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‘She’s a friend.’
He clicked his tongue.
‘You need to learn the difference between a patient and a friend.’
‘And you need to learn not to be so dispassionate about either.’
She tensed, preparing for an argument. None came.
‘I was thinking something not too dissimilar.’
‘You were?’ That didn’t sound like Max.
‘As it happens,’ he confirmed tightly, but didn’t elaborate. ‘So, Sally said she’d been with you for eight years.’
‘No, I’ve known her for eight years but she hasn’t been my patient for the last five of them.’
‘So she never talks about any problems.’
‘I told you, she’s a friend. Friends do discuss problems sometimes, you know. But I don’t talk to her in exactly the same way I did when it was purely doctor-patient.’
‘What kind of problems?’
He sounded genuinely interested, rather than interrogating her. But still, she didn’t want to break any confidences.
‘I don’t feel it’s my place to discuss things she’s told me in confidence.’
‘I thought you said it wasn’t a doctor-patient relationship any more.’
‘It isn’t. Not telling you is a matter of choice, not ethical boundaries.’
‘I see. It was only that she seemed very open when I talked to her.’
That was true. Sally was open.
‘I suppose you’re right. Sally’s always felt that by talking about what she’s been through it will bring it to more people’s attention and lessen the stigma of it—especially considering she’s managed to turn her life around, get a good degree and good life experience. But she still can’t seem to get a job, because every time anyone sees those scars they discount her without another thought.’
‘That really bothers you, doesn’t it?’ He was suddenly curious.
‘Yes, it does. Because she fought hard to understand why it started, what her triggers are, and what alternative outlets worked for her so she didn’t harm herself any more. But because the visual scars are always there, she’s never allowed to move forward and get on with her life.’
‘Okay, so tell me how she started.’
She hesitated again, about to tell him again that it wasn’t her place to tell him. But that wasn’t what Sally would want.
Evie gave an almost imperceptible shrug.
‘She started self-harming just before she hit her teens. Her parents were going through a particularly acrimonious divorce, which included fighting over custody of her older sister—the more accomplished of the two of them. She felt as though she was the one neither of them wanted.’
‘So, why cut? Divorce happens to a lot of kids.’
‘And self-harm happens more than you’d think, too. A&E records suggest around fourteen per cent of kids aged between eleven and sixteen can self-harm. But the real figures are likely to be significantly higher because many cases go unreported.’
‘How? How does it get missed, Evie?’
His cool, unemotional tone suddenly grated on her. She’d fought daily to convince enough individuals and institutions without having to convince Max as well.
‘I don’t know. Perhaps because not everyone has people interested enough to notice,’ Evie cried in exasperation. ‘Or because not everyone is as thick-skinned and self-possessed as the great Maximilian Van Berg. Unlike you, the rest of us are human, and what other people say or how they treat us can hurt.’
