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‘I’m looking forward to it.’
He nodded, obviously pleased with her answer. ‘Good. I might live to regret it, they’re a pretty outspoken lot.’
‘They won’t... I mean they wouldn’t give you a hard time, would they?’
‘Don’t see why they should stop now. The moment I stop having a hard time from our clients is the time I know I need to apply for another job.’ He chuckled at her look of concern. ‘It’s okay. We’re okay.’
His eyes questioned her again, as if he was wondering whether they were okay. Sam had been wondering that, and now she knew. As long as they stayed on their present path, working together, friendly but not too much personal intimacy, they’d be just fine. ‘I appreciate it, Euan. This is really going to help me get a feel for things.’
‘Good.’ He grinned, looking at his watch. ‘I’ve a couple of things to do first, so I’ll leave you with Liz. The group get-together starts at ten-thirty, upstairs in the community room.’
* * *
The group that Euan had assembled couldn’t have been more diverse. Jamie was there, along with a young woman who had left her toddler downstairs with Liz. A middle-aged man, who looked as if he’d be more comfortable in a suit and tie, a red-haired girl who was a student at the university, and a young man with tattoos all the way up his arms. Juno came in late, muttering something about an overnight curing process by way of an apology.
‘So, there are no rules, then?’ Sam was responding to Jamie’s laughing description of some of the subjects that he’d raised for therapy group discussions, and she was met with a chorus of nos.
‘First one’s not to overturn the tea things.’ Juno nodded towards the side table, stacked with cups and saucers and a couple of flasks that Liz had brought in before they’d started.
Jamie laughed. ‘You were so mad that day....’
‘Yeah. Mad’s the word for it.’ Juno gave him a rueful smile.
‘Or punch the moderators.’ Dianne, the young mother, broke in.
Euan nodded. ‘That’s a personal favourite of mine. We have a very strict set of rules. Break them and you’re out.’
‘For good?’ Sam looked around at the circle of faces.
‘No. We’ve all broken the rules at one time or another.’ Tim, the man who should have been wearing a suit, and who looked as if he’d never broken a rule in his life, spoke up. ‘But a condition of returning is to undertake not to do it again. You have to earn your place if you want it back, and if you transgress again...’
‘Three strikes and you’re out.’ Dianne was nodding. ‘Only it’s not as easy as that.’
‘Why not?’ It sounded to Sam like the perfect way out for anyone who didn’t want to go through the rigours of therapy.
‘Because when I was thrown out of the group Euan took me on for personal counselling.’ She grinned at the assembled company. ‘If you guys think that the group’s tough, try doing it one to one. For the first three sessions I turned up five minutes before the hour was up.’
Sam wanted to ask, but she wasn’t sure whether she should.
‘If you have a session booked, that’s your time,’ John explained, flexing his tattooed arms. ‘If you turn up late the counsellor will confront you about it and then finish the session on time.’
‘But...’ Sam frowned. ‘I don’t understand. What’s the good of a counselling session if you don’t turn up?’
‘Exactly.’ Jamie grinned at her. ‘What John’s saying is that you take responsibility for your own actions. We all get held up once in a while, but being late all the time is a deliberate act. Apart from when your glue won’t stick, eh, Juno?’
‘Hey! I was up until two this morning—’
‘And this isn’t a therapy group.’ Euan cut in. ‘The rules don’t apply.’
‘You mean I can punch you.’ Dianne’s eyes were alive with laughter.
Euan pulled a face, rubbing at his jaw. ‘I’m getting myself into trouble now. Look, guys, I want to hear what you’ve got to say about the rehab process, things that worked for you and things that didn’t. And Sam’s here to get an idea of what that process is like from your point of view.’ He leaned back in his chair, his body language clear about the fact that he was there to listen, not to talk. ‘I think Sam’s got some questions...’
Sam had her questions on a typed sheet, inside the portfolio on her knee, but it suddenly didn’t seem right to draw it out. ‘I’m here to listen. So...um...who wants to start?’
* * *
‘Good session?’ Euan asked her afterwards. Something about Sam had changed. When she’d demonstrated her software she’d been impressive, beautiful and quite definitely in control of the proceedings. Now she was beautiful, clearly happy not to be in control and all the more impressive for that.
