There’s No Place Like Here

34

Mr. Le Bon, I assume,” Dr. Burton addressed Jack, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms.

Jack reddened but he was determined not to back down or be dismissed from Dr. Burton’s company as a raving lunatic. He leaned forward. “Dr. Burton, there are many of us who are trying to find Sandy-”

“I don’t need to hear any more.” He pushed his chair back, grabbed Jack’s file from the coffee table, and got to his feet. “Our time is up, Mr. Ruttle. You can settle the fee outside with Carol.” He spoke with his back turned as he made his way to his desk.

“Doctor-”

“Good-bye, Mr. Ruttle.” His voice rose.

Jack took the silver watch in his hands and stood. He spoke quietly but quickly while he had the chance. “Can I just say that a garda by the name of Graham Turner may contact-”

“Enough!” Dr. Burton shouted, slamming the file down on the desk. His face reddened and his nostrils flared. Jack froze and was immediately silenced.

“You obviously haven’t known Sandy very long or intimately. Taking that into consideration, it’s glaringly obvious that it’s absolutely no business of yours to go snooping around in her life.”

Jack opened his mouth to protest but he was beaten to it again.

“But,” Dr. Burton continued, “I believe that you and your group are genuine and so I will tell you this before you take things any further with the police.” He battled visibly with his anger. “I’ll tell you what the Gardaí will tell you if they start calling around. I’ll tell you what Sandy’s own family will tell you.” His anger rose again and he ground his back teeth. “And what every single person who knows her will tell you, and that is this: that this,” he said, and threw his arms up helplessly in the air, “is what Sandy does.”

Jack tried to speak again.

“All of the time,” he shouted. “She floats in and floats out, leaves things behind, sometimes she collects them, sometimes she doesn’t.” He placed his hands on his hips, his chest heaving with anger. “But the point is, she’ll come back again. She always comes back.”

Jack nodded and looked down at the ground. He started to cross the room to leave.

“You can leave her things here,” Dr. Burton added. “I’ll make sure she gets them and thanks you on her return.”

Jack slowly lowered the rucksack of her belongings to the ground by the door and quietly stepped out, feeling like a scolded schoolboy, but at the same time feeling sympathy for the schoolmaster who had chastised him. It wasn’t Jack he was angry at. It was the breeze that came and went, blowing sporadic gusts of hot and cold air from puckered lips, kisses that tickled and air that smelled sweet, but who at the snap of her fingers inhaled it all back in an instant. It was Sandy he was mad at. And himself, for his eternal wait.

Jack left Dr. Burton, hands on hips, staring out the Georgian window, grinding his jaw. Jack closed the door softly behind him, locking the atmosphere inside. It was far too precious to allow to creep into the reception for the awaiting people to sense. It would remain locked in the office, hovering around Dr. Burton while he took the time to process it, deal with it, allow it to cool, and then eventually dissipate.

The receptionist, Carol, looked at Jack with worry, not sure whether to be frightened of him or sorry for him at the screaming she had heard inside. Jack placed his credit card on the counter and reached down to her desk to pass her a piece of paper.

“Could you please tell Dr. Burton that if he changes his mind, here’s my phone number and the address of the meeting point later today?”

She read the note quickly and nodded, still defensive of her boss.

He entered his PIN into the machine and retrieved his credit card. “Oh, and please give him this, too.” He placed the silver watch on the counter. Her eyes narrowed as he walked away.

“Mr. Ruttle?” he heard her say as he reached the door. A man reading a car magazine looked up at the mention of the peculiar name.

Jack froze and turned to her slowly. “Yes?”

“I’m sure Dr. Burton will be in contact soon.”

Jack laughed lightly, “Oh, I’m not too sure about that.” He moved to leave again and she cleared her throat, trying to get his attention. He walked back to her desk.

She leaned forward and lowered her voice. The man took the hint and went back to reading his magazine.

“It’s usually just a few days each time. The longest was almost two weeks but that was at the beginning. This is by far the longest in a while,” she whispered. “When you find her, tell her to come back to…” She looked sadly at the door to Dr. Burton’s office. “Well, just tell her to come back.”

As quickly as she’d spoken, she stopped, took the watch from the counter, placed it in a drawer, and carried on typing. “Kenneth,” she called, ignoring Jack now. “Dr. Burton will see you now. Go right in.”

It’s difficult beginning a relationship with someone you were never allowed to know anything about.

Our relationship to date had been based on me, and I was finding it hard to make the transition to it suddenly being about the both of us. Every week our meetings were centered on how I was feeling, what I had done that week, what I thought and what I’d learned. He was allowed to access my mind whenever he wanted, that was the sole reason for our relationship; for him to delve into my mind and try to figure me out. And to try and stop me from trying to figure him out.

A more serious relationship, a more intimate relationship was proving to be the opposite. I had to remember to ask him about him, and to remember that he couldn’t now know everything that was inside my head. Some things had to be held back, for safekeeping, for self-preservation, and in a way, I lost my confidant. The closer we got, the less he knew about me, the more I learned about him.

An hour a week had been intensified and roles had been reversed. Who’d have thought Mr. Burton had a life beyond the four walls of the old school. He knew people and did things that I never knew about; things that I was suddenly allowed to know about but wasn’t sure whether I wanted to. How could a person historically incapable of sharing a bed and a head not need to run from all of that? Sure, I went missing for days at a time.

No, the age gap didn’t matter, it had never mattered. The years weren’t the problem; it was the time that was the fault. This new relationship existed without a ticking clock. There was no long hand to dictate the end of a conversation; I could not be saved by the proverbial bell. He could access me at all times. Of course I ran.

There’s a fine line between love and hate. Love frees a soul and in the same breath can sometimes suffocate it. I walked that tightrope with all the gracefulness of an elephant, my head weighing me to the side of hate, my heart hoisting me to the side of love. It was a wobbly journey and sometimes I fell. Sometimes I fell for long periods of time, but never for too long.

Never for as long as this.

I’m not asking to be liked. I’ve never yearned to be liked, nor am I asking to be understood; I’ve never been that, either. When I behaved that way, when I left his bed, let go of his hand, hung up the phone, and closed his door behind me, even I had difficulty liking me, understanding me. But it’s just how I was.

How I was.