Pitbull: He plays hard on the field...He plays harder off it. (9 page)

I blushed as I remembered using those exact words as I'd drifted off to sleep next to him. I made a point of writing in my notebook. "Do you think that's appropriate, Jack?" I said, hovering the nib of my pen over the paper. "To speak to me like that?"

"You wrote that down?" he said, his mouth curling into a teasing smile.

"Of course. The way you speak to me will give me a clue to what's going on… up there," I said, pointing the pen at his forehead.

Jack laughed. "There's nothing wrong with me," he said.

"I didn't say there was anything wrong with you. I just want to unravel the way your mind works, the way you think about things."

"I'll tell you what I think about you," he said, "if you want me to."

"Defensive," I murmured, as I wrote in my book.

"What do you mean by that?" Jack said, his smile losing a touch of smugness.

"I mean you're defensive. When I said something which you interpreted as criticism, you automatically turned the tables. You wanted to speak about me instead."

Jack leaned forward in his seat, his shoulders bulging. "I'm not defensive," he said, "go on, ask me something, I'll answer honestly."

"Do you like yourself?"

"What?"

"Do you like yourself?" I repeated.

Jack pushed himself back into the chair. "What's there not to like?"

"So you do like yourself?"

Jack gave me the same look that I saw on a lot of clients faces — exasperation.

"Of course I do."

"So you like fighting both on and off the field? You like drinking more than any professional sportsman should? You like womanising?"

Jack's mouth widened as he smiled. "The womanising thing again? I think this is about you, Emily. You're ashamed of yourself."

I took a deep breath. "Definitely defensive," I said, scribbling an abstract shape in my book. I knew I'd made a mistake seeing Jack as a client. I was trying to be impartial, but his words were having an effect on me. I wasn't ashamed of what I'd done with him, but I was regretting it more and more as I spoke to him.

"Enough with the defensive shit," he spat, his face clouding over.

"Quick to anger… you have a problem with anger, don't you?"

I'd never felt less professional. I knew I was goading him, and I didn't know why. I had my suspicions, but I didn't want to admit them to myself.

Jack voiced them for me. "You know, Emily. The way you're speaking to me makes me think you've got a soft spot for me," he said, with a raised eyebrow. "Just tell me if that's the case, I'll bend you over your desk and fuck you if you like?"

Hearing him use that word thrilled and shocked me in equal measure. Not the word itself, but the
meaning
, and the fact that he probably meant it. If I'd have agreed, he would have gone through with it. He would have bent me over my desk and
fucked
me. I hoped that it wasn't only the fact that Sandra was in the room next door, that made me refuse him with a sarcastic laugh and a flick of my hair.

"I can assure you that that's not going to happen," I scoffed, with a little less conviction in my voice than I would have liked. "I don't have a soft spot for you, Jack, I pity you. There's a vast difference."

"Is this how you speak to all your patients?" said Jack, "because if it is, I have to tell you that you're an absolutely
shit
psychologist, and if it's not then I… what's the thing they say in the films?" He looked at the ceiling as he thought, his forehead furrowed and his eyes narrowing. "I refer you to my previous comment," he said, triumphantly.

"Which one?"

"The fact that you've got a soft spot for me," he said, looking pleased with himself.

The childish banter was getting us nowhere. I tried to imagine Jack as a stranger that I'd never met before, just a man who needed to talk.

"Let's try something different," I said, with a softer tone in my voice. "Why do you like playing rugby? What drives you to play the game?"

The question had the effect I'd desired. He actually paused and considered his answer, his mouth opening to speak a few times, but closing just as quickly as he weighed up his response.

"It makes me feel calm," he said, finally. "And free."

"How can such a rough game make you feel calm?" I said, crossing my legs.

Jack licked his lips and his eyes searched for an answer. "I feel less angry on the pitch than I do off it," he said, "I can focus my anger on something."

"So you do have an anger issue of sorts?" I said, "do you know why you feel so angry?"

"I didn't say that, did I? I didn't say I had an issue, I said I feel angry sometimes."

I looked down at my notebook. "You said, 'I can focus my anger on something else.' What anger, Jack? Why are you angry? You told me on the phone that you had a fight in the gym. Nothing says
anger
like a grown man fighting in a gym."

Jacks face darkened and he stood up. "Do you know what, Emily? Fuck you, and fuck the Budbury fucking Bears. It's a stupid name for a club anyway, we sound like a bunch of cartoon characters or something."

"Sit down, Ja—"

"No," he said, raising his voice. "I'm serious. Fuck you. I don't need this sort of voodoo shit, getting inside my fucking head like you think you're clever. I'm done with you and I'm done with bending over backwards for my club."

He walked to the door in a few long strides.

"If you go now, Jack," I warned, "I won't see you again."

"Goodbye, Emily. It was nice knowing you."

With a slam of the door and heavy footsteps on the stairs, he was gone.

After I'd listened to his car leaving in a squeal of tyres and a roar of the engine, I sat at my desk and picked up the paperweight.

I'd obviously scratched the surface and found something below, something Jack didn't want to talk about. I put the glass ball down and slammed my notebook shut.

Jack Bailey was an enigma, but I didn't think I had the energy to solve him.

Chapter Fourteen

Jack

"So let me get this straight in my head," said Andy, "you fucked a random girl in London, and it turns out that she's one of the people that Harry made an appointment with for you?"

"Yup," I said, dodging a log in the path.

Andy put on a spurt of speed and arrived at my side, his breathing becoming heavier the faster we ran.

"And when you got to her office she was being attacked by a patient?"

"Yup."

"And you're telling me you love her? This woman that you slept with once, saved from a lunatic, and who you've only seen a handful of times? That's what you're telling me?"

"I didn't say love," I panted, "I said, I can't get her out of my head."

"Same difference," said Andy, leaping over a puddle and sliding in mud as he landed. He regained his balance and slowed his pace. "It sounds like a fucking film," he said, "sleeping with a woman who turns out to be your psychologist. You couldn't make it up."

"Yeah, well, it's over now. We argued, I won't be seeing her again."

Andy ducked under a low hanging branch. "The story of your life. When will you find someone you can settle down with, Jack?"

"You can't talk," I said, "it's not like you've settled down with the woman of your dreams either."

Andy sped past me and I increased my speed. "I'm younger than you," he said, his breath leaving his mouth in coils of condensation. "That means I don't need to find a woman yet, and it means I can beat you to the car park."

I opened my stride and sucked air deep into my lungs. "Tenner says you can't" I said, gaining on him.

Andy's wide shoulders rolled as he pumped his arms, muddy water splashing behind him and up his calves with each step he made on the forest track.

The sound of birdsong got louder — almost as if they were cheering us on as I levelled with my teammate and went ahead by a couple of strides.

"You might be younger," I said, listening to the heavy thud of his footsteps getting quieter as I opened up my lead. "But I can run rings around you."

As Andy's footsteps dropped further behind me, I moved my thoughts to Emily. She'd made me mad when she'd questioned me about my anger issues, and the irony wasn't lost on me. I had every right to be mad though, I'd failed the most important woman in my life, my mother, and the day she'd died I'd changed irrevocably. I'd changed from the boy who'd found happiness in almost everything, to the man who found the world a place full of disappointments.

I put dark thoughts out of my mind. I was going to the dog sanctuary later that morning, and I didn't want to take bad vibes to the animals who had already seen enough crap in their lives.

I reached the car park a full twenty seconds before Andy, and slapped him on the back as he bent over, gulping in air, his body shaking. "Like I said, mate, I can run rings around you."

Andy spat long strings of saliva at his feet. "You'll slow down soon enough," he gasped, "you're getting old."

"I'll never be too old to beat you," I said, opening the car boot and grabbing the bag that contained our clean trainers. I was proud of my BMW M3 and kept it in almost showroom clean condition.

We sat on a picnic bench changing our shoes and sharing a bottle of water. "What have you got planned for today," said Andy, tying his laces. "Are you off to do your weird dog whisperer shit?"

"It's not weird and it's not shit," I said, "it's company, and they never judge me." I took the bottle from his hand and brought it to my mouth. "I sometimes think they're better than people."

Andy slapped me on my back, forcing water from my mouth in a spluttering fountain. "You definitely need a bird, mate. You need someone to straighten you out."

Chapter Fifteen

~Emily~

"Are you
really
sure?" I said, closing the car door. "It's a big responsibility."

Megan closed her door and locked the car, the beeping sound of the central locking starting a cacophony of barking dogs.

"We always had one when I was growing up," said Megan, joining me on the concrete path that led to the main doors. "And I always promised myself that when the time came to get one of my own, it would be a rescue dog."

The Budbury dog and donkey sanctuary was a sprawling farm complex of buildings and fields that didn't necessarily stick to the rigid rules of its name. On previous visits I'd seen plenty of dogs, a few donkeys, a llama, and an ostrich. It seemed it was a sanctuary that would take on any animal in need.

"I've heard they tie you down more than kids," I warned.

"Well, I'll
never
be having kids," said Megan, "so I'll
never
be able to tell you if that's right or wrong." Megan was absolutely sure she'd never have children. Even
as
a child, she'd disliked kids, so I had no reason to doubt her sincerity. "You can put a dog in the kennels while you go on holiday," continued Megan, "I'm not sure you can do that with rug rats."

I laughed at the image of Megan hustling her children into a dogs home, while she jetted off overseas for a two week break. The fact that I could picture it so vividly, reinforced my own belief that she shouldn't have kids. Some people were cut out for it, and some were probably better off with a dog.

A blast of warm air hit my face as I opened the door into the reception area. A bubbly young woman greeted us. She wore a green, hair covered t-shirt, embroidered with the logo of a dog and a donkey touching noses. Scratch marks ran the full length of both forearms and she broke into a wide smile as we approached.

"Good morning!" she gushed, "I'm Alison, how may I help?"

She came across as somebody who
actually
enjoyed their job, rather than simply tolerating it.

"I'd like a dog," said Megan, leaning on the counter.

The girl smiled. "You're welcome to have a look around," she said, "but we'd have to do a home check before we could let you take one."

Megan nodded. "Yes, I understand," she said, "I think it's a good policy."

"We like to think so," said the girl. "Feel free to go through to the animals," she said, pointing to a steel door at the back of the room. "And all donations are welcome," she suggested, indicating the metal tin on the desk with her eyes.

"Have you got your purse?" said Megan, turning to me. "I've left mine in the car.

I sighed, and fished a crumpled note out of my jeans pocket. "I've got a tenner," I said.

"I'll give it back to you later," said Megan, grabbing it from my outstretched hand.

I could write that ten pounds off, Megan had a habit of forgetting her purse — at restaurants, bars, and now, it seemed — dog and donkey sanctuaries.

"Thank you!" beamed the girl as Megan dropped my money in the tin. "Some of the dogs are out for walkies, but they'll be back soon. If you see one you like, just let me know."