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Polly flicked her head. “We’re here to help participants develop strategies to combat their symptoms.”
“So getting their medications right doesn’t count as a strategy?”
“I—phht, yes, and no.”
Solo’s eyes held hers with a certain steeliness. “What does that mean?”
“It means there’s an appropriate time and place to discuss their meds. Like when they visit their psychiatrist.”
“You heard what Jenny said, they often have to wait weeks to see their psychiatrist.”
“Sure.” Why was she feeling so flustered? “And this is a safe space to air their frustrations about the health system. But in here our focus is on self-empowerment, not disempowerment.”
“Are you implying that educating them about their medication options is disempowering?”
“That’s not what I said.”
He was propped against the doorframe, one leg crossed nonchalantly over the other, which made her feel on the back foot. In fact, she almost wanted to stamp her foot. He had no idea how much thought and care Ben and she had put into this program. No way was he pulling rank over her just because he had more letters after his frigging name.
She purred in her best therapist voice, “Look, of course medication has its place. But you have to understand, the group is about developing coping skills.”
Solo crossed his arms over his chest. “Building resilience, sure, I get it.”
“Exactly.”
“All the more important we provide the facts. Making informed choices helps people build resilience, right?”
Smug bastard doctor, Polly thought as she met the triumphant twinkle in those silver eyes with a frosty smile. “When Ben and I put this together, we were clear we didn’t want the program to be medicalised.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have asked me to fill in, then. Considering I’m a doctor.”
“If you recall, I wasn’t the one who asked you.” Polly pushed off the bench, aware her annoyance was doing nothing to lessen the pheromones in the air. Right this minute, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to slap the supercilious smile off his face or lick it off.
She flounced past him into the therapy room and started busying herself with clearing the last bits and pieces off the table. He followed her, and they both stood staring at the remains of the cake.
“What do you want to do with it?” Polly finally asked.
“Bin it.”
“You don’t want to take it home to Carts?”
“He does look like he needs a bit of fattening up but… no.”
She sensed him grinning and the atmosphere softened between them. A shift of an inch or two and their arms and hips would bump. It was like a giant invisible magnet, dragging her towards him.
He said ruefully, “Maybe I should buy a cake next time.”
She couldn’t help a snicker at that. “I always do.”
His head jerked around with a look of exaggerated outrage. “You do?”
“Tim Tams, mostly.”
“Hell, why didn’t you say so?”
“It’s a rite of passage. You had to prove yourself.”
“Jesus Christ. Do you know how stressed I got? It would have made The Great Australian Bake-Off look like a stroll in the park.”
