, 42 Bakerton Street. ‘Take the next right.’
Jarrod parked two houses down as Sophie spoke into the radio. She gave the address and the nature of their business. The radio operator responded, asking them to wait. A police pursuit had just started in the Royal National Park.
Sophie swore and chucked the handset onto the dash. ‘We haven’t got all flaming night.’
‘What are we waiting for?’ Jarrod asked. ‘It’s just paperwork for a restraining order.’
‘Officer Survival. There might be warnings on the address or the person named in the order. Radio will look it up, get back to us. And they need to know where we are. That’s the main thing.’
Jarrod peered through the windscreen at the house. ‘Doesn’t even look like anyone lives there. It’s a bit derelict.’
Sophie flashed her torch briefly over the papers again. ‘Ray Waddington… back to his old tricks, no doubt. I don’t suppose he’ll be keen to open the door.’
‘Offer us a cup of tea?’ Jarrod tried to laugh.
‘It’ll be a no-show.’
They listened to the pursuit for a while. It was a high-speed chase involving at least three highway patrol vehicles and a Ford Falcon with bent number plates.
‘They’ll call it off,’ Sophie said. ‘Too dangerous.’
Almost immediately the radio operator terminated the pursuit. Sophie smiled smugly at Jarrod and took up the handset again expecting her response. But another urgent job was being called and took priority.
She groaned and sat back, looked out at the rain-spattered evening and thought of Sam. She owed him an apology. Strange that she should think of it that way after the names he’d called her earlier today. There’d been no chance to sort things out and she’d left for work in a fever.
‘I should call him.’
‘What?’ Jarrod said.
She shook her head. ‘Sorry, thinking out loud.’ Tiredness was creeping up on her. She took the papers from the folder and undid her seatbelt. ‘Stay here, I’ll just go and see if anyone’s home.’
‘You don’t want to wait?’
‘We’ll be here all night at this rate. Besides, I need coffee.’
Sophie was glad to be free of the probationer, away from his scrutiny. Earlier she’d let slip about her argument with Sam. Nightshift tended to do that – driving around in the dark, making conversation for the sake of keeping awake. But she regretted having said anything. Rumours could start from far less. And an academy-fresh nineteen-year-old was hardly the best choice as a confidante.
Feather-light rain flitted onto her cheeks as she made her way up the slope towards the house. Flaking paintwork and tattered curtains – Jarrod was probably right, nobody lived here. Bogus addresses were common amongst thieves and villains.
But then the porch light came on, startling her. She squinted at the stark whiteness of the bare globe as she reached the base of the stairs. The moisture on the timber railing sat up high like beaded pearls. Absently, she touched one, dissolving it into the grain.
The screen door squealed open as she started up the steps. She caught an impression of a figure – more of an apparition, an aura beneath the blistering light. The pump action of the shotgun was clear.
Sophie stopped.
A loud explosion ripped through the air, and she was hurtled backwards onto the rain-drizzled grass.
Blood gushed from the hole in her chest as her body jerked several times. After a final shudder, she was still.
ONE
Four years later
She was crying.
Dr Samuel Tyler let out a tense breath and checked his watch. Then he leant forward in the armchair and tapped the low table between him and the young woman, trying to get her attention. She’d emptied the box of tissues and was now destroying the last of them. He frowned at the dusting of tissue lint on the rug.
‘Sorry,’ she gulped.
‘It’s all right,’ he said. But it wasn’t all right. He took her file from the armrest of his chair and headed for the door. ‘I’ll be back in a moment.’
Leah, the receptionist, beamed a smile at him that vanished as Sam slapped the file on the counter in front of her.
‘Check the records and find out how I ended up with this patient.’
‘Alice Lacey,’ she said, glancing at the file. She tapped on the keyboard. ‘She was Glenn Whittaker’s.’
‘I know. I just broke the news of Glenn’s death to her. My question is, how is it that she’s sitting in my office? She’s a cop – I don’t do cops. You’ve been here long enough to know that.’
Leah shook her head. ‘I didn’t allocate her to you. Richard did. He took care of Glenn’s patients. It’s nothing to do with me.’
‘Is Richard still in his office?’
Before she could respond, Sam grabbed the file and headed down the hall to the door marked Dr R. Madden. At the same time, a stout man with a harried look on his face came rushing out, shoving papers into a briefcase.
Sam stepped in front of him. ‘Richard, I need a word.’
‘I don’t have time for this, Sam,’ he said, pushing past into reception where he hit the button for the lift. ‘It’ll have to wait.’
‘It can’t wait. It’s about Alice Lacey, one of Glenn’s patients. She’s in my office now.’
Richard frowned, so Sam spelt it out. ‘She’s a cop.’
‘She’s a special case. No other psychiatrist was suitable to take her.’
‘I’m not suitable.’
‘I can’t talk about it now. I’m already late for a meeting.’
The bell chimed on the lift. As Richard stepped inside, Sam put his hand against the door to stop it closing. ‘We need to sort this out now.’
‘We’ll sort it out later,’ Richard said, checking his watch. ‘You shouldn’t keep her waiting. You don’t come cheap.’
The shiny metal door slid shut. Sam stared at it blankly then thumped the twisted version of himself staring back.
‘Is there something I can do, Sam?’ Leah asked as he passed the reception counter.
He shook his head and returned to his office.
Glenn Whittaker’s patient had stopped crying. She looked at Sam with eyes so bloodshot he couldn’t tell what colour they were. He sat, put the file on the low table between them and leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
‘Alice,’ he began, but she burst into tears again. Sam sat back. He wasn’t going to have the patience for this.
‘I’m sorry, Dr Tyler.’
He felt a brief softening, but only, he told himself, because none of this was her fault. And maybe because she’d addressed him formally. Patients tended to call him by his first name and without any prompting.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘It’s a shock about Dr Whittaker, I know.’
‘We only had a couple of sessions, but he seemed like such a nice man.’ She dabbed her eyes. ‘Do you mind me asking how he died?’
Glenn had been found slumped over his desk by the night cleaner almost three weeks ago. There was nothing unusual in him working back so late. Sometimes Sam had wondered if he even went home.
‘It was a heart attack.’
Alice twisted a charm on her bracelet. ‘Another death. It seems to follow me. Maybe I’m a bad omen.’ Her eyes sought his as though inviting renunciation to the claim. He gave her no relief. Instead, he sighed and went back to her file.
Glenn’s handwriting was on the front cover and clearly marked in-house therapy only. That was odd – or maybe not, knowing Glenn. He’d always tended to have his special patients – and special treatments to go with them. Sam wondered where he should take the rest of the session, given it would be their last.
‘Are you able to continue?’
She cleared her throat. ‘Yes.’
The digital clock on the bench behind her indicated there was still half an hour left. Alice had cried for at least twenty-five minutes and someone was paying for this. Richard was right: psychiatric sessions didn’t come cheap.
He leant back in his armchair and positioned her notes on his knee, flicking through a few pages.
‘It’s been hard,’ he said. ‘Lots of distressing pictures in your head.’
She bit down on her bottom lip.
He added quickly, ‘I want you to know that we won’t be discussing any of that today.’
‘So does that include the train crash?’
‘It includes every bad job you’ve ever been to.’
She nodded and breathed relief.
Sam produced a pen from the inside pocket of his jacket and clicked the end with his thumb. ‘Let’s just check a few details.’ A ploy to fill time. ‘You’ve recently moved from Coffs Harbour to Sydney.’
‘Yes, a few months ago.’
‘Right on the beach at Cronulla.’
‘You know it?’
He knew it. He lived three streets back from the ocean at the other end of the southern Sydney suburb. Not that he would tell a patient that. There was nothing worse than being stalked or having a patient drop in for tea and a free session. Instead, he nodded and returned to her papers.
She answered other generic questions, things that were already noted in the paperwork. But they kept her talking, kept the session moving.
‘Married?’ he asked.
‘Single. I used to be married.’
‘So, you’re divorced,’ he corrected her, making a note.
‘I hate the term divorced,’ she said. ‘I mean, what difference does it make? You’re either married or you’re not.’
He detected her bitterness. If she were staying then he’d be looking to see how her situation might have affected her relationships. That was the most common thing with cops – all they experienced in the job usually spilt over into their personal lives.
He went as far as the police record. Length of service, rank, departments and locations. She confirmed what was already written. A senior constable with fourteen years’ service – all of it in uniform. She’d never branched into anything else. A few failed attempts at making sergeant. She seemed bright, but that typical cop persona had washed into her tone: formal, direct, brief.
He noticed his hand was shaking as he ticked off her responses.
The next question was not listed. ‘Fourteen years of service – makes you twenty when you joined. So, why did you become a police officer?’
‘To serve my community and uphold the law,’ she said, a flicker of irony crossing her lips. She paused and looked down at her hands. ‘Actually, I thought I’d be helping people. That was the plan. A bit naïve, really. Instead, I got a whole lot more than I bargained for.’ Her gaze lifted but didn’t settle on him. ‘There should be a disclaimer in the glossy brochure they hand out from recruitment; you know, the one with the glamour shots of police in helicopters or smiling as they walk the beat and being well received by a grateful community; making a difference. What they leave out is the part about wrestling with drunks in the gutter, being spat on, abused, assaulted, shot at…’
Without warning Alice jerked backwards in her chair. Sam stared in bewilderment, then realised he’d just slammed her file down hard on the small table between them, scattering papers onto the rug. He could feel the perspiration beading on his forehead. He had to get out.
Sam found himself at the water cooler in reception. Damn it, his hands were shaking like he had the DTs. The water missed the cup and trickled over his fingers. He could feel Leah’s eyes boring into the back of his skull. He managed to fill the cup and then gulped the contents like it was medicine.
He got a fresh cup and filled it.
When he turned around Leah was all smiles. She poked a strand of black hair behind one ear.
He smiled back, begrudgingly.
Back in the office, Alice was standing by the window at the far end of the room. Layered blonde hair fell over one shoulder, with darker regrowth that was either neglect or style. She was curvaceous although hadn’t packed on the kilos like a lot of shift workers did. Her mid-length summer dress seemed to belie her station as a cop. Most of the off-duty female cops Sam knew wore trousers, gym gear, or jeans.
She turned as the door clicked shut but stayed where she was.
‘Come back over,’ Sam said, moving towards his armchair.
She hesitated then approached slowly, looking at him expectantly.
Green. Her eyes were green.
He handed her the cup of water.
‘Sorry,’ he said, not sure what to add to that.
He indicated the other chair and she sat. He picked up the fallen papers and smoothed down the front of his tie before also sitting.
‘So, you’re taking over my matter,’ she said, putting the water, untouched, on the table between them.
‘Well, things are still being worked out at this stage.’
Ten minutes to go on the clock.
The file papers were out of order. He pretended interest in one of them, clicked on his pen and made a mark in the corner.
‘Well…’ He made a show of checking his watch. ‘We might call it a day.’
Alice stood with him and shook the hand he extended.
‘Same time next week?’ she said as he walked her out.
‘Um – Leah will sort that one out.’
He was about to close the door when she turned back and smiled. It was quite a contrast to the sadness he’d seen earlier. He didn’t know what to make of it except that Alice Lacey was the sort of woman whose smile was worth waiting for.
But this would be their last meeting.
‘Thank you, Doctor.’
He closed the door, leant back against it and exhaled as if he’d been holding his breath for an hour. His eyes darted to the window. The vision of Alice standing there was uncomfortably clear in his mind. She hadn’t been admiring the view; he’d frightened her and she’d retreated to a safer place. It bothered him how close he’d come to losing control. He let his sight drift to the long bureau holding the neat row of psychiatry books. He walked over and opened the first drawer.
The framed photo was face down. He turned it over and his heart began to race. It could have been one of those pictures that came with the frame – a black-and-white close-up of a happy couple.
‘Sophie,’ he heard himself whisper.
They’d had an argument about the whole photo thing. Sam hadn’t seen the point of it – the expense or the time. But Sophie had insisted it would be something nice to look back on.
Looking back now only brought him pain.
His thumb traced over her image. Dark hair parted in the middle and pulled tight. Well-defined cheekbones and wide eyes with thick lashes. He was the grump, smiling only because he’d been told to.
Suddenly his eyes were burning, his body trembling the way it used to.
Sam put away the photo and thumped the drawer closed. He grabbed Alice Lacey’s file, glared at it, then dumped it in the outbox tray on his desk.
TWO
The track through the Royal National Park was gone, destroyed by fallen trees and the rubble of a recent landslide. Sam readjusted his backpack and moved up the escarpment, hoping to go around the problem and pick up the track further along. Lengthening shadows reminded him he’d have to turn back soon. A few minutes later he stopped climbing and looked around. Nothing was familiar.
Why had he left it so long to come out here? Not once, since he’d set Sophie’s ashes free, had he returned to honour her memory. If he had, he wouldn’t be facing this conundrum.
Frustrated, he slammed a tree trunk with the palm of his hand, grazing his skin on the bark. Specks of blood appeared.
‘Shit.’
Sitting on a boulder at the edge of the track, he shrugged off his backpack to get his water, drank half the bottle and poured the rest over his hand. His conscience was screaming at him.
Sophie, you deserved better than this.
Last night he’d woken in fright, thrust forward in his bed, clutching his chest, and yelling her name. He’d gone to the bathroom cabinet, found the bottle of pills, shook out two and swallowed them dry. Then he’d roamed the house like a sleepwalker, imagining her ghost in the eerie light from a flickering streetlamp. He’d climbed the spiral staircase and stopped at the barricade guarding the unfinished extension. It had been Sophie’s dream – spacious rooms with full-length windows to take in ocean views they were missing one level down. The extension remained an empty shell. He hadn’t been able to face it after she’d gone. Eventually, in the early hours of the morning, he’d sat exhausted on the top step and tried not to think.
A lyrebird wailed like a siren from somewhere deep in the bush.
Sam put the empty water bottle in his backpack and stood up. His legs protested.
At thirty-eight, he wasn’t as fit as he used to be. That was one of the pitfalls of his job: an office-bound pen-hugger who sat and listened to the woes of a population seemingly glad to wallow in its own misery. He’d become locked into that life; set himself in the standard of all highly paid professionals – clean nails and laundered suits and silk ties with embroidered initials. The four flights of stairs to his office were about the only exercise he got these days. And that was only when the lift was out of service.
Further up the slope, his shoes skidded in the dry leaf mulch and he stumbled against a rock, scraping his knee. It was bleeding but he didn’t stop. He pushed himself harder, aware of the fading light. He came out onto a fire trail. This was better. He started to run and took the first signposted track – The Leap – weaving his way through the spindly foliage, watching his step, alert to how close the cliff edge was.
The trail opened onto a flat area of rock shelf. A sheer drop was just a few steps ahead. Catching his breath, he took in the view. Deep valleys of dense bushland stretched all the way to the ocean. White water smashed against the distant coastal rocks.
Was this the place?
He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember. It was all a blur. But what he was sure of was that his head had been bowed as he’d clutched the urn containing Sophie’s ashes. And the prayer. What was it?
‘Panis Angelicus’.
He opened his eyes again. It didn’t feel right. But it had to be the place. Sophie had loved it here.
Dammit. Why was his memory so fissured?
This whole excursion had been an abysmal failure. Sophie’s ashes lost to the wind in that time long ago. He couldn’t even remember if he’d cried.
He headed back.
By the time he reached the coast, dusk had settled and the tide cut off his path. He turned towards the hills. It was dark by the time he reached his BMW parked outside the surf club at Garie. The place was deserted. Tired, his calf muscles aching, he drove five kilometres to the main road only to find a wide metal gate blocked the exit.
‘You’re kidding me.’
Sam got out of the car and checked the large padlock and chain illuminated by his headlights.
He returned to the car, moved it over to the side and turned the engine off. Reaching into the backseat he found a hooded windcheater and pulled it on. There was nothing else he could do.
*
A tap to the driver’s window woke Sam. It was just coming on first light. He blinked and wiped the grit from his eyes, then let his window down.
The park ranger leant in. ‘You should have called the police, mate. They’ve got keys to all the gates in the park.’
Call the police – what a joke, Sam thought. As if they’d come to assist him.
He sat up straight and turned the engine over. ‘Yep, well I’ll remember that for next time.’
He made it home just as the sun was lifting out of the Pacific, driving up to the unfinished Cape Cod monstrosity at the top of the street. Nestled into the slate-grey tiles of the roof, the arched upper windows seemed to stare down at him like two bulbous eyes. It wasn’t possible for him to hate the house any more than he did. He’d tried to sell it but nobody wanted an ugly half-finished extension, especially when the owner’s wife had met an untimely and tragic death. ‘Bad karma,’ the real estate agent had said. Now it sat there to remind him what a mess he’d made of everything.
Sam tossed his keys on the sideboard and fell into the wide armchair that faced the window, tilted his head back and groaned. It was then he remembered the cut on his leg. The blood had dried, but a patch of redness under the skin indicated the brewing infection.
Well, serve himself right if his whole bloody leg dropped off.
*
The supermarket car park seemed to be doubling as a speed track in the afternoon. Sam manoeuvred his trolley around the impatient and blatantly rude. A station wagon stalked him for a moment, creeping behind him as he made his way to his car – but sped off seconds later.
He offloaded two weeks’ supply of frozen meals and a case of South Australian merlot into the boot. It would be a competition to see what got him first: alcohol poisoning or a poor diet. Maybe the combination would quicken the process.
‘Hello, Sam. I thought that was you.’
Sam closed the boot, biting on the inside of his mouth, then turned around and forced a smile. ‘Maria.’
Leaving her shopping trolley aside, the tall brown-haired woman stepped in and kissed Sam on the cheek. They both tried for something of a hug, but it all became awkward. Sam ended up patting her shoulder, which didn’t feel right either.
‘Rob and I were only talking about you the other day,’ she said.
‘How have you both been?’
‘We’re good. Rob’s working with the major crime unit in the city now, but I’m still at Gymea Police Station.’ Maria paused, took a breath and touched the small gold cross on her neck chain. ‘We’ve missed you, Sam.’
‘Yeah, time gets away…’
They used to be so close, the four of them. Sophie and Maria had worked the same shifts. Sam was always the odd one out.
Three cops and a shrink – great name for a sitcom, Rob used to say.
‘I heard about Glenn Whittaker,’ Maria said. ‘It’s really sad. I couldn’t make it to his funeral – nobody would swap shifts with me. But Brian Heath said he saw you there.’
Sam recalled the moment, coming face to face with Brian just as they were leaving the chapel. It had been uncomfortable. Sam hadn’t said anything to the detective, just put his head down and walked outside.
‘Heart attack, wasn’t it?’ she added. ‘I know Glenn wasn’t a spring chicken, but he was such a presence. And a terrific psychiatrist. Always turned up at the police station during a critical incident to offer support. I don’t suppose you’ll be taking over that role now?’
Sam’s stomach muscles tightened. ‘It wasn’t a role. Glenn visited the stations off his own bat.’
‘God help us all then. We’ll be lost without him.’
Sam pointed to Maria’s trolley. ‘Anyway, I won’t keep you – looks like you’ve got frozen stuff too.’ He stepped in and kissed her cheek. ‘Say hello to Rob for me.’
She touched his arm, and before he moved away he saw the pity in her eyes. ‘Maybe we could get together one day, you know, for old time’s sake?’
He didn’t answer, simply lifted his hand in farewell, pretending he’d missed her suggestion. As he walked around to the driver’s door he took his keys from the pocket of his shorts and crunched them inside his fist – the sharp ends digging into the soft flesh of his palm.
Sam couldn’t face going home. The towering edifice with its unhappy history, made worse by Maria’s condolatory expression. He’d all but blotted her from his mind these past years. Now she was snaking her way through old memories, as though picking out the more hurtful ones to throw back at him: Maria consoling Sophie and shouting abuse at him for being an unfeeling drunkard; collecting Sophie with an overnight bag after one of their many fights…
He parked his car at the deserted end of Wanda Beach, pulled off his shoes and t-shirt, and walked into the ocean. The thrashing surf matched the rush of blood pumping through his body. He dived under every wave until he was past the breakers, and then turned to face the shore.
His mind conjured images of Sophie on the beach, turning cartwheels and laughing at him because she knew how much he hated public displays.
‘Samuel, it’s only the beach,’ she called across the waves to him. ‘Nobody cares.’
A swift moving cloud covered the sun, and the image of Sophie was gone by the time the rays fought their way out again.
A wave belted into the back of his head, forcing him under. Muscles relaxed, he drifted. Maybe the undercurrent would tow him further out, so that by the time he resurfaced he’d be closer to the treacherous Kurnell rocks, no chance of escape.
Instead, the waves took him back to shore, the last tumbling him about in foamy grit. He emerged with twisted shorts, the crotch laden with sand.
He dropped close to the edge and laid back, the salt and sun prickling on his lips.
And he waited for the burden to ease.
THREE
Dr Cranston Jones stood sentry in the doorway of Glenn’s old office. A scrawny man with a red-veined nose and a comb-over, he scowled as Sam helped their other colleague, Diane Briggs, drag in the last of several big boxes.
Sam had been watching the antagonism brew all morning.
‘It’s not right,’ Cranston grumbled.
‘Get used to it, Jonesy,’ Diane said, sneering up at him from under a long fringe. ‘I’ve been working out of a cupboard for the past eight years. About time I got to spread things out. And don’t whine just because you didn’t get up early enough to do it first.’
‘The police might want to come back, take another look around.’
‘For what? Glenn wasn’t murdered. He croaked it from a heart attack. Anyway, what do you want me to do, turn the place into a shrine, burn candles?’
‘Oh, it’s all right for you, but I was the one who got called in to identify the poor bastard. He was dead at that very desk, still with a pen in his hand.’
Diane lost her patience. She grabbed at pens in a tray and held up a handful. ‘Well, come on, which pen was it? I’ll have it set in bronze and mounted for you.’
Cranston stormed across the hall and into his office, slamming the door.
Diane grunted and turned to Sam. ‘Hey, I tell you what, I’d sell my soul for your office.’ She grinned, revealing the wide gap between her front teeth. ‘All that space complete with sitting area. I reckon my clientele might pick up with an office like that.’
‘If I cark it, it’s yours, no argument,’ Sam said, absently fingering the framed picture of Diane’s black Cocker Spaniel.
‘And the furniture?’
‘I’d have no use for it where I’m going.’
‘Pearly gates I’m guessing.’
‘More likely that other place.’
‘Not you, good sort. You’re squeaky clean.’
Unimpressed, Sam left the room.
His first patient was running late. Leah had a pile of correspondence for him to sign, so he stood at reception and checked each page carefully. He found a mistake on every one and handed them back. She glared at the last page where Sam had circled an errant comma.
‘She likes you, you know,’ Richard said when Sam cornered him in his office later that afternoon.
‘Leah? I know.’
‘Not interested?’
‘I don’t have time.’
‘Sam, you’re still a young man. You should get out more.’
‘Things are fine for me. A distraction is the last thing I need.’
‘You make it sound like an inconvenience. People generally enjoy being together.’
‘Yeah, well I’m in the lower percentage that prefers my own company. Anyway, I didn’t come in here to talk about Leah.’
Richard sighed. ‘I know what you’re going to say. About Alice Lacey, the cop. But I did my research on her. All her duty was up north in Coffs Harbour. She never worked in Sydney, only moved here recently. Too many bad memories for her up there. She won’t be going back – she’s done with the job. Post-traumatic stress – that train disaster near Bellingen last year. Eleven killed, twenty-odd injured. Nasty business.’
Sam took a deep breath. ‘I want her off my books. It’s not a request.’
Richard tapped a pen thoughtfully on the papers in front of him, his eyes fixed on Sam. ‘Listen to me – you’re the most capable psychiatrist in this practice. You’re good at what you do. My decision is in the best interests of the patient. She’s had a hard time.’
‘Haven’t they all,’ Sam said sarcastically. ‘Why not give her to Cranston or Diane? They’re always looking to increase their numbers.’
‘I’ve divided as many as I dared between those two. Sure, they were pleased for the clientele, but you know as well as I do that the honeymoon period will be over before long. We’ll end up losing more than we’ll keep. Besides, I only gave you Alice.’ Richard paused. ‘Glenn marked her file as in-house therapy only. So, he wasn’t planning to send her to a clinical psychologist. He must have had his reasons for that, to keep everything here. I feel like I owe it to him, to make sure this one is okay.’
Sam recalled the note on Alice Lacey’s file and understood there would have been a good reason for Glenn’s decision. But he wasn’t prepared to acknowledge it. ‘Glenn always got too involved – treating most of his patients like they were family.’
‘And they loved him for it. You’ve got to admit, he got results.’
Sam stood and walked to the window behind Richard’s chair, parted the venetians with his fingers but realised the futility of staring at a brick wall.
His colleague swivelled on his chair, the heavy creak of metal and plastic seeming to threaten the manufacturer’s warranty.
‘I don’t work the way Glenn did,’ Sam said. ‘I don’t have that same level of… demonstrative compassion, whatever you want to call it. I prefer to keep the boundaries well in place.’
‘That’s what makes you the best choice for Alice. She needs stability now. Glenn went and carked it after just a handful of sessions, and she’d be feeling the pinch of that. Come on Obi-Wan, you’re her only hope.’
‘This is not some joke.’ Sam turned from the window, releasing the blades of the blind so that they swung and clattered. ‘You’re messing with people’s lives. Start thinking about what you’re doing.’
‘Steady on.’ Richard tossed his pen aside and adjusted his bulky frame. ‘What’s got into you? Is this because of Sophie?’
Sam leant against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. ‘What do you reckon?’
‘Mate, it’s got to be… three, four years ago?’
Sam pointed a warning finger at his colleague. ‘I was the most hated man in the eyes of every one of Sophie’s colleagues. They blamed me for what happened. And now you want to go and throw me under the bus with it all again. I’ve come a long way, pulled myself together. I don’t want to unravel what I’ve made of myself here.’
He started to pace, somehow found his way back to the chair, sat heavily.
‘It was unfortunate about what happened to Sophie,’ Richard said cautiously. ‘But come on, nobody could ever say it was your fault. You never know, working with cops again might prove cathartic. At least it’s worth a try.’
‘Try? I had trouble staying in the same room as Alice last Friday, and that was without hearing about any of her problems.’ Sam thumped the desk with his fist to make his point. ‘You don’t know what it’s doing to me, and I haven’t even got started.’
‘Why, what’s it doing to you?’
Sam thought of the nightmares, the images of Sophie that were plaguing him again even while awake. Then there was the drinking and the pills. He shook his head. ‘I’m not up to it. I can’t work with damaged cops.’
‘They’re all damaged. For some reason the healthy ones don’t want to see us.’
Sam knew he needed a different tactic. He forced a cooler tone. ‘Richard, I’m asking you as a good friend – please – give Alice to someone else. I’ll take on extras, work weekends if I have to, just not with police. I know I’ll get there in the end. But not now, not her.’
The open laptop to Richard’s left beeped. ‘I’ve done it again,’ he said. ‘I’m supposed to be somewhere.’ He snapped the laptop closed, heaved himself out of the chair, grabbed his jacket and searched for his keys. ‘Leave it with me, Sam. I’ll look into it.’
At reception, Sam was surprised to find Leah still at her desk. She handed him the corrected documents. Without even trying he saw a typo on the first page.
‘I’ll sign them tomorrow,’ he said.
Leah sighed and leant across the counter towards him to take back the papers.
He returned to his office and shut the door. When he heard her leave he went out to the computer and pulled up the electronic copies. He fixed the problems, reprinted the documents, and signed them.
The house was cold when he arrived home. It took ten minutes for the reverse cycle air-conditioner to kick in. But the hum of the motor bothered him and he turned it off. It protested with a metallic clang, the fan shuddering to a halt.
Sam poured his wine, sat in his armchair, and stared at the bland walls and meagre furniture.
This is my life, he thought. How did it come to this?
*
Sam jolted awake. He’d been dreaming. Something about being out at The Leap – and stumbling at the edge.
It took him ages to settle back on the bed, trying to force his mind into meditation, listening for the distant thrum of waves against the rocky coastline.
A soft creaking noise overhead alerted him. He didn’t move but his eyes traced the ceiling as though he might be able to see through it if he stared at it long enough. And there it was again – soft but with definite movement – like someone was up there walking around.
His skin crawled as he remembered a time before Sophie died when she would wander through the unfinished rooms, usually following a late shift. He would hear her right from where he lay now. On one occasion when she came back to bed he’d pretended to be asleep, unwilling for the conversation. But he remembered it now as clear as if she were right beside him.
‘Sam,’ she whispered. ‘Are you awake?’
He groaned and rolled away.
‘It’s so beautiful up there.’ Her breath was soft against his bare shoulder. ‘The sea breeze comes right through the front windows. We’ll sleep under a canopy of stars. And the back room would be great for a nursery.’ She paused. ‘Sam, we should talk about that, starting a family.’
He made no response, fudging sleep.
She kissed his ear, gently hummed, tuneless but pleasant.
Sam emerged from the memory, flipped the sheet back and, still looking towards the ceiling, got out of bed. The cold air chilled him through his damp singlet as he ventured slowly down the hall towards the spiral staircase.
The sounds remained faint and distant as he put his hand on the rail. He looked up to where the top of the spiral disappeared into a boxed cavity in the ceiling. There was supposed to be an opening into the new rooms. But he’d had the whole thing filled in, plastered like walls – a staircase to nowhere.
He started up, although his footfall on the triangular grate of each step caused the metal to creak. Stopping at the barricade where the opening should have been, he touched it and then pushed to check its strength. It was as firm and tight as the day it had been constructed.
He put his ear to the plasterboard. There was a whispery sound, like the wind had found a gap in the building and was flowing through the upstairs rooms, forming words, softly like prayers. He thought he heard his name.
And… crying.
Sam pulled away, feeling ridiculous. What was he thinking – that Sophie’s ghost was wandering around in there? That she was sad and lost, calling to him from an unearthly realm?
He went back to bed.
Sophie was gone. And there was nothing left of her.
FOUR
Patient is a police officer seeking counsel. She presents as neatly dressed and is quite articulate. She indicates symptoms of depression: crying, despondency and despair regarding the decline of her marriage. She has searched for explanations inside herself and also by talking to friends, but this has not brought her any relief or insight. She has not consulted her husband in regard to her feelings or fears. She is unaware if he has similar concerns.
Plan: patient to commence a diary for future in-session examination. For now, medication has been deferred.
G. Whittaker
Sam had left Alice Lacey in the waiting room. He’d been trying to reach Richard on the mobile for the last ten minutes.
Leah stood in the office doorway, wringing her hands.
‘Honestly, Sam, I don’t know anything about Alice Lacey being reallocated to another psychiatrist,’ she said, keeping her voice down. ‘Richard never mentioned anything to me.’
‘He’s not answering his mobile.’
‘Same for me. He might be in a meeting.’
‘Keep trying. And when you get him, put the call through. Or if he comes in. Either way, I need to speak to him urgently.’
She nodded. ‘Should I send Alice in anyway?’
He groaned and rubbed his forehead.
‘Sam?’
‘Um… okay. Send her in.’
He didn’t stand when Alice entered; he remained at his desk, examining her, deciding what to do.
She hesitated on the threshold as Leah closed the door behind her.
‘Have a seat,’ Sam said, indicating the consultation chairs in the centre of the room.
She took a deep breath and moved forward.
Today she was wearing a blue cheesecloth dress with a denim jacket and lots of beads. Her hair was drawn into a high ponytail, accentuating the darker roots. She didn’t appear to be wearing makeup, apart from a soft pink on her lips.
Sam brought her file over and sat in the opposite armchair. ‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, but there’s been a bit of a mix-up.’
She blinked rapidly. ‘But this is my appointment… Friday.’
‘Yes, but I’m not your doctor.’
‘What?’
‘I’m sorry, but since Dr Whittaker’s death, all his patients have had to be reallocated. And even though I saw you last week, it wasn’t—’
‘But I like you,’ she interrupted. ‘No. I’m not going to be messed around, pushed from one doctor to the next.’
Sam was surprised by her outburst. ‘It’s nothing that won’t be done without your best interests at heart.’
‘I’ll decide what my own best interests are.’
He didn’t want to upset her. He’d already been down that arduous road with her last week. ‘Try not to worry about it.’
‘Too late for that.’ She stood, grabbed her handbag. ‘We may as well forget the whole thing.’
He could see her tears and was annoyed with himself.
‘Don’t go.’ He also stood, held out his hand.
‘It’s hard enough summoning the will to get in here, let alone being turned away.’
‘I’m not turning you away. I just don’t want to lie to you – make you believe I’m going to be your doctor when that’s not the case. But if you’ll take a seat, there are a few things we still need to go over.’
‘I hardly see the point.’
‘Please, Alice.’
She sat with a reluctance that stiffened through her shoulders. Sam settled back in his chair and took up the notes. This hadn’t been his intention, to make something of a session out it. But he was forced by her reaction and his insistence that she should stay.
He cleared his throat. ‘Now, what medication are you on? I can write you up a fresh prescription if you need it.’
‘I’m not on anything.’
‘Didn’t your GP start you on antidepressants?’
‘I don’t want to take any.’ She folded her arms defensively, as if she’d had this argument before.
It would be remiss of him not to say anything. ‘Why not?’
‘I don’t like drugs.’
‘Medication.’
‘What?’
‘Medication. Not drugs.’
‘Please, you’re wasting your breath. I’ve done my research and I won’t be swallowing any mind-altering pills. Dr Whittaker was aware of this. And now so are you.’ She added sarcastically, ‘For all the good that’s going to do me.’
Sam let it go. Her next doctor could take it up with her. There was nothing else he needed to cover, but he could hardly push her out the door either. He stared at her, the moment becoming a little awkward when the silence went on too long.
Finally, he said, ‘So, how are you finding Sydney?’
‘It’s pointless making small talk, don’t you think?’
‘I’m interested.’
‘No you’re not. You’re being polite. There’s no need.’ She stood and this time she meant to leave. Sam didn’t try to stop her. After she closed the door behind her, he leant forward in his chair and rubbed the back of his neck. He hadn’t handled that well at all. But he wouldn’t deny his relief at her leaving.
After the last patient of the day Sam returned the files to Leah at reception. He was making a final notation on one of them, aware that the young secretary was staring at him from across the counter.
She gasped. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot, Richard finally got back to me. He’s not coming in.’
Sam looked up sharply from the papers. ‘When did he say this? Why didn’t you put him through to me?’
‘You were with a patient and he said not to bother you.’
‘I gave you specific instructions.’
‘Sam, I can hardly go against Richard. He said he’d see you tonight anyway at my housewarming.’
‘Housewarming?’
She pouted and twisted on her swivel chair. ‘I told you about it weeks ago. Tonight at seven.’
He vaguely remembered the conversation. He’d never had any intention to go.
‘I’ve got a couple of nice red wines for you,’ she added with a hopeful smile. ‘Richard said you like red wine.’
*
Sam let himself into Leah’s house shortly after nine o’clock. The television in the corner was blaring, and a total of four people sat squashed on the lounge staring at him as if he’d just walked into the wrong house.
Leah came into the room and nearly leapt on him.
‘Sam, you made it. I was starting to get worried.’
