The Polly Principle by Davina Stone
Chapter 16
Solo looked down at the hand on his arm. Neatly manicured nails on slim fingers, so damn pretty, so damned good at eliciting an immediate response from his body.
And now she was asking for a completely different one.
She was offering to listen. This was the side to Polly he’d glimpsed on the ward, a woman who displayed a huge heart and the most generous listening ear.
“Yes,” he said. “Actually, it would be good to talk.” He glanced around the brightly lit jam-packed restaurant. “Maybe we should finish up here and go somewhere quieter for a drink.”
The green eyes that met his were serious. “Okay.”
“For now, let’s discuss tomorrow’s PTSD group.”
“Sure.” She dimpled. He loved that puckish little smile, so full of mischief. “Let’s get one thing straight, though,” she said. “It’s my turn to bring the Tim Tams…”
Half an hour later, neither of them had finished their meal—maybe Polly because of her food hang-up, and him, because he’d lost his appetite with the Drew stuff hanging over him—but at least they’d sorted out the PTSD group. Polly was planning a discussion on trust, and they’d agreed that they would allow feedback on medication issues for half an hour.
As they split the bill, he realised how tight the knot had been in his stomach for months. Would talking to Polly untie it? Or would opening up to her add a whole heap more complications?
They walked onto the busy street and Polly said, “There’s a really great wine bar five minutes’ walk from here, it’s low-key. I go there when I want a quiet chat with colleagues.”
“You and quiet in the same sentence?”
She smiled. “It happens. Probably a lot more than I let on.”
When they’d both got a glass of wine, they sat down at a table in a secluded corner and Solo got the sense Polly was just letting him settle.
He had the ridiculous urge to take her hand in his, thread his fingers through hers. If she was his girlfriend… Eghhh… just forget it…
He drew in a deep breath. “Have you heard of a guy called Drew Faulkner?”
She narrowed her eyes as if in thought, then a look of comprehension dawned. “The soldier from Afghanistan who saved that convoy from a suicide bomber?”
“Yep. The very one.”
“Oh my god. He left the army after that, though, didn’t he? Wasn’t he on Survivor a couple of seasons back?”
“Yep.”
“And…” She screwed up her nose as if trying to remember. “He got all that flack from the media for exploiting his fame, and then, shit, he attempted suicide not long ago, right?” Her hand flew up to her mouth. “Oh, Jesus Christ, is he the guy in the photo with you in your wallet?”
Of course she’d remember the story. Events like that stuck in mental health workers’ minds. Potential suicides—those were the things that stopped you sleeping at night. Praying that you were never the one on watch when some poor soul slipped through the net.
Except, thank god, Drew’s attempt hadn’t succeeded.
Polly’s eyes were growing wider and wider as he saw her piecing the threads together. “He tried to jump off the Gap, like, six weeks ago, didn’t he?” she said. “And some guy—a doctor—stopped him… that—that was you? The doctor who stopped him?”
He nodded,
“Fuck!”
“He was very unwell,” Solo explained. “And he’s been hospitalised ever since.”
“What happened?”
“Oh, Christ, where do I start?” Solo flexed his fingers in his lap.
“Maybe at the beginning?”
“Huh, how long have you got?”
“As long as you need.” She gave a crooked smile. “No charge.”
He gave a tiny push with his shoulder into hers, felt the pressure back. Somehow, that little gesture helped the words to flow.
“Drew came to live with us when I was nine and he was ten. His mum worked on and off for my nan and pop, in lambing season and helping with odd jobs. Most years she’d turn up. She was pretty itinerant, but her kid and I hit it off. Then, one year they came—they used to stay in a cottage down the end of the paddock—but after a couple of days she just disappeared, leaving Drew alone. I was too young to really understand it, but I gather she went off to be with some guy in Sydney. He was a drug dealer and she was a pretty heavy user herself.”
He heard Polly inhale sharply. “After a fair bit of toing and froing with his mum and the authorities, Drew lived with us full-time. Nan and Pop became his foster parents. So then they had both of us.” He smiled at her sadly. “We were close before, but after Drew’s mum left, I guess we became like brothers. We did everything together. And Nan and Pop let us have pretty much free rein. We went to different schools but we’d spend our holidays together. I guess Drew brought me out of my shell, taught me to be more adventurous, daring.” He laughed ruefully. “I was a bit of a boffin, into reading and science. He was the one who taught me how to ride a motorbike.”
“He didn’t manage to cure you of your blood phobia, though?”
“No. That had to wait for Professor Crayshaw.”
“Did you teach him to knit?”
Solo grinned. “Funnily enough, knitting wasn’t Drew’s thing. He used to give me serious flack for that, not that it ever stopped me. I knitted him a beanie as an act of revenge before he left for Afghanistan.” He paused. “So, anyway, I went to medical school. And Drew went into the army. It was all he ever wanted. His dad had been in the SAS. Killed in a routine exercise that went wrong, as I understand it. I think Drew felt he had to prove himself. For his mum.”
“Is she still in his life?”
Solo shook his head. “No. She died of a drug overdose when Drew was fifteen. That hit him real hard. But anyway, he was determined and got into the SAS, saw service in Afghanistan. We stayed close during that time, got together whenever he was home.” He took a sip of his wine. “Anyway, you know what happened with the convoy of trucks. How he dragged the driver and two other soldiers to safety. He came back a hero, but that just papered over the cracks that were forming. After a while I sensed he wasn’t doing great. When he decided it was time to go back to being a civilian, I encouraged that. For a while, as you know, he was flying high. Everyone’s darling. He was great with the media and that’s when the reality TV roles started rolling in.”
“Wasn’t he touted to be the next Bachelor?”
Solo smiled grimly. He didn’t need to go into what had brought that to a halt.
“Winning Survivor made him plenty of dough, gave him the glamour status. But he couldn’t keep up the façade. Behind it, his life was turning pear-shaped. When he admitted to me he was taking a cocktail of cocaine and amphetamines, I wasn’t surprised. He’d changed. His behaviour was unpredictable. I helped organise a place at a private clinic. Kept everything away from the media. He didn’t take it up. Pretended he was okay, that he’d got off it all himself. I didn’t believe him, but I couldn’t force him into treatment either.”
Polly made a noise, like she understood. Despite the fact he barely knew her, she was the only person he could imagine confiding all this in. Even so, he couldn’t tell her all of it. The stuff with Emma. Some things were too hard to speak out loud.
He tightened his lips. “So he kept hiding his shit from the world, and that’s when he got a contract with Channel Ten for The Bachelor. But by then, his drug use was seriously escalating. And then, when Pop died suddenly of a heart attack, BAM. I think Pop was the last thread that held Drew onto reality. He lost it completely after that. That’s when the psychosis set in. After Pop’s funeral he turned up at my apartment, ranting and raving, and I knew then things were really bad. I tried to stop him getting in his car, but the drugs made him potentially violent. The only thing I could do was follow him and call 000. I got to him as he reached the Gap. I had to talk him down until the police got there.”
“Jesus, Solo, you put your own safety at risk.”
“I wasn’t thinking about my safety at that moment.”
Polly shook her head. “I remember the footage, with the police cars and ambulances on standby… You were there too!”
“Yes, though I managed to keep my face out of view. I didn’t need to be known as the guy who saved Drew Faulkner from killing himself.”
“Oh, that’s horrible. No wonder you got on your motorbike and rode off into the never-never.”
“Yeah, it was a pretty good incentive to get the hell out of there. The thing is, I would probably never have left except Drew started to send all those texts. He was out of his mind, furious that I stopped him from killing himself. I didn’t blame him, but I knew with Pop dying and now this, I had to let other professionals treat Drew. Disappear for a while.”
“You did the right thing,” Polly said. Her eyes were soft, almost mossy, and her hand came back and squeezed his arm. He liked it there, wished she’d keep it there. He touched her fingers lightly, and she intertwined hers with his.
It was so tender his heart lurched and sputtered in his chest.
“There’s something else, isn’t there?”
Her eyes were lasering into him, and he had to look away quickly so she wouldn’t see, that yes, there was more; more hurt, more betrayal.
“No,” he lied. “That’s the only reason I’m here. I’ve heard Drew’s responding to treatment. The messages have stopped. But I don’t want to risk contacting him. Not yet.”
“You have been the best friend he could ever wish for. Someday he’ll realise that. Do you think you’ll be able to mend the rift?”
Tentatively he stroked her fingers. How soft they were. “I don’t know. But I hope so.”
“And you’ll go back to Sydney, after this locum job is over?”
Solo heard himself laugh, a hollow sound. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’m not sure if I’ll be ready to return to Sydney. But I have to put Nan and Pop’s farm up for sale at some stage; there’s a manager in there at the moment.”
“You could become a rural GP.”
He shook his head. “I’ve toyed with the idea of hiding out in the bush. But I’ve got ambitions. I’d like to get into neuropsychiatry and I can’t imagine my options to do that would be great in a country town.”
“Maybe not.”
They sat, and she slowly removed her hand. He wanted to grab it back. Wanted to tell her that despite only knowing her for a ridiculously short space of time, she’d somehow buried herself in his heart.
Did she feel the same? Somehow his logical brain doubted it.
“That’s some confession, Dr J,” she said after a moment. “No wonder you were keen to let the PTSD group know their options.”
“Yeah, I let my own stuff take over there a bit.”
“I doubt if a support group would have been enough to help Drew,” she replied thoughtfully. “I’ve been working in mental health long enough to know that sometimes a person needs hospital and meds first to relieve the worst symptoms.”
“What worries me about Drew is how much early trauma there was in his life,” Solo said. “You know, he was this amazing star beaming through the sky, but sooner or later, with that amount of adulation, he was always going to burn up. He had this side to him you could never touch, never reach; a side that made him take risks when he shouldn’t. A darkness. It was eating away underneath that great big smile, the bravado and military swagger. I saw it. But I don’t think anyone else did, not even Nan and Pops.” He shook his head. “I’m so glad Pops didn’t see Drew at his worst. It would have broken him.”
He drained his glass. “Anyway, I’ve talked enough about my shit. Maybe I should let you go.”
“Maybe.” She smiled and glanced at her watch. For another moment neither of them moved. The air prickled.
What he would give to bury himself in her beautiful body again tonight. But then, he sensed the rules of the game would change, and he wasn’t sure Polly was ready for that. Talking had been good, but it had also brought up all the rawness of the past months.
If Polly rejected him now, then where in hell’s name would he go from here? A wave of loneliness engulfed him, and if he hadn’t been sitting down, Solo was sure it would have knocked him right off his feet.
“I really better go,” he said.
He hadn’t meant it so abruptly. It was a defence mechanism. She should know all about them, she had enough of her own.
Obviously not, because he felt her stiffen next to him. Her features drew into a polite, tight mask.
“I’ve an early start tomorrow,” he explained, feeling lame. But he had to protect himself, glue all the bits back into place that were at risk of falling apart. “Pritchard wants me to review a couple of patients with him first thing.”
“Of course.” She bent and picked up her bag. Their evening of intimacy almost felt like it had never happened; it had been a heavy discussion for both of them. Now maybe it was time to beat a retreat. He reminded himself that he didn’t know her, not really, but he appreciated the moments of bright sunshine she’d brought into his life.
“Thanks for listening,” he said. “Where’s your car? I’ll walk you there.”
She laughed. “You sound like Carts with Judith.”
It was a relief to have something else to focus on as they walked. “Does Carts know Judith’s split with her man?”
“God, no, don’t mention it, he’ll be over with flowers and chocolates before you can blink.”
“Maybe that’s exactly what she needs.”
“What Judith needs is a period of mourning. She was with the guy twelve years.”
“That’s hard.”
“How about you?” Her voice was feather-light. “Did you leave someone special behind in Sydney?”
He said quickly, “Nope. No-one special.”
They walked in silence for a minute. Suddenly he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “And you—no-one special in the past?”
“Nope.”
Subject closed.
Solo stifled a sigh. Face it. She was a firecracker in bed, a great listener, but she wasn’t interested in anything more. And she wasn’t going to share her reasons.
Suck it up, Solo, mate.
So when he reached her car, and she leaned her back against it and looked up at him with that glint of invitation in the depths of the green, he gritted his teeth and kissed her on the cheek. Tried to block out the seductive scent of her perfume.
“Thanks for listening,” he said, barely able to take the sudden shuttering in her eyes. Knowing that if she was disappointed they hadn’t ended up in bed, he was a thousand times more so.
He just couldn’t face any more rejections right now. And sooner rather than later, he was sure there would be one.
“See you at work tomorrow.”
“Yep,” she said tightly. “See you at the salt mines.”
He didn’t dare look at her face again, just turned on his heels and walked away.