Discovering Dr Riley

‘Yes, I know. I apologise, but it was an off-the-cuff thing. Next time we’ll go through the right channels.’ Tom’s gaze swung around to Alan, and for a moment it was touch-and-go as to who was going to outstare who. Then Alan backed down.

‘No apologies needed, I’m sure. Good work … um …’

‘Cori Evans.’ Tom smiled beatifically in Cori’s direction.

‘Good work, Ms Evans. Thank you. You’re the new art therapist?’

‘Temporary art therapist.’ The years when she’d moved from one foster home to another, before finding a home with Ralph and Jean, had taught Cori that the ‘T’ word was one to be both respected and feared. Knowing the difference between something that might work out and something that was strictly temporary was vital to one’s own sense of self-worth.

‘Did I mention that the unit could really do with someone on a permanent basis?’ Tom broke in again.

‘Several times.’ Alan bestowed a hurried smile on Cori, and obviously decided it was time to retreat. Tom watched him go, his face impassive.

‘I’m sorry.’ She’d tried to get Tom’s attention, and had ended up getting into hot water. And, unlikely as it might seem, it had been Tom who’d come to her rescue.

He shrugged. ‘It’s okay. Alan’s all right, he just gets a bit scratchy when you don’t fill in the necessary forms. Next time you take anything out of the unit, let Maureen know. She’ll notify the right people.’

‘Yes. I’ll do that.’ There wasn’t going to be a next time. This had been all about getting Tom’s attention, finding out why he seemed so dead set against her working in the unit. And Cori had found out a great deal more than she’d wanted to know.

‘Look …’ He turned suddenly. In the darkness, his hair seemed every colour from blond to tawny. ‘I thought that you knew that the funding for the art therapy scheme had been cut. I don’t know who omitted to tell you that, but I intend to find out.’

‘It’s okay …’

‘It’s not okay.’ He frowned.

‘It will have been the scheme supervisor at the local health authority. She’s been under a lot of stress recently, so I suppose she must have forgotten, and she’s on holiday now so she hasn’t responded to any of my emails.’ Cori shrugged. ‘Please. Leave it. I don’t want to get her into trouble.’

‘In that case, I’ll deliver the reprimand to myself, for not making sure that you understood the situation.’

‘No. Please, don’t do that either. It won’t change anything.’ She could feel tears pricking at the sides of her eyes now, and hoped that the darkness would hide them from him. ‘This is why you have your reservations about me doing clinical work in the unit, isn’t it? You don’t want me to start something when there’s no chance of any follow-up.’

‘Yeah. I just don’t think it’s fair to offer therapy to someone and have it stopped after only eight weeks. I’m sorry, Cori.’ He seemed suddenly very close. Close enough to put his arm around her, and if he did that she would make a fool of herself and start crying.

‘Don’t …’ She took a step backwards. ‘There’s no need to be sorry. You’re right.’ He was acting in his patients’ best interests and Cori couldn’t argue with that. But she couldn’t just accept it either.

‘Will you give me an hour? Please? Just one hour of your time.’

He shot her a melting look that seemed to say he understood all her hopes, all her fears. ‘In all fairness I have to tell you that I can’t change my mind. You’re welcome to hold general groups and sessions on the unit, but I won’t offer you anything more.’

‘Maybe there’s something else I can do … Please. Just an hour.’ He hesitated, and Cori took her opportunity. ‘What harm can it do to listen?’

He shook his head. Then he smiled, and suddenly she was looking at the Tom Riley who had such a special connection with the children under his care. The one who could make people feel that everything was all right with the world.

‘Okay. But you come alone. No fairies.’

‘Of course not. That would be an unfair advantage.’

He nodded. ‘I don’t have much time next week. But I’m dropping in to the hospital tomorrow and I’ll be finished at about four. Will that suit you?’

‘Four o’clock is fine.’

‘Okay, I have your mobile number, I’ll call you then.’ He looked around at the fairies. ‘What are you going to do with these?’

Cori shrugged. ‘There doesn’t seem to be any shortage of takers for them. I think I’ll stop here for another fifteen minutes and give them away.’

‘You don’t want to save them for another time?’

She shook her head. ‘Nah. I can always make more, and I think these all deserve a home now.’

‘Having done what they were meant to do for tonight?’

He’d come uncomfortably close to the truth, but Cori wasn’t about to admit it. ‘You think this was all for you?’

‘I’m not that self-centred. I think you want to be of benefit to the children, and to do that you need to catch my attention. And that you found a way to do that which also highlighted your own skills.’

Was that a compliment or a warning? Was he telling her he knew what she was up to and that he was more than a match for her? Before Cori could even begin to work it out, he was walking away.

Tom parked in the tree-lined avenue at the address that Cori had given him. A large Victorian mansion, converted into flats, stood back from the road. Running his finger down the row of names next to the door, he found Cori’s and pressed the bell alongside it, hearing a chime sound from somewhere deep inside the house.

She answered almost immediately, wearing a padded coat that engulfed her small frame, accessorised with striped gloves, a scarf and a brightly coloured woollen beret, set at a rakish angle. Tom found himself wondering whether jeans and a leather jacket were quite right for the occasion. Somehow a suit would have made this outing feel more professional and less like a date.

‘Is this thing you want to show me far?’

‘We only have an hour, so we’ll go by car.’ Tom’s gaze followed her pointing finger to a small, rather battered blue car. ‘We could take mine, but the heater’s broken …’

He imagined that the suspension was as old as the bodywork looked. And although it was nearly a week since he’d examined the bruises on her shoulder and hip, some of them had been deep enough to still be hurting her. ‘We’ll take mine. You can give me directions.’

She nodded, looking slightly relieved. ‘Yes. More comfortable.’

As he opened the door for her, and she slid carefully into the passenger seat, the world suddenly felt right again. Working in the unit today had carried with it a sense of dislocation, as if something was missing, something that he had been doing his best to ignore. Now that Cori was in his car, Tom realised what that something had been.

‘So what is it you want me to see?’ They’d driven through a maze of back streets, until he’d lost his bearings.

‘I’d rather it took you by surprise.’ When he glanced across at her, her face had taken on an impish expression.

‘Ah. So it would be wrong of me to try and guess.’

‘Very wrong. Turn left here.’

They drew up outside a building that Tom recognised as the old town hall, which now housed a community centre and various offices. Cori led the way along a broken path that wound its way to the back of the building, and then down some metal steps into a gloomy passageway that led to the sub-basement space. Tom squinted at the metal plate on the door, recognising the name of a local charity working with families affected by domestic violence.

His heart felt as if it were stopping. How could she know? No one knew. His childhood was the one part of Tom’s life that he kept strictly private.

‘What’s this?’ His voice sounded distant, as if he’d left his body and was already halfway up the steps and out of there.

‘I’ve been working here with some friends from art college. I want you to see what we’ve been able to do.’ She pressed a rather ancient-looking buzzer on one side of the door.

‘Your CV says you’ve been working at another hospital.’ Suspicion clawed at him. If she was trying to gain his favour, by thinking she knew what made him tick, she was going about it in quite the wrong way.

‘Yes, that’s right. I was there for a year, covering for one of the therapists who was on maternity leave. I worked here at the weekends.’ She turned to him, her face bright in the darkness. ‘We finished up last Sunday. Or rather the others finished up. I was unavoidably detained elsewhere.’

So this was what she’d been doing when she’d fallen off the ladder. Before Tom could think about apologising for the suspicions he hadn’t voiced, the door opened and warm light flooded out into the gloomy passageway.

‘Cori.’ The woman at the door hugged her gingerly. ‘How are you doing?’

‘Fine, thanks. I’ve been resting up.’

‘Glad to hear it.’ The woman turned a smile onto Tom, as if she suspected he’d probably had something to do with that. ‘You’re Dr Riley? Welcome. I’m Lena Graves, the centre’s director.’

Lena motioned them both inside, into a small reception area. It was then that Tom realised why he was there.

CHAPTER FOUR

A FAINT SMELL of new paint still lingered in the place. Three of the walls were painted cream and the fourth was a riot of colour that stopped Tom in his tracks.

‘Fabulous …’ It was a glimpse into a world of pure fantasy. Lushly painted trees and flowers formed the framework for animals and birds, engaged in familiar, human pursuits. In one corner, a group of hedgehogs was holding a tea party. In another, flamingos were gossiping together.

The design was covered with clear plastic panels, running the length and height of the wall. ‘These are to protect it?’

Lena chuckled. ‘Not really.’

Cori picked up a marker pen from a box on the reception desk and handed it to him. ‘You’re supposed to draw on it. Have a go.’

He almost didn’t dare. ‘And it wipes off?’

‘That’s the idea. I’ve wanted to do something like this for a while, and Lena agreed to let us try it out here.’

‘It’s working well so far. The children love it. One little guy spent all afternoon here yesterday. He drew a picture of himself sitting in a chair next to the hedgehogs.’ Lena grinned. ‘The staff like doing their thing with it too. At the end of the day we just wipe it all down, ready for tomorrow’s designs.’

The tip of the marker pen hovered over the smooth, clear surface. ‘You’re thinking too much.’ He heard Cori’s voice close behind him.

‘Yeah. Guess I am.’ Tom stepped back, putting the cap back onto the pen. ‘What happens if someone … if the drawings the kids make become challenging?’

‘Challenging to who? The people who draw, or the people who are looking?’ She looked up at him thoughtfully. ‘Does that matter?’

‘It might. If it’s disruptive.’

‘This area’s always supervised. And most of the children who come here with their parents are traumatised because of their family situations. I imagine that Lena will tell you that drawing isn’t the most disruptive way of revealing that trauma.’

‘Not by a very long chalk.’ Lena grinned. ‘Anyway, sometimes it’s the ones who sit quietly in the corner, and can’t bring themselves to reveal anything, who worry me the most.’

‘As opposed to someone like me, who reveals everything by painting all over your walls?’ Cori chuckled, nudging Lena.

‘We’re not getting into that. We’ll be here all evening.’ Lena turned to Tom. ‘There’s more I’d like to show you. Through here, when you’re ready …’

‘Yeah. Thanks.’ Tom couldn’t take his eyes off the huge painting. It was like Cori, disturbing and confronting and yet captivating. Something he wanted to touch, but he knew that once he did so he would be unable to conceal the feelings that had the power to destroy him if he let them have their way.

‘He’s the only one.’ Lena shrugged, mouthing the words to Cori as Tom turned from the painting, walking briskly away from it. He was the only person, adult or child, who had stood in front of the wall art with a pen in their hand without making their own addition to the design, however tiny.

And it was Tom Riley, the man who was in charge of her future for the next seven weeks, who had turned out to be completely immune to the temptation to draw. The one man she wanted to impress, and her best shot at doing just that had left him cold.

Maybe he was just trying to be objective. To not get involved so that he could make a better decision. Cori held on to that thought, allowing Lena to usher him into the activities room.

He spent a while looking at everything. The child-sized painted chairs, each of which had an individual design snaking up the legs and across the back. The art table, which she had arranged like a sweet shop, different pens and paper displayed with an implicit invitation to touch, to pick up and to draw.

‘We got the chairs from a recycling charity.’ She had to say something to break the silence. ‘Some of them were a bit rickety, but we fixed them up and painted them …’ This morning it had seemed like a good idea to show him this. Now she was wondering whether she hadn’t blown things completely.

‘They’re great.’ Finally, he smiled. Not the conspiratorial, we-know-a-secret smile that she liked more than she cared to say, but it was something at least.

‘The wall here is painted with a wipe-clean surface.’ She ran her hand across the hard, white finish. ‘It’s a different experience from the one outside. A clean slate.’

He nodded. ‘You’re encouraging the kids to paint on the walls?’

Lena came to her rescue. ‘Just this wall. This is an experiment too. If we find too much graffiti all over the place then we’ll paint over it and put it down to experience.’

‘It’s a lot of effort just to paint over.’

‘If we try something and it doesn’t work, that’s not wasted effort. We learn and do better the next time. Lena’s been great in allowing us to experiment a bit.’ Cori flashed a grin towards Lena, who nodded, encouraging her to go on. ‘You wanted to see something where the benefits didn’t rely on having an in-house art therapist. I think this is it.’

‘And how much did all of this cost? Just a ballpark figure.’

Cori caught her breath. If he was going to dismiss it out of hand, surely he wouldn’t have asked that.

‘Cori’s group is self-funding.’ Lena stepped in again. ‘We couldn’t have afforded this on our budget.’

He turned to her. The approval in his eyes was breathtaking. ‘How much?’

‘I’d … have to work it out. I can supply you with figures, but … Well, I’d prefer it if you would come to see our fundraising operation.’ Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

‘You have an … operation?’ He raised one eyebrow.

‘Well, that might be a bit of an overstatement …’ No. They did. And she was proud of it. ‘Yes, we do. And when you’ve finished looking around here, I’d like you to see it.’

As they left the building and walked back to the car, the cold evening air on his face seemed to jolt Tom back into the here and now. ‘Where are we going this time?’

‘The High Street. You carry on down here, take a left and then keep going until you get to the traffic lights.’ She settled herself into the passenger seat of his car and buckled the seat belt, clearly not inclined to give any more information about what he was going to see.

‘Right.’ He started the engine, wondering what she was going to come up with next.

There were no clues from the place she indicated as a parking spot, and he became more baffled as she led him into a bright, warm tea shop, bustling with activity. Sitting down at a table, she loosened her scarf and coat, and signalled to a waitress.

‘Hi, Cori. Pot of green tea?’

‘Yes, thanks. Tom …?’

At some point in the course of the afternoon she’d responded to his request to stop calling him Dr Riley. Tom couldn’t remember quite when that had been, but it felt good, as if she’d acknowledged that he might be at least partially on her side.

‘Earl Grey, please.’ He settled back in his chair, looking around. ‘You run a tea shop?’

‘No, of course we don’t. Where would we get the time to do that?’ She grinned, jerking her thumb at the back wall. ‘That’s our fundraising operation.’

The wall was covered with canvases, ranging from tabletop height almost as far as the ceiling, jostling together in a chorus of colour. ‘You painted all of these?’

‘I wish. There are over a dozen of us in the group, and everyone contributes a few paintings. The tea shop displays them for us and gets ten percent of sales. It brings people in here and they have something to put on their walls. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.’

‘And you use the money to fund the work that you do for charities.’

‘Yes. Charities, schools, hospitals …’ That impish grin appeared again. ‘Actually, we haven’t done any hospitals. But we would, if we got the chance.’

Tom chuckled. ‘Anywhere in mind?’

‘No, not specifically. We’re just open to the possibility.’

‘I see.’ He could think more clearly now. ‘So can you tell me what all this has to do with art therapy?’

She laughed. ‘I was wondering when you were going to ask me that.’

‘It’s the obvious question. As I understand it, art therapy is all about the process of engaging people in some kind of artistic pursuit in a safe environment, and working through the issues that it raises for them. I’ve only seen the first half of that process today.’

‘It has its benefits, though.’

‘I’m not denying that.’ Tom nodded a thank-you as the waitress put a cup and saucer and a small teapot down in front of him. ‘I think what you’ve done at the centre is fantastic. It’s welcoming and inclusive, and at the same time it’s challenging …’

‘But you’re right. It’s not art therapy.’ She flashed him a smile. ‘It is sustainable, though, and it’s helping to create a culture where users of the centre can use art to express themselves. I’d like to have a conversation with you about doing something of the sort in your department.’

This was something that she lived for, that set her alight, the way that medicine set Tom alight. And fire suited her. He wondered what it might be like to feel her heat flickering across his skin, warming him on a cold night.

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