Standing Strong (14 page)

‘Can I read that letter please?' he said, holding out his hand.

Jacqueline was taken by surprise. This wasn't how it had played out in her mind at all – there he accepted her resignation, told her when to vacate the cottage, that he was sorry it had come to this but rules were rules, and she left his office, hopefully with her dignity intact through having kept any threatening tears at bay.

She pulled the letter from her bag and handed it over.

He read with pursed lips, nodded a few times, then folded it back up and returned it to her across the desk. Jacqueline sat silently as he brought his clasped hands to his face, raised his two index fingers and began tapping them against his top lip while staring beyond her to a space above her head. She tried to remember what was on the wall there.

It seemed hours had passed, but sneaking a look at the clock told her the minute hand had only moved three places. If not for the loud ticking, she might have thought the clock had actually stopped.

‘So, let me get this straight,' Doctor Squire finally said. ‘You began a relationship with Damien McAllister after you had stopped treating him. He only saw you officially for treatment on three occasions. And you are of the opinion that the main problems that led him to seek treatment were that he hadn't adequately dealt with the grief surrounding the loss of his father some years before and that he was feeling overwhelmed by the pressure being brought to bear by his dominant mother. Furthermore, you are of the opinion that his emotional and mental state would not have been adversely affected by your personal dealings with him. Is this all correct?'

Jacqueline nodded. She hated that Damien was a part of all this, but she had decided she would be totally upfront. She realised she still needed to make a couple of things totally clear.

‘Damien and I are no longer seeing each other. He, er, ended things when I realised the error I had made. He felt it was in the best interest of the town that I not resign. Otherwise I would have come to see you a week ago. We were, I was, er, hoping it wouldn't come out,' she said, blushing right up to her forehead. She stared at her hands.

‘I see. But you still love him. This isn't just a whim, lust, is it?'

‘No, it's not. We have agreed to wait, have nothing to do with each other until the two years is up,' she said.

‘That is some commitment. I'm not sure I would have your resolve. Believe it or not, I was young once, too,' he said, smiling warmly. ‘It will be next to impossible in a town this size to have nothing to do with each other,' he added.

‘I know. And I'm sorry I didn't confide in you. I didn't feel I could ask your advice. Because then you would have been compromised and under mandatory reporting required to …' she blurted. He was being so understanding, and she felt guilty about the mean thoughts she'd had about him since her arrival in town.

‘Yes, rightly so. It is a bit of a pickle you find yourself in, isn't it, and of your own doing?'

‘Yes. And I will take full responsibility. I
am
taking full responsibility.' God, she just wanted to get out of there now, not go over and over everything. It was like being slowly tortured. And the end result would be the same – the death of her career.

‘While your letter is succinct, and gives a good account of your actions, et cetera, what is the point if you are just handing in your psychology resignation? If you're guilty of having a sexual relationship with a client or a former client before the twenty-four months have elapsed, which is the allegation they have made, why all the explanation?' He waved his hand. ‘It's unnecessary. They won't care. Did you do it, or did you not, that is their only question.'

Now she did turn beetroot red. Of course, he was absolutely right. They would accept her resignation and the matter would be ended. So what had she been doing?

‘Well, the thing is, I wanted to explain to them that while I've done the wrong thing, I haven't
technically
. We didn't, er, actually, um, have sex. We, er …'

Doctor Squire held his hand up. ‘Dear, I don't need to hear details. But what you are saying is that you have in fact
not
engaged in a
sexual
relationship with this former patient?'

‘No. But …'

‘Well, why the hell are you pleading guilty in response to their letter?'

‘Because
technically
it could be argued …'

‘We're not in court, Ms Havelock, you are not a lawyer, nor are you expected to behave like one. You either did what they are accusing you of or you did not.'

‘Oh.' Jacqueline studied her hands. ‘Well, I'm being honest. Owning up to my indiscretion. Trying to do the right thing. They will be concerned about Damien McAllister's state of mind and my impact on it through becoming personally involved with him so soon after being his practitioner.' She was quite taken aback by Doctor Squire's splitting of hairs. She'd taken him to be straight down the line, less interested in blurred edges than he clearly was.

‘But they're not asking you if you were or are having a personal relationship with him. They're asking if you're involved in
sexual activity
with him. I can't believe you're throwing away the career you've worked so hard to achieve without fighting this.' He stared at her, aghast. ‘Oh, Ms Havelock, I took you to have more mettle than this,' he said, shaking his head slowly. ‘And what about this community? Young Mister McAllister is right, the district needs you. You're doing a good job. Sure we've had our hiccups, but this town needs you.
I
need you.'

Jacqueline was stunned to hear the passion in his voice. ‘But I've done the wrong thing.'

‘Yes, you have. But I happen to think it's a matter of degrees here.'

‘But I should have known better. I
did
know better.'

‘So, then, how did it happen?'

‘I don't know,' she said with a sigh. She settled back into her chair. It was one thing to have Ethel's support, but it was a huge relief to have unburdened herself to Doctor Squire, her boss, and amazingly, not have been sent on her way to pack up her office. ‘Honestly, it's as if my brain totally blocked it out. Then, after a week, I suddenly remembered. I don't understand it.'

‘Well, you have been through quite a bit with having that stalker fellow turn up and then losing your car in the fire. And all that on top of moving halfway across the state to start a new job. Let's face it, suddenly finding yourself living in a fishbowl after the relative anonymity of city life can be very daunting. You were vulnerable. Mister McAllister was there when you needed him because his aunt lives across the road. You're young, you need at least a bit of a social life. I'm not surprised you blocked the exclusion period out. The human brain is a magical yet baffling thing. And what AHPRA needs to understand is that, whether they like it or not, some things are done differently out here and are often beyond our control. I know their rules are in place for the right reasons, but sometimes, like with your case, there's room for a little leeway, a little understanding on their part.

‘I'm not condoning your breach of ethics for a second, but I can see some extenuating circumstances to at least try to fight this with. And I'm not sure if you're aware of this or not, but a couple of years ago, the Supreme Court overturned an AHPRA ruling and reinstated a psychologist's registration. It wasn't exactly the same circumstances as yours, but it might make them a little less likely to act so hastily when challenged. So, please, for God's sake, don't send this letter. At least not just yet. And, as for this resignation, it is not accepted.'

Jacqueline watched as he folded the paper back up and tore it in two, and then two again, before handing it back to her as a bunch of rough square pieces. She couldn't believe that Doctor Squire, who had reprimanded her for drinking and socialising not so long ago, was right behind her on this very serious matter.

‘Right,' he continued. ‘This is what I think we should do. Most of your letter to AHPRA is fine – the supporting evidence, that is. Take out the offer to resign your registration and change the main focus to a denial of the accusation based on the facts. I will write a letter of my own in support of you, outlining your value to this community. Golly, we don't have long,' he said, as if to himself before addressing her again. ‘You rewrite your letter and drop it in to me at seven-thirty Friday morning. Sorry to have you come in so early again but it's really the only hour I get to myself before the chaos begins,' he added with a wan smile. ‘Any questions?'

She was feeling a little stunned. If he had asked her to kiss his feet and then lick the dust from his leather shoes, she would happily have done so right then. ‘Um, just one.'

‘Yes?'

‘Um, would you ever consider having an unregistered psychologist stay on as a counsellor?' she asked shyly.

‘Of course. That is plan B, my dear. Plan A is to avoid that course of action. You've worked too hard and it seems the people here are warming to you. I don't want you to lose your piece of paper. Yes, you can still help people and do a lot of good without it, but I know how important the pieces of paper are. They are our credibility – even if only in our own minds. Many see them as just pieces of paper, and they are on some level, but I know as well as you do that they give us our confidence, our pride. I understand all too well.'

Jacqueline almost wept with relief. It was actually how she felt about her registration. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much. You've no idea what it means to have your support.'

‘I think, if they knew, you would have the support of the whole community. They know they are in safe hands with you here. You're just what has been missing and I'm damned if I'm going to give you up without a fight. And just because you're new around here – and will never truly be considered local because you're not third-generation born and bred,' he added with a laugh, ‘doesn't mean you are not appreciated even, to some degree, loved.'

Jacqueline nodded as she replayed his words slowly. Damien had joked a number of times that he wasn't a true local because his grandfather hadn't been born there, but look how the community had got behind him and his new venture.

She stood and reached across his desk, gripped Doctor Squire's hands, and squeezed them.

‘Thank you.'

He nodded and said, ‘See you on Friday. Try not to worry too much.'

Chapter Fourteen

Damien was out taking a drive around his stock, as he did most mornings. It was important to him to make sure there was plenty of water during the warm months, and that the sheep or roos – or anything else – hadn't stuffed up a ballcock valve and drained the trough, or a pipe somewhere hadn't sprung a leak.

He also liked to set eyes on the young buck he'd saved. The roo now seemed well and truly part of the mob that was living in the next hollow over from where the fire had gone through. He was becoming harder and harder to pick out from the others now his wounds were almost completely covered with new hair, but if Damien got out the binoculars he could spot him. When all the hair had regrown, he'd most likely become completely anonymous, though he was always the last one to begin hopping away when the ute got too close. Damien liked to think his bounding off was only so as not to receive a ribbing from his mates for being so friendly with humans. He had no idea if those sorts of conversations went on between animals, or if they even had the capacity to think like humans, but he liked to believe they did. He'd often sit with the ute idling, watching them – had even been known to get so mesmerised he'd turn the engine off and let twenty minutes pass – before they bounded away. He'd imagine them formulating their getaway plan and agreeing where they would meet up later.

Perhaps he was still screwed in the head, he thought, shaking it all aside and driving away. As he did, a voice came on the UHF radio. He recognised it as once as Keith Stevens – captain of his CFS brigade.

‘Damien McAllister, Robbie Olsen, Trent Baillie, Jack Smith, Andrew Olsen, you on channel? Over.'

‘Receiving,' Damien said, as did the others.

‘Just letting you guys know, we're having a combined CFS groups debrief at the Wattle Creek shed tonight at six, including a barbie, if you can make it. Sorry about the short notice, but that's life. Over. Oh, and partners welcome. Over.'

‘Right,' Damien said, getting in first. ‘Do we need to bring anything?'

‘A salad or a sweet would be good, if you want. Otherwise, no drama. I'm sure there'll be stacks of food, as usual. Over.'

‘Righto, count me in. Over.' Damien said.

The others confirmed and Keith said, ‘Great. See you all then. Over and out.'

‘Over and out,' Damien signed off.

He hung the receiver handset back on its hook beside the air-conditioning vent and as he did, he wondered when the powers that be would ban the use of these while driving too. It seemed a bit ridiculous that mobile phones couldn't be used while at the wheel but UHFs still could. They were great if you were happy for the world – or whoever was on that particular channel and listening at the time – to hear everything you said. And they were free. Perhaps the authorities feared too much of a backlash from the truckies. Plenty used their mobile phones these days, but Damien still used his UHF when it was appropriate. Though he often had to keep it turned down during busy times on the tractor because far too many people engaged in far too much chatter. Damien thought conversations should be kept short and sweet on the UHF. But of course there were no rules. And plenty of people seemed to forget the world was listening, or didn't care. Damien had spent years changing channels looking for less chatter, but had given up. So many times he'd wanted to add his own twenty cents worth, as his dad would say, and tell them to just shut up. Thankfully there was usually someone else listening who was less backwards in coming forwards and who'd politely point out that the UHF chatter should be kept to a minimum so everyone could get through.