between the girl and David.
CHAPTER 6
S ECOND W AVE
The minute Mrs Hart opened the door, Zee felt brightness. It wasn’t just the elegant bracelet she wore, the false version of one of the Neptune’s Tears pieces. It
was something that streamed through the open door, as if the air inside were lighter than the air outside.
‘Come in, Zee, dear. It’s so good to see you again.’ There was no way Mrs Hart could possibly know how glad Zee was to be there at all. For almost a week she’d been on
tenterhooks, not knowing whether she’d be allowed to come or not. Mrs Hart had specifically asked for Zee to work with her at home during the last phase of her illness. A significant honour
to come so early in an empath’s career, her adviser pointed out, but also a significant responsibility. It was more than a question of helping the patient with physical pain; it was helping
them meet the end of life, a task that required not only skill and rapport with the patient but the maturity to sublimate all of one’s own beliefs to the beliefs of the patient. Empaths often
heard things – anger and grievances, confessions and guilts – that the patient could tell no one else. The empath’s natural tendency was to ease the patient’s way by trying
to fix the situation or urging the patient to a different point of view, but this was exactly what the empath must not do. As Zee’s adviser put it, ‘This is one river you must let flow
by itself, and find its own way to the sea.’
Zee’s youth and inexperience alone were cause for concern, but there had also been the matter of the patient known as David Sutton, where Zee had lost the barrier between self and empath
and failed to connect with – or help – the patient. Zee’s adviser had read Zee’s report of the incident. Zee had decided not to mention seeing David in her own time unless
she absolutely had to, but did point out that he had helped as a volunteer after the shock bomb, and the two of them had worked effectively together, hoping this would lessen the importance of her
initial failure.
‘Yes, we’ve already been told about his assistance with the shock bomb victims,’ her adviser had said. ‘He took quite a lot of risks that day.’
Zee had been caught by surprise. Who else had told her adviser about David’s help that day? She’d known it hadn’t come from Rani, who’d spent most of that frantic
afternoon helping triage patients in the car park. ‘Who —?’
‘We were also told that David Sutton wasn’t supposed to be your patient in the A&E, that you’d prepped for another case and were switched without time to prepare. Is that
right?’
Zee nodded. Piper! She had to be the source for both stories. But what was in it for Piper? Zee was so baffled she almost missed hearing her adviser say that in view of her overall excellent
record and Mrs Hart’s insistence, the request was approved.
The next time Zee saw Piper, she thanked her.
‘I never meant for anything to happen. I was just . . .’ Piper paused, as if choosing her words carefully. ‘Just tired of you being everyone’s Golden Girl. I just wanted
to take your leg bud patient and rattle you. A mild piercing, that was all. I didn’t mean for anything else to happen.’ Her voice faded to a whisper. ‘After all, if anyone knows
how distracting love can be, it’s me.’
That was how Zee knew her feelings for David weren’t exactly a secret any more. It was as if Piper had guessed the truth of David’s effect on her. And, for some reason, taken
pity.
On the outside, Mrs Hart’s house had looked very much like all the other Hampstead terraced houses. Inside, it was very much like Mrs Hart: elegant and irreverent. The walls were a soft
butternut colour, with white woodwork and crown mouldings. Against this were bright splashes – a pillow the colour of peacock feathers, a chair in bright red silk, a bowl of clear green glass
with rippling edges like an ocean wave.
CHAPTER 6
S ECOND W AVE
The minute Mrs Hart opened the door, Zee felt brightness. It wasn’t just the elegant bracelet she wore, the false version of one of the Neptune’s Tears pieces. It
was something that streamed through the open door, as if the air inside were lighter than the air outside.
‘Come in, Zee, dear. It’s so good to see you again.’ There was no way Mrs Hart could possibly know how glad Zee was to be there at all. For almost a week she’d been on
tenterhooks, not knowing whether she’d be allowed to come or not. Mrs Hart had specifically asked for Zee to work with her at home during the last phase of her illness. A significant honour
to come so early in an empath’s career, her adviser pointed out, but also a significant responsibility. It was more than a question of helping the patient with physical pain; it was helping
them meet the end of life, a task that required not only skill and rapport with the patient but the maturity to sublimate all of one’s own beliefs to the beliefs of the patient. Empaths often
heard things – anger and grievances, confessions and guilts – that the patient could tell no one else. The empath’s natural tendency was to ease the patient’s way by trying
to fix the situation or urging the patient to a different point of view, but this was exactly what the empath must not do. As Zee’s adviser put it, ‘This is one river you must let flow
by itself, and find its own way to the sea.’
Zee’s youth and inexperience alone were cause for concern, but there had also been the matter of the patient known as David Sutton, where Zee had lost the barrier between self and empath
and failed to connect with – or help – the patient. Zee’s adviser had read Zee’s report of the incident. Zee had decided not to mention seeing David in her own time unless
she absolutely had to, but did point out that he had helped as a volunteer after the shock bomb, and the two of them had worked effectively together, hoping this would lessen the importance of her
initial failure.
‘Yes, we’ve already been told about his assistance with the shock bomb victims,’ her adviser had said. ‘He took quite a lot of risks that day.’
Zee had been caught by surprise. Who else had told her adviser about David’s help that day? She’d known it hadn’t come from Rani, who’d spent most of that frantic
afternoon helping triage patients in the car park. ‘Who —?’
‘We were also told that David Sutton wasn’t supposed to be your patient in the A&E, that you’d prepped for another case and were switched without time to prepare. Is that
right?’
Zee nodded. Piper! She had to be the source for both stories. But what was in it for Piper? Zee was so baffled she almost missed hearing her adviser say that in view of her overall excellent
record and Mrs Hart’s insistence, the request was approved.
The next time Zee saw Piper, she thanked her.
‘I never meant for anything to happen. I was just . . .’ Piper paused, as if choosing her words carefully. ‘Just tired of you being everyone’s Golden Girl. I just wanted
to take your leg bud patient and rattle you. A mild piercing, that was all. I didn’t mean for anything else to happen.’ Her voice faded to a whisper. ‘After all, if anyone knows
how distracting love can be, it’s me.’
That was how Zee knew her feelings for David weren’t exactly a secret any more. It was as if Piper had guessed the truth of David’s effect on her. And, for some reason, taken
pity.
On the outside, Mrs Hart’s house had looked very much like all the other Hampstead terraced houses. Inside, it was very much like Mrs Hart: elegant and irreverent. The walls were a soft
butternut colour, with white woodwork and crown mouldings. Against this were bright splashes – a pillow the colour of peacock feathers, a chair in bright red silk, a bowl of clear green glass
with rippling edges like an ocean wave.
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