“This is exciting,” Isla says, coming to shake her hand. “It makes PAWS feel very real.”
“It sort of does,” I say, looking around the farmhouse. “There’s an awful lot of work to do.”
“It’s a super site, though.” Natalie walks into the living room, and we all follow her. “You’re keeping this area as a community hub?”
“Yeah, with the offices over there, and the six therapy rooms on this side and at the front.” I take her for a walk around the place, while Cullen and Isla start taking down all the old, mildew-ridden curtains. “My idea is that the therapy rooms are numbered, and therapists use whichever is free, rather than having their names on the doors. So if you have a couple coming in, for example, you might want one of the larger rooms behind reception. For individual therapy you can chooseone of the smaller rooms overlooking the garden. Or do you think it would be better to have designated rooms?”
“No, I’d be happy with a rotation.” She peers in as I open one of the doors to show her the space. “That way it stops us being too territorial. Gives it more of a collective feel, don’t you think?”
“I do,” I say, pleased she feels the same.
“Will you have your own room?” she asks.
“Cullen and I are going to share an office for the administrative side of things. But no, I’ll use the general therapy rooms.”
She nods, and we continue walking around the other rooms, ending up in the one where Cullen and Isla are working. “Do I speak to you about a rescue dog?” she asks Cullen.
He straightens from folding up the old curtains and nods. “You looking for one soon?”
“Yes, I have to work two weeks’ notice, so it would be great if I could wait until then, but maybe you could start looking out for me?”
“Sure,” he says.
“You’ve handed in your resignation?” I ask her.
She tucks her hair behind her ear and nods. “Yeah. All done. We were both relieved, in the end.”
“I’m sorry,” I say softly.
She shrugs. “Onward and upward.”
I’m sure it’s not that easy, but I’m glad she seems to be coping okay.
We all chat for a bit about PAWS and our hopes for the center, and then Natalie heads off back to work.
For the rest of the afternoon, I continue clearing up outside, while the other two carry on indoors. The skip arrives, and I move all the loose bricks and metal into it, then fire up the trimmer and start neatening the grass around the farmhouse. We’ll probably hire a gardening service on an ongoing basis, but for now I just want it to look better, and to make access easier for the builders.
I think about Beth while I work. It’s impossible not to. I wonder what Jude said to her, whether he asked her to give him another chance, and if he did, what she said in response. I torture myself with scenes of him on his knees, begging for forgiveness, and her unable to resist him, pulling him to his feet, and kissing him.
Angry with myself for doing all the things I tell my clients not to do, I try my best to practice mindfulness and concentrate on the taskat hand, forcing myself to sing all the lyrics to each song that comes on the playlist on my phone, and put Beth to the back of my mind.
It doesn’t work, but I kid myself that at least I’m trying.
We work until five, and by that time, we’re all knackered.
I walk home, and the first thing I do is take a long, hot shower. When I come out, I check my phone, but there’s still no message from Beth.
Surely, if she’d met with Jude and they’d decided the breakup still stood, she would have contacted me? I can only presume it means she’s asked to give it another go.
My thumb hovers over Beth’s contact as I fight with myself not to press the call button. I want to talk to her, and to find out what happened today. But I don’t think I could bear the feeling of rejection when she says she’s decided to stay with him. So in the end I toss the phone onto the armchair, untouched.
Frustrated and sad, and too tired to cook, I order a pizza and eat it in front of the TV with a beer. Then I fall asleep watching a movie. When I wake around eleven, tired and groggy, I stumble off to bed and collapse, trying not to think about her body pressed up against me, and how wonderful it was that she was mine, if only for one night.
*
On Tuesday morning, I rouse and reach for my phone, only then realizing I must have left it in the living room. I pad out in my boxers and retrieve it, and flick it on while walking to the kitchen to fire up the coffee machine.
I stop dead as I see a notification from Beth. She called me last night, around nine p.m.
