Back Dog Days
Chapters (68)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Dedication
  4. Prelude
  5. George
  6. Dan
  7. Lizzie
  8. George
  9. Dan
  10. Lizzie
  11. George
  12. Dan
  13. Lizzie
  14. George
  15. Dan
  16. Lizzie
  17. George
  18. Dan
  19. Lizzie
  20. George
  21. Dan
  22. Lizzie
  23. George
  24. Dan
  25. Lizzie
  26. George
  27. Dan
  28. Lizzie
  29. George
  30. Dan
  31. Lizzie
  32. George
  33. Dan
  34. George
  35. Dan
  36. Lizzie
  37. George
  38. Dan
  39. Lizzie
  40. George
  41. Dan
  42. Lizzie
  43. Dan
  44. George
  45. Dan
  46. Lizzie
  47. Dan
  48. Lizzie
  49. George
  50. Lizzie
  51. George
  52. Dan
  53. Lizzie
  54. George
  55. Dan
  56. Lizzie
  57. George
  58. Dan
  59. Lizzie
  60. George
  61. Dan
  62. Lizzie
  63. George
  64. Dan
  65. Beth
  66. Postscript
  67. Acknowledgements
  68. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

Dan makes a note to phone her and tell her she needs to reinforce the messages being discussed in their sessions. The old Dan would have run down the stairs, caught up with the girl at the door and made eye-contact with her. He would have told her she was doing really well and deserved happiness. He’d have pressed an acorn from the stash he keeps inside an old marbles bag into her hand and said, ‘Remember. Before the acorn can bring forth the oak, it must itself become a wreck.’

Dan has photos of saplings in pots on windowsills. They live in houses belonging to people he will never see again. He doesn’t need to. He can see they’re growing just fine without him.

Where is that Dan now? This version of him feels made up of the Seven Deadly Sins.

The phone finally pings at twelve thirty, as Dan is looking at his sandwich and thinking he’s never felt less hungry. He tries not to lunge across the desk to reach it.

ATTICUS: I climbed up the door. And opened the stairs. I said my pyjamas. And put on my pray’rs. I turned off the bed. And crawled into the light. And all because you kissed me goodnight. Xxx

Dan has to google the lyrics, and in the break between his afternoon patients, he puts his feet up on the sofa and listens to Doris Day crooning at him that ‘’twas midnight and yet, the sun was shining bright, and all because you kissed me last night’.

Dan’s afternoon flies by and he’s soaring. He finally manages to convince a long-standing patient who needs citalopram, not counselling, to go to the doctor. ‘You deserve a better life. You deserve not to carry this anxiety around with you. You deserve to arrive in St Pancras station and see nothing but the best bits, not spend your time frantically searching for escape routes. I want you to stand next to the piano as someone plays and listen to them while you miss your train.’

What a speech, Dan! He’s so buoyed up when she leaves, tears in her eyes, that he calls the mother of his last patient and gives her a list of books to order and tells her to make sure her daughter attends the next session, along with his personal phone number, which is entirely against the rules.