Against The Odds Read online

  He tried to comfort her, but he felt numb. Everything was happening in his life and he had no control over it. He told her to try to get some rest and told her everything would be fine, but he felt nothing at those words. He stayed at her bedside and must have fallen off to sleep. He was awoken by a nurse and he discovered that Suzanne had died while he had slept.

  He remained confused and numb and simply allowed them to take him to another room. He tried to get his head around the events of the night. His wife had been in a taxi which had an accident. She had a head injury, but seemed okay. She was to have tests the next day to check that all was well. She had seemed alright when she spoke to him. She had lost the baby. These were the facts for him. When her mother and father arrived, they were hysterical. They blamed him for her death and told him that if he had been at home she would not have taken a taxi and would not have been so desperately lonely that she had wanted to visit her brother at eleven in the night and she would not have needed to leave the house. It went on and on.

  It was only after Suzanne’s funeral that Clayton began to experience emotions again. He felt ashamed and guilty and he missed her terribly. He remembered how he had ignored her since she told him she was pregnant, how he had deliberately hurt her by shutting her out. He regretted that he had not talked to her or been there for her during those months. He had been selfish and pig-headed. Throughout their marriage, he had insisted that they live and love on his terms. His shame was sharpened by the realization that, at the hospital, when she spoke to him, a small part of him was relieved that the baby had died. He hated himself for having thought that. He was an animal, a cruel, evil animal and Suzanne had not deserved that. He missed her noise and her complaining and felt cold and lonely in the apartment. He tortured himself every night with pain, guilt and grief.

  It was during these months that the butterfly had appeared to him. He knew he saw it, but could never figure out if it was all in his mind. He liked the way it flew playfully around him and always felt like it spoke to him. Every night, he sat in the lounge, thinking and feeling. Every night, it would appear. It seemed to know when it was needed and he thought he must be going mad.

  That is exactly what Jonathan told him when he explained about the butterfly.

  “Clayton, maybe you need to get some professional help. I am your friend and it worries me that you are now talking to a butterfly that does not exist.”

  Clayton refused, because he feared it would go away and he would be alone again.

  He was grateful for Jackie and Jonathan’s support, love and caring, but he wanted the butterfly to comfort him every night. He needed it. Ironically, for him, it was the ‘imaginary’ butterfly which kept him sane.

  It was seven months after her death before he was able to go to her studio and look at her work. Brad Adcock has coaxed him patiently and kindly through those months, trying to make him get some closure. Brad’s brother had died and he understood grieving. Brad had eventually pushed him to take some action after a drinking binge when Clayton could hardly remember his name.

  He walked into her studio and smelt the familiar spicy perfume she wore so generously. He packed her belongings and gave her books to her friends and family. Her family had never forgiven him and he was saddened by the loss of his friendship with Barry. He carried her diary home with him and left it on the table. What should he do with it? Should he throw it away, or give it to her brother? What was the point? He was pondering this issue when the butterfly arrived. It seemed restless today and not playful. He wondered what it was thinking, or feeling. Do butterflies have thoughts and feelings? It seemed so much like a gentle person to him that he believed it had thoughts and feelings. It suddenly landed on the diary on the table and fluttered its wings vigorously.

  “What, my beauty, what is it?” Then it was gone.

  Clayton woke up in the middle of the night with the realization that he should read the diary. Hesitant at first, he decided that his butterfly was telling him something and he was right.

  He read her words and discovered that he had not known the woman he had been married to. He read her accounts of her affairs, her descriptions of him as a failure and her general contempt of him. He read how she would have plans and schemes every time she wanted something from him, how she had got money from him to buy present for her lovers, and an array of things he would not have thought his precious Suzanne was capable of. Her descriptions of violent sex with Aaron, a sculptor, made him throw the diary away in disgust. From these readings, he developed a disdain and mistrust of women. His guilt faded and his anger rose. Driven by this fresh revelation of the female race, he threw himself into his work with a renewed vigor. He promised himself that he would never be fooled by a woman again.

  He had never imagined he would see the butterfly again. It never returned after the day he read the diary and he had often wondered what had happened to it. He never dreamt that he would see it literally on some woman’s flesh. He remembered how it had soothed him during the dark, painful months after Suzanne’s death. He had missed the butterfly and had felt a sense of loss for a while, but he had eventually convinced himself that he had been hallucinating in his grief. It had been a terrible shock to see it, seemingly so alive, against that woman’s skin, as if it always belonged there. As she had moved, for a split second he imagined that it moved with her. That is what had shocked him the most. The feeling that the butterfly belonged on her, with her. If that was so, who was she? Why had it been there to soothe him, heal him and help him through his darkest hours?

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  He tried to phone Rebecca a few times, but she refused to take his calls. He was growing desperate. But a part of him saw the futility of his quest. What would he say to her, that it was his butterfly on her back? She would laugh at him. Perhaps he was over-reacting. There was no reason to believe that anything significant or coincidental had happened. She was just a woman with a butterfly tattoo. He was being silly and should apologize to her. Also, he wanted to look into those black eyes again, to drown in their power. He wanted her, he finally admitted, butterfly or not. But a small voice in his head reminded him of a unique feature of the butterfly. It lacked a small patch of color on its left wing. It was a missing color that was so conspicuous against the bright blue of the butterfly. The small colorless patch resembled an hour-glass. Hers had been exactly the same with its missing small hourglass patch.

  He phoned Bradford Adcock in the hope he would get some answers.

  “Hey there. How are you doing?”

  Brad was pleased and laughed. “Well, well, if it isn’t the lawmaker himself. How are you doing Clay?”

  “Fine, like I was last week when we spoke. I really have been fine for a while. Don’t forget we are meeting on Friday.”

  “Yes, yes. I know.”

  “I just need some information, about a friend of yours. Rebecca Raymond.”

  “Oh sure, you need her help?”

  “No, no. I met her with Jono and I am curious.”

  Brad was silent for a while.

  “She is not a woman to mess around with. Seriously, Clay. She is very dear to me. She is a really great psychologist and definitely not one for you to mess around with.”

  Clayton laughed. “Okay, relax, I get it. But she is not your type either, so I am surprised. But I will back off.”

  “Clayton, I have no sexual intentions with her. She is that one, you know, that special woman that deserves a decent guy. Yes, I admit she is very hot, those breasts just call to me and when she swings those legs and strides off, I admit I get…..”

  “Damn, Brad, I really don’t want to hear that.”

  Brad sighed. “I like her, as a person. What exactly do you want from her?”

  He was silent for a while. “I don’t know. There was just a connection, you know, like we knew each other. I want to know who she is. There is just something….”

  Brad was silent for a long time.

  “Okay, she is a child psy
chologist. She deals mostly with kids who can’t cope, with life, with family with school, you know? She helps a lot of my divorce kids, and she is my best expert witness. She’s sweet, caring and gets on well with most people. She doesn’t date lawyers, at all.”

  “I see. So you have never tried?’

  “No. The first time I met her, I did kind of suggest it and she sweetly told me to remain professional for our mutual benefit. I guess I liked the way she handled me, and now, we just chat, or have a drink occasionally.”

  “Okay, fine, thanks. I will try that too. See you on Friday.”

  *****

  1Chapter 5

  Rebecca was tired. Friday was always a long day for her. Today, she had spent most of the morning dealing with one of her favourite patients, Carl Swain. He was a five-year-old boy who, because of the accidental death of his brother while horse-riding, had developed a sleeping disorder. She worried about this small, intense boy and had gone over with his parents to the fateful stables. It had been a trying morning and Carl was no closer to overcoming his anxiety about the horses. His parents had been disappointed and she had gone back to her office feeling a dismal sense of frustration. She looked at all her messages and tried to call back all, except one, Clayton. He had left many messages in the last two weeks, but she had never been able to call him back. She did not want to discuss her butterfly or anything with him.

  She looked at her diary and was further depressed at the prospect of spending the next hour in a partners’ meeting. The firm, made up of eight partners of psychologists, was starting to get unruly. Perhaps they should not have brought in the two new partners from the public hospital. They were proving to be exceptionally difficult and did not seem to understand the vision of the firm. They were fixated with their working hours and did not regard their patients as special. They simply treated each patient as an inconvenience. They also seemed to get into a lot of trouble with the administrative staff, who did not like their ‘superior’ attitude. There had been many arguments and fights in the last two months. They would invariably come to the meeting, argue about petty things, like who would do their photocopying, and make no meaningful contribution to their discussions. Perhaps she would raise her concerns about Carl to deflect them from arguing, and anyway, she needed help. That had been the reason for working from the same place, each of them bringing in specialist skills and knowledge. She had spent a few years in a single practice, but, given all the work she did in court, she had felt pressurised to bring in a partner. It had been her friend, Jessica, who specialized in educational therapy, who had suggested they get a team together. It had taken them two years to finally find appropriate partners and suitable premises. All six of them had enjoyed the support and friendship the firm provided. The introduction of the two new general psychologists had tipped the balance. This was aggravated by the fact that Tim did not seem to understand that he could not sexually harass the administrative staff. He seemed to think that they were all at his ‘pecker and call’ as her secretary, Denise often said.

  The meeting, however, had been less painful than she thought. Jessica had met with the two earlier in the week and seemed to have gotten through to them. She went back to her office to prepare the evidence she would be giving in a domestic violence case for one of Jonathan’s former colleagues.

  Denise had gone off on a lunch date with some young man who worked in the florist shop close by and Rebecca welcomed the silence in her suite. As much as she liked Denise, she was noisy and bustling when there were no patients. She seemed to move in and out of Rebecca’s office to stop herself from being bored. The rest of time she entertained herself with guessing what was ‘wrong’ with the patients. She would study them, their clothes, demeanour, and any other characteristics so that she could conclude that they suffered from some compulsive or obsessive disorder. She was never close to the truth, but her guessing kept everyone entertained.

  There was a light tap on the door and Tim popped his head in. “Your appointment is here. Your secretary does not seem to know what time your appointments are. She has gone to lunch. She has written nothing in the book. Shall I let him in?”

  Rebecca was puzzled because she had no appointment that afternoon. “I am sure you are mistaken. I have no appointments now. Perhaps Jessica or Ralph?”

  “No, Princess. It is only you that I seek.”

  There he was, looking dashing in a dark blue suit and smiling with those blue eyes.

  “Clayton!” She got up and he took this as an invitation to pass Tim and come in.

  “Thanks Tim. Clayton is a friend of a friend, not a patient. Please come in.”

  Her heart was beating fast at the sight of the blue eyes, watching her as she squeezed her hands together and tried to look comfortable. He seemed to fill the room, which was decorated with toys and teddy bears and rainbows on the wall. He took his eyes off her and looked around the room.

  “I decided that since you would not answer my calls, I would come see you. I was quite willing to be a patient.” He was smiling. “Perhaps I might need your services soon, according to Jono.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry about that. I have been very busy.”

  “Liar,” he said and looked right into her eyes.

  “Where is the infamous couch, where I can unburden all my deep, dark feelings to you?”

  “I work almost always with children and they sit down there. So if you wish, please feel free.” She pointed to the beanbags on the floor. He laughed and she simply looked at him.

  “What did you want to talk to me about?” She waved her arm to the ‘parent’ chairs.

  “I wanted to apologize for the inexcusable way I behaved at Jono’s house. It was totally unwarranted. I guess I was feeling tense.”

  “You do seem to make habit of accusing me of things. I find it rather disturbing.”

  “I know. I really want to make it up to you. What do you desire?”

  His eyes has become darker, a rich dark blue, but his face was still smiling.

  “Nothing. Thank you for coming over. Really, it is alright. It is not as if we are likely to meet again.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “We both have known Jono and Jackie, or rather Double J, a long time and we have never met. I can’t see why it would be different now. I don’t socialize with their legal friends. I find it tedious when they ask me all sorts of analyses about their clients.”

  She was trying to talk to disguise her nervousness. She did not like the fact that she did not feel in control right now. He was standing there, casual and comfortable, while her stomach was doing somersaults as he looked at her. It was just unacceptable.

  “I feel really bad about the way I behaved. Can’t I just take you to dinner or a long lunch? I promise I will accuse you of nothing.”

  He had tilted his head slightly, pleading, but not quite.

  “Okay, perhaps we can meet for lunch. When are you free?”

  He smiled in a slow easy way, like a Cheshire cat that got the cream. He had not expected her to say yes, she realized. Damn! I should have been sharper than that, she chided herself.

  “Now.”

  “What?”

  “Now, I am free now. So, let’s go for lunch.”

  “Well, but I have to be back...”

  “No, Denise told me that you are free this afternoon. Yes, don’t look so surprised. I phoned so many times for you, that Denise and I have become friends. She has been most helpful.”

  “Oh, I will deal with her later. Alright. Let’s go.”

  “We are going to Monet’s. Jono says you like it there.”

  “Have you got the whole world conspiring against me?”

  He threw back his head and laughed.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Rebecca was feeling a little frustrated. How could he be so calm when she felt out of control? He made her nervous and jumpy, while he calmly went about his business. She was also surprised how different he was to what she had expected. For one,
he drove a standard Dodge Calibre, a functional car. She had expected something more flashy and large. At the same time, he wore expensive tailor-made suits, which did not fit the image. Jonathan had told her that he was a famous constitutional lawyer and that was constantly offered money and status in large firms, but he had refused. He had also been sought for prestigious political appointments. He sounded like a good lefty, but he looked like a corporate lawyer. He was neat and precise, both in his appearance and his movements. When they got to Monet’s he was very charming and friendly, as if he went there often, but she was sure she would have remembered if she had seen him there. He chatted amicably with her, about the world and random things. He spoke a little about his work. Rebecca watched in total enthralment. He was handsome when he smiled. He was not mocking or teasing her today and she liked his relaxed manner.

  “Clayton, what is it about your work that makes you enjoy it?”

  He looked at her for a long moment, his blue eyes glowing.

  “It is about who I am, I suppose. I enjoy the challenge of beating big corporate firms when they try to bully ordinary people. I used to have a firm which only did that kind of work. I really enjoyed it there, but I eventually found that I had to work for the government to make real change. I love the fact that I protect the innocent from the bad. It sounds very simple, but that is exactly what it is. Also, I guess my ego enjoys the feeling of dependence and power I get when I help people. I enjoy it most of the time. Other times I am just too tired. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, of course. It makes perfect sense. You are very lucky to have the opportunity to do what you love. Most people never do. Most of our patients’ biggest problem is that they never seem to be able to do what they love. They simply go through the motions of living.”