The Happy Family by Jackie Kabler (electric book reader txt) 📕

white shirts always buttoned to the neck, even on the warmest of days. Today the jacket is brown and his neatly knotted, skinny tie is red. He looks like Mr Bean.

‘But I think we can assume from the … the, erm, volume of replies and reactions that it was many hundreds,’ he continued. ‘And we know your role isn’t patient-facing, but even so … we just feel it’s better for everyone if you keep a low profile for a while.’

I gave a little nod, my eyes fixed on a puddle of coffee on the table, trying desperately not to cry. I tried, when the meeting first began, to explain again that I’d known nothing about the post or the videos, that somebody, somehow, must have hidden cameras in my home and hacked my Facebook account, that the first I knew of the pictures was when Ruth phoned me.

‘So you found these cameras then?’ Dr Andrews asked, frowning and rubbing his untidy grey beard.

‘Well … no. I searched everywhere but I couldn’t find anything. I’m getting a specialist company in this week to do a proper sweep …’

My voice tailed off as the three doctors exchanged sceptical looks.

What’s the point? They don’t believe me and I don’t really blame them. It sounds crazy. I sound crazy.

I gave up after that, and let them deliver their verdict. I was, they’d decided, clearly having some sort of mental health crisis and my time off would be deemed sick leave.

‘Try to get your drinking under control, Beth,’ Gabby said. ‘If you feel counselling might help we can organise that for you, OK? But above all, just take some time for you. You’ve been through some big life changes in the past couple of years – your divorce, your dad going into a home, your mum coming back into your life. It’s all just caught up with you, that’s all. It’ll all be fine, and we’re here if you need us.’

Somehow, I managed to get back to my own room before the floodgates opened. Now, I sit here and cry for a good ten minutes, feeling wretched.

I love my job; I don’t want to take a month of sick leave. Who’s going to run things here? And what if they decide not to let me come back at all?

The thought of having to leave altogether brings a fresh rush of tears, and when I eventually pull myself together it’s after nine. Feeling unable to face anyone, and knowing the waiting room will, by now, be full of patients, I gather my belongings and slip out the rear fire door, then make my way down the alleyway that runs along the side of the surgery building. As I cross the road I hear someone calling my name, and turn to see Nadia gesturing at me from her usual doorway.

Oh, no. Not now.

But now she’s waving at me too and I don’t have the heart to ignore her. Horribly conscious that my face is still red and tear-stained, I make my way over and attempt a smile.

‘Hi, Nadia. Are you OK? What can I do for you?’

She’s squinting up at me, one hand shielding her face from the sun that’s suddenly decided to make an appearance. Her eyes are watery and blood-shot in the clear morning light.

‘Are you OK?’ she asks. ‘You look as if you’ve been crying.’

The concern in her voice almost makes the tears start again, but I swallow hard, refusing to release them.

‘I’m fine. Just a few issues at home so I’m taking some time off, just a few weeks. Nothing major, don’t worry.’

She stares at me, looking almost as sceptical as my colleagues did earlier, but she lets it go.

‘Right, well I just wanted to give you your books back. I’ve finished them and I know you said to give them away or to charity but it seems a shame. They’re in such nice condition and I’ve taken care of them. Look.’

She holds out a plastic bag. The books are neatly stacked inside and I want to tell her to keep them, that I don’t care about books right now, that I don’t have time for this, that I need to get home, need to curl up in a frightened ball somewhere and lick my wounds like a dog, but I can’t. I can’t be mean to this poor old lady, sitting here on her little pile of cardboard in her stale-smelling clothes. Instead, I force a smile and take the bag from her.

‘Well, thank you. And I’m so glad you enjoyed them. As I said, I’ll be off for a few weeks now, but I’ll sort some more out for you for when I come back to work. If you’re still here, that is. Do you think you will be?’

She nods.

‘No plans to move on. I like it here. Town is nice, people are nice, hostel is clean. For now, anyway.’

‘Good,’ I say, and realise I mean it. I’ve got used to seeing her out here and I enjoy our little chats. I’d miss her if she went.

‘Well, bye for now, Nadia. Take care of yourself, OK? See you soon.’

She raises a hand encased in a grey wool fingerless glove.

‘See you, Beth. Hope you sort it out, whatever it is.’

‘I will. Bye.’

But as I walk to the car, I suddenly feel more alone, more scared, than I have in a very long time. I have no idea how to ‘sort this out’. None. Because I don’t even know what this is. I’ve got rid of Robin, but I still don’t know if she truly has anything to do with it, and I feel another little shiver of doubt. Was it her, really?

My life’s falling apart, I think. And I have absolutely no idea who’s responsible.

Chapter 29

‘Nothing, Mrs Holland. Nothing at all,’ says the man.

He bends down, snaps his little black case shut, and straightens up again.

‘So I’ll be off then. You’ll receive an invoice by email in the next day