thought about that period of pain and readjustment and it was impossible to be precise about dates and events. It was the other stuff – the loss, the anger and a persistent sensethat she was off-balance – that remained pin sharp. All that – loss of confidence, a fear she would go under, her terror of never being whole – plus the death of a childish faith, which had persisted for so long, that life always worked out for the best.
‘Consider it this way,’ said her professional mentor. ‘You can face your patients knowing you are as exposed as they are. You can’t tell them anything about yourself, but you will know their journey.’
Robin knocked and put his head around the door.
She smiled.
Case Notes
Brett (Lt Col.), Robin. 51. Retired. Technical Officer (TO) Royal Logistic Corp. Served: Northern Ireland, Yugoslavia, Kosovo, Iraq. Survived (just). Left arm rendered inoperable after IED exploded too close. Since leaving army, lived in Syria, published well-received memoir. Three languages, including fluent Arabic. Now qualified counsellor, working primarily with teenage boys.
Robin and she had joined the practice at roughly the same time, and divided the job between them. (Naturally they had different mentors to supervise their progress as counsellors.)
‘I promise not to tread on your toes,’ he had said at their first meeting. ‘First rule of operations.’
She laughed. ‘So that’s how it works.’
‘Conflict is the way of the world. I try to avoid it.’
‘Why did you choose to do this?’ She gestured at the consulting room.
‘I didn’t. It chose me.’ He levelled at Lara the look – grave with the hint of a smile – she had come to know well and distrust, for it gave nothing away. ‘The same reason as you, I imagine.’
‘Survival,’ she replied, thinking:
Jasmine, Eve, Maudie.
‘Exactly. Having risked it many times, I value my life. Please can we make other people value theirs?’
They had talked over the areas they would cover between them. He had filled in Lara with some detail about himself but no more than was necessary: divorced, childless, etc.
I am
, he informed her, by censoring the detail,
a closed book.
Robin was perfect with the boys, those restless, under-parented, disengaged, sometimes violent boys for whom life was a trudge, a blank, a disappointment. Lara had listened in on a couple of his sessions, during which quietness fell over even the most antagonistic and twitchy patient.
Over coffee, she also listened to his Tales From the Frontline. Sometimes she pictured him and his men spread out across the ochre desert. There, they followed him over difficult terrain, positioning their boots in his footsteps, pleased to be able to place their faith in someone. At the same time, they knew that that faith would not protect them. But it was better than nothing.
He shut the door because Daniella was known to eavesdrop. ‘I’ve had a journalist on the phone wanting to do a feature about our kind of work.’
She envisaged the article, complete with headline. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not.’
‘I’ve told him to stuff it.’
‘Politely?’
‘Ish.’
‘Fascinated to know what your “ish” is like.’
‘It’s a mystery, Lara. Let’s say he got the message.’
Publicity was never worth it. Any publicity. It ripped up the privacy that was so essential to the relationships.
‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
Sometimes, when they were talking, Robin looked at her in a certain way. It made her feel a little breathless, light-headed. (‘Inconvenient and inappropriate’, to quote the rule book. Never, ever sleep with your colleagues.)
‘By the way, are you happy with the workload?’
He cradled his bad arm, then eased it back into a normal position.
Blackened flesh. Splintered bones.
‘Sure. But I can always take more on.’
‘It’s possible I might have to expand. Various reasons.’
He was quick. ‘
Have
to expand rather than
want
to
‘Consider it this way,’ said her professional mentor. ‘You can face your patients knowing you are as exposed as they are. You can’t tell them anything about yourself, but you will know their journey.’
Robin knocked and put his head around the door.
She smiled.
Case Notes
Brett (Lt Col.), Robin. 51. Retired. Technical Officer (TO) Royal Logistic Corp. Served: Northern Ireland, Yugoslavia, Kosovo, Iraq. Survived (just). Left arm rendered inoperable after IED exploded too close. Since leaving army, lived in Syria, published well-received memoir. Three languages, including fluent Arabic. Now qualified counsellor, working primarily with teenage boys.
Robin and she had joined the practice at roughly the same time, and divided the job between them. (Naturally they had different mentors to supervise their progress as counsellors.)
‘I promise not to tread on your toes,’ he had said at their first meeting. ‘First rule of operations.’
She laughed. ‘So that’s how it works.’
‘Conflict is the way of the world. I try to avoid it.’
‘Why did you choose to do this?’ She gestured at the consulting room.
‘I didn’t. It chose me.’ He levelled at Lara the look – grave with the hint of a smile – she had come to know well and distrust, for it gave nothing away. ‘The same reason as you, I imagine.’
‘Survival,’ she replied, thinking:
Jasmine, Eve, Maudie.
‘Exactly. Having risked it many times, I value my life. Please can we make other people value theirs?’
They had talked over the areas they would cover between them. He had filled in Lara with some detail about himself but no more than was necessary: divorced, childless, etc.
I am
, he informed her, by censoring the detail,
a closed book.
Robin was perfect with the boys, those restless, under-parented, disengaged, sometimes violent boys for whom life was a trudge, a blank, a disappointment. Lara had listened in on a couple of his sessions, during which quietness fell over even the most antagonistic and twitchy patient.
Over coffee, she also listened to his Tales From the Frontline. Sometimes she pictured him and his men spread out across the ochre desert. There, they followed him over difficult terrain, positioning their boots in his footsteps, pleased to be able to place their faith in someone. At the same time, they knew that that faith would not protect them. But it was better than nothing.
He shut the door because Daniella was known to eavesdrop. ‘I’ve had a journalist on the phone wanting to do a feature about our kind of work.’
She envisaged the article, complete with headline. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not.’
‘I’ve told him to stuff it.’
‘Politely?’
‘Ish.’
‘Fascinated to know what your “ish” is like.’
‘It’s a mystery, Lara. Let’s say he got the message.’
Publicity was never worth it. Any publicity. It ripped up the privacy that was so essential to the relationships.
‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
Sometimes, when they were talking, Robin looked at her in a certain way. It made her feel a little breathless, light-headed. (‘Inconvenient and inappropriate’, to quote the rule book. Never, ever sleep with your colleagues.)
‘By the way, are you happy with the workload?’
He cradled his bad arm, then eased it back into a normal position.
Blackened flesh. Splintered bones.
‘Sure. But I can always take more on.’
‘It’s possible I might have to expand. Various reasons.’
He was quick. ‘
Have
to expand rather than
want
to
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