BooksBarbecue
Back Again, Rachel
Chapters (98)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. 82
  86. 83
  87. 84
  88. 85
  89. 86
  90. 87
  91. 88
  92. 89
  93. 90
  94. 91
  95. 92
  96. 93
  97. 94
  98. Acknowledgements

‘You’ll be alone,’ Dr Solomon added. But there was a wry turn to her tone that made me wonder if she’d alarmed poor Luke on purpose.

As he stood, Dr Solomon gave him a good, long look. ‘I’m not saying you’ll have motility issues. However, in that eventuality, you should know that tight jeans are frequently a contra-indication.’

And on that note, Tomaka took him away.

Fifteen or twenty minutes later, we were reunited in reception. Luke—clearly mortified—kept his eyes downcast. In the elevator that returned us to ground level, he remained silent. Only once we were out of the building and onto the teeming streets of midtown did it feel okay to speak.

‘Luke? Was it…bad?’ I asked. ‘Magazines with the pages stuck together?’

‘What?’ He seemed startled. ‘No, babe.’ He slung his arm around my neck and pulled me closer, out of the path of the crowds. ‘No.’ Our foreheads touching, his dark eyes held mine. ‘There was no need for any of that. I just thought about you.’

6

As soon as I woke up, I heard in my head, You need to go to the funeral.

Well! I thought. You took your time!

Yeah. Lol.

So there we were. Whether I liked it or not, I was going to the funeral.

Then I went to work.

‘Giles had a bad night,’ Hector said at the morning meeting. ‘Overwhelmed with guilt. Crying non-stop.’

Ted looked at me. ‘You want a session with him? Murdo, you’re available to cover group?’

Murdo nodded.

‘And sorry for the short notice,’ I said. ‘But, Murdo, can you cover tomorrow morning too? I’ve a funeral to go to. Ex-mother-in-law.’

‘The ex?’ Murdo exclaimed.

‘You sure this is a good idea?’ Ted said. ‘Will the ex be there?’

I almost laughed. ‘Ted. It’s his mother. Anyway, I’ll be back in time for afternoon group.’

‘Grand. And your new client arrives tomorrow morning,’ he said. ‘Priya will email the file.’

I went to find Giles and, in the corridor, passed Dennis who was huddled with Roxy, deep in chat. God only knew what Dennis wanted with her, but certainly not advice on recovery, from the wheeler-dealery energy he was giving off. More like he was trying to sell her a septic tank (‘one careful owner’) or doing his best to buy a roller disco at a knockdown price…

He spotted me and an expression of theatrical fear crossed his face. ‘Jez, there’s Rachel,’ he declared. ‘I’m quaking in me boots!’

(Said boots were cut-off wellingtons, which the bottoms of his exhausted trousers were tucked into. Dennis, though a townie, was the kind of can-do operator who’d happily jump in to help with some emergency lambing, if he thought it would drum up a couple of votes in the local elections.)

‘Morning, Dennis, Roxy.’ I tried to sound lofty.