Michael Robotham - Bleed For Me

‘Oh well, as long as you’re paying.’ She laughs gaily. ‘You wouldn’t even recognise Gordon if you saw photographs of him as a kid.’

‘Why?’

‘He was a real Billy Bunter. Overweight and short-sighted with crooked teeth and a face like a pizza.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I once met his mother. She came to college to make sure he was looking after himself. She had photographs of Gordon as a youngster. You’ve got to give him credit for remaking himself. He lost the weight. Got his teeth straightened. Worked out. It helped that he grew to be six-two.’

‘Did you know Natasha?’

‘Who?’

‘Gordon’s wife. She must have been around.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Gordon said they met at school. I thought she must have been around during his college years.’

Annie shakes her head.

‘He had loads of girlfriends at college. He went out with a friend of mine, Alison, for about three months.’

‘Did you date him?’

She shrugs. ‘He’s not really my type.’ She pauses. ‘You’re very nosy, Joseph. Are all psychologists like that?’

‘We’re interested in people.’

‘Are you interested in me?’

‘Of course.’

It’s the right answer. Suddenly she stands and suggests we go for a walk. Crossing Argyle Street, we follow Grand Parade through Bath City Park. Annie hooks her arm through mine. Her shoulder bag swings gently against our hips. It’s nice to flirt and banter with a pretty woman. Julianne and I used to be like this, teasing each other, making observations, righting the wrongs of the world.

‘So what made you decide to become a counsellor?’ I ask.

‘It’s probably the same reason you became a psychologist. I wanted to make a difference. Why did you decide to lecture?’

‘I’m not really sure. I’m not certain that psychology can be taught.’

‘Why?’

‘Clinical work is very instinctive. It’s about listening to people and sharing the burden. Making them feel as though someone cares.’

‘What made you give it up?’

‘A really effective psychologist is someone who commits. Who goes into the darkness to bring someone out. Years ago I told a friend of mine that a doctor is no good to a patient if he dies of the disease, but that wasn’t the right analogy. When a person is drowning, someone has to get wet.’

She pauses and turns to me.

‘You got tired of getting wet?’

‘I almost drowned.’

We have reached North Parade. Canal boats are moored on the opposite bank. Someone is cooking on deck, dicing carrots and tipping them into a bubbling pot on a gas burner.

‘Thank you for the coffee and cake, Joseph.’

‘I hope you didn’t have too far to travel. I didn’t even ask where you lived.’

‘Are you inviting yourself home?’

‘No, not at all . . . I was just . . .’

She’s laughing at me again.

‘I’m glad that I’m such a source of amusement.’

‘I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you at dinner.’ She says it quickly. Nervously.

I take too long to answer.

‘Don’t let me push you into anything,’ she says. ‘I’m not usually this forward.’

‘No. I mean, yes, dinner would be great.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure. It’s just that I haven’t been invited to dinner by a woman since . . . since . . .’

‘Maybe you should stop counting.’

‘Good idea.’

She pecks me on the lips.

‘So it’s dinner. How about Monday night?’

‘Sure.’

And then as an afterthought, she says, ‘About Gordon Ellis and Sienna . . .’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll try to find out if anyone complained to the school.’

‘Thank you.’

Charlie has a football game for her district team. Watching teenage girls play a competitive team sport is completely different to watching boys. There is no diving, feigning injury, flying elbows or cynical fouls. Body contact tends to be completely accidental and should one of the girls get injured twenty-one players will stand around her asking, ‘Are you OK?’

Charlie is getting less interested in football as she gets older. There seems to be a moment in adolescence when girls abandon sport as being either too sweaty or too much like hard work. Maybe they discover boys. Why can’t they discover schoolwork?

I wander along the sidelines, occasionally yelling encouragement, which Charlie hates. I’m also not allowed to dissect the game afterwards or comment on how she played.

Julianne comes along sometimes, which is nice. She chats to the other mothers, sipping thermos coffee and rarely following the action unless a penalty is being taken or a goal has been scored.

She didn’t come today. I offered. She declined.

Keeping one eye on the game, I try to call Sienna’s therapist again. I’ve left three messages. Robin Blaxland hasn’t answered any of them. He has an office in Bath, not far from the Jane Austen centre.

I always find it ironic that Jane Austen is Bath’s most famous former resident - yet she reportedly hated the spa town. She lived in Bath for six years and didn’t write a word in that time, but that hasn’t stopped them naming streets, festivals and tearooms after her.

At half-time I call Ruiz. He’s outside, puffing slightly.

‘Are you jogging?’

‘Yeah, I’m running the New York marathon.’

‘How’s it going?’

‘I’m in Scotland.’

‘Why?’

‘Gordon Ellis used to teach in Edinburgh.’

‘Is that important?’

‘Might be.’

He’s not going to tell me anything else. That’s the thing about Ruiz - he’s a man of few words and those ‘few’ are chosen like the boiled sweets he carries around in his pocket.

‘I need a favour,’ I tell him.

‘I’m still working on the last one.’

‘I need a home address for a psychotherapist called Robin Blaxland. He was treating Sienna Hegarty.’

‘Give me an hour.’

Ruiz hangs up and I go back to watching the game.

The full-time whistle signals a narrow defeat. Charlie sits on the rear tray of the Volvo and unlaces her muddy boots. She slips tracksuit bottoms over her shorts and puts her boots into a plastic bag.

‘You want a hot chocolate?’

‘Nope.’

‘Hungry?’

‘Not particularly.’

She examines a blister on her big toe. Her nails are painted dark purple and she’s wearing a silver ankle bracelet.

‘That’s new.’

‘Sienna gave it to me.’

‘Why?’

‘She didn’t want it any more.’

‘It looks expensive. Where did Sienna get it?’

Charlie’s eyes fix on mine. ‘You think she stole it.’

‘I never said that.’

‘It was a year ago, Dad. One time. You want to see a receipt? I’ll ask her.’

She turns away. Disgusted.

Nicely done, I think. Charlie is changing out of her strip on the back seat.

‘Can I get my navel pierced?’ she asks.

‘No.’

‘Erin got hers pierced last summer.’

‘That makes no difference.’

‘How about a tattoo?’

‘Definitely not.’

‘What if it’s a really small tattoo on my ankle?’

‘When you’re eighteen you can tattoo your entire body.’

I know she’s rolling her eyes. Holding her foot, she examines her blister again. I have plasters in a first-aid kit. Taking off the wrapping, I get her to hold her foot still.

‘Can I ask you about Mr Ellis?’

Charlie looks at me defensively. ‘What about him?’

‘Does he play favourites?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Does he seem to favour particular students?’

‘I guess. Some girls flirt with him.’