Behind Her Eyes(35)

I still sometimes think about how panicked Adele was when she thought she’d miss a phone call, and all those pills in their cupboard, but maybe there’s nothing sinister in it really? Maybe she is nervy. Even she admitted she had problems in her past. Perhaps David’s behaviour is protective rather than controlling? Who really knows what goes on behind closed doors? I can’t ask him about it anyway, not without letting on that I know Adele, and then he really would think I’m a crazy stalker, and I would have betrayed Adele. It’s all so messy. I know it is, but that doesn’t stop my heart thundering in my chest when he appears in the doorway.

‘Morning,’ I say.

‘And a good morning to you.’ He looks tired, but his smile is warm and genuine, and his blue eyes twinkle just for me, and heat rushes in blotches to my face. It’s ridiculous. We work together every day. I should be used to the sight of him by now, but this morning is different. Something shifted last night when we lay in bed and talked. Of course it didn’t last – the familiar guilt soon settled in between our cooling bodies. Men are strange. As if the betrayal is in the laughter and the closeness rather than the sex. But then I guess it is. That thought hurt me most when Ian cheated, once I’d stopped obsessing about the sex. Maybe because laughter is harder to compartmentalise.

It’s all a terrible betrayal, that’s what I’d wanted to say to him when he left. All of it. But I couldn’t bring myself to speak. How could I? I don’t want it to stop. That’s the honest, unpleasant truth. I want to have my cake and eat it. I want my lover and my new best friend.

‘You’re in a good mood,’ I say.

He’s about to answer, a half-smile on his open mouth, his hands stuffed into his trouser pockets in a way that totally makes my heart melt for some reason, when Dr Sykes comes in.

‘David? Can I have a word?’

I smile and disappear back to my desk, closing the door on them. The little almost-moment between us is gone and it’s probably best that way. I need to get a grip. Whatever this is, it can’t last, and I mustn’t get attached. It’s only lust. It will pass. It can’t turn into something more, and I won’t let it. The words feel hollow though. My heart’s beating too fast for them to be true.

By lunchtime I’m on my sixth call from Anthony Hawkins, and in each one he’s become more agitated and I’m trying very hard to stay calm while getting him off the phone.

‘As I said earlier, Mr Hawkins, I will pass your messages on to Dr Martin as soon as he’s free. If this is an emergency, can I recommend that you …’

‘I want to speak to David. I need to talk to him.’

‘Then I’ll make sure he calls you back as soon as he can.’

His breathing is fast in my ear. ‘And you definitely have my mobile number right? I don’t want him ringing the wrong number.’

I repeat the number on my screen back to him, and finally he hangs up. I add this final call to my list of messages for David and will him to come out of his practice meeting so he can take Anthony off my hands. I’m a bit concerned to be honest. As far as I’m aware their sessions have been going well, and Anthony’s booked in for another on Monday. He’s having three or more a week, at his own insistence, and I hope he hasn’t had some kind of relapse to cause this sudden need to speak to David before the weekend.

Finally, the doctors emerge and I pass the call list to David. ‘I know it’s lunchtime, but I think you should call him back. He sounded quite agitated.’

‘Was his speech slurred?’ David scans the times of the calls.

‘No. No, I don’t think so.’

‘I’ll call him now. And can you get me the numbers for his parents and his solicitor? And his medical doctor?’

I nod. We’re back to boss and secretary, which isn’t at all sexy despite the clichés. ‘I’ll email them to you.’

‘Thanks.’

He’s still looking at the note when he goes into his office. I’m kind of hoping he’ll look back at me and smile or something, but he doesn’t. His mind is fully on Anthony. I like that about him. There are doctors here who – despite being excellent at their job – can fully disassociate themselves from their patients. Maybe that’s the best and most professional way to be, but I don’t think David is like that. But then I doubt those doctors drink every night either. He’s a strange one. I wonder, as I’m always wondering, what demons drive him. How someone so good at listening to others and drawing them out can be so shit at talking himself.

I eat my salad at my desk and then let the Friday afternoon quiet waft over me. Anthony calls twice more, even though he confirms he has just spoken to David. He says he forgot something and he needs to speak to him again. I politely cut him off, not wanting to get drawn into a conversation I’m not qualified to deal with.

At two thirty I see the light on David’s Line 1 telephone button come on. The call only lasts a minute or so, and I know it is to Adele. I’ve tried not to track his calls like this, but I can’t help it. Half past eleven and half past two every day. Short calls. Not long enough for the politenesses of a work conversation. Every day it reminds me of Adele’s panic to get back from the gym, and I’ve spent enough time with her now to have seen more of these calls from the other end, even though she always disappears to another room or the hallway to take them. Of all the things wrong with my situation, of all the ways I should be feeling terrible, it’s these calls that gnaw at me the most. What is it with these two? What kind of love do they have? Is it even love at all? A stab of envy hits my stomach.