My creative contribution to
Operation Author: 365 Actions to Becoming a Successful Author
this week is a short story that I first mentioned as an action back in October
2004 - In The Bronze Box, there is a scene (Chapter 7) where Sasha Blake first meets Tom Sheridan at a party for her friend Gregory Lepton.
I imagine that at this stage in her life, Sasha was battling various demons. Her beloved father had recently died and his loss bought her grief at losing the man she loved, Dr David Thornton, back to the surface.
She is on the verge of alcoholism and Gregory, concerned for her well-being, recommends a counsellor to her.
In this story,Sasha has been seeing Lucy for some time, but something changes for Sasha, she meets someone...
I Met Someone: Counselling Sasha Blake
“I met someone.”
“OK.
That’s good…I assume?” said Lucy.
Sasha
nodded, “It’s good…I think…” she rolled it around in her head for a moment.
She’d wanted to mention it to Lucy, but she wasn’t sure why. It felt like
progress or at the very least, change, and perhaps that was just as good.
She’d
been seeing Lucy for a while now, it helped, being able to talk things through,
even if it was expensive.
“When
you first came to me and we talked about your feelings of isolation, you said
you wanted to meet more people? So what do your mean, you think?” asked Lucy.
“I don’t
know,” she shrugged, “I’m worried that he seems too good to be true.”
“What
makes you say that?”
“Well,”
her eyes drifted to the window at Lucy’s side. It overlooked a sweet little
garden, filled with flowers and herbs, it was green and peaceful out there, “He
seems, you know, too perfect.”
“Are you
always so suspicious of new people in your life?” Lucy gave her a sidelong
glance.
Sasha
chuckled bitterly, “I suppose I am.”
“So this
man, tell me about him?”
“He’s
good looking. The tall dark and handsome sort. He used to be in the army, and
he still works out, he’s fit. Looks really good in a suit, even better with
nothing on at all!” She could hear the brightness in her own voice as she said
it, and felt foolish for a moment. Lucy picked up on it and threw her a small
smile.
“It’s
OK, Sasha, you don’t need to be embarrassed,” they laughed a little.
Their
conversations had never gone down this path before. She’d talked to Lucy about David,
but never feeling physically attracted to him.
It was
losing David and then shortly after, her father, that sent Sasha into a
downward spiral of drinking and self-destruction. The path that bought her to
Lucy, years after their deaths, talking to a counsellor who operated out of an
extension on the back of her Peckham Victorian terraced house.
The
appointments had started with addressing her increasing dependence on alcohol
and gradually moved into the suppressed feelings of grief and abandonment that
had led her there.
The
residual smile on Lucy’s face that followed the laughter faded “This mystery
man,” she said, “Does he remind you of David?”
Sasha
was taken aback by the question. She’d never made such comparisons, not
consciously. She considered it for moment, her gaze falling on the swaying
greenery outside once more, low sunlight picking out the shapes of the moist
leaves.
“In some
ways, I suppose so. David was also older, and he too had a cockiness about him.
But physically, not so much. David was always a bit bookish, he had a quiet
kind of charisma, whereas Tom is, I don’t know, he’s more… macho I guess.”
“Macho?”
Lucy raised an eyebrow.
Sasha
sniggered, “Sorry. I’m a bloody scientist and the best I can come up with to
describe him is macho. How pathetic is that? I’m not even sure that’s the right
word. He’s not some muscular brute or anything, he’s not Sylvester Stalone.
He’s just…” she played a few words back in her head, “Solid. Masculine. He’s a
bit rough around the edges I guess.”
“It’s not
pathetic at all. You’re attracted to him in a different way to the way you
loved David. But it’s curious that you make some comparisons. Cockiness is an
interesting word. What do you mean by that?”
“I
suppose I like men who are self-assured. A bit of arrogance is attractive. Not
too much, I don’t want to be in the shadow of some raging narcissist, but men
who instil a sense of confidence.”
“Men who
make you feel safe, perhaps?”
“Exactly!
Now that does sound pathetic.”
“Not at
all. It doesn’t make you any less of a strong independent woman,” Lucy flashed
a small smile. “You’re not expected to save the world and certainly not on your
own. It’s OK to want to be with a man who makes you feel safe and secure. That
doesn’t make you weak or pathetic, it just makes you human.”
“Hmm,”
Sasha gave a considered nod, “Thanks. I feel better for that. I was feeling
like I was somehow pandering to gender stereotypes by admitting that.”
“Not at
all. So tell me more about this man, Tom, did you call him?”
“That’s
right, Tom Sheridan.”
“How did
you meet him?”
“At a
party.”
“A
party?” Lucy’s tone tripped up, “You were at a party?”
She
nodded.
“That’s
real progress, Sasha, that must have taken a lot of courage for you?”
“I
guess,” she shrugged.
It had,
she’d been terrified, the very idea of being at a flashy party at The British
Museum would have freaked her out just a few years ago, but there was also
something exciting about the escapism of pretending to be one of the elite for
the evening, to be able to hob nob with the rich and famous. She usually hated,
noisy, pretentious social gatherings, but she’d done this for her friend Gregory
and told herself that she could pretend to be someone else for the evening, to
put on an expensive dress and leave geeky Sasha Blake behind for one night
only. Gregory had talked it up too, made her all sorts of promises about
hooking her up with one of his rich arty friends. That hadn’t happened, but
something more extraordinary had.
“Even
so, at the risk of sounding patronising,” said Lucy, her eyes turning
downwards, “good for you. That took a lot of guts to put yourself out there
like that, I know that couldn’t have been easy for you. I’m confident you’ve
made some great progress from these sessions.”
Sasha
shrugged again. She didn’t want to make such a big deal out of it. If she
thought about it, she supposed that it was noteworthy, she’d overcome her fear
of intimidating social situations, it was something that had held her back in
her career for some time. She had always been happier in the background,
piecing together puzzles and identifying patterns. David had encouraged her to
be more confident in her abilities as a scientist and to promote her ideas
more, if for no other reason than to help him with bids for future funding - she’d
never been comfortable with it.
“So
you’ve talked about how you are physically attracted to Tom, but what else
makes him seem too perfect?”
“He has
an interest in archaeology, an understated intellect. Just things he’s said,
opinions he’s shared, he knows a lot about antiquities but he’s not obvious
about it,” she said, “He’s interested, you know, in me, and the work I do. Most
men I meet find it intimidating that I’m a doctor of archaeology; he seems to
find it attractive. I’ve never come across that before, except with David, but
that was different.”
“Why was
it different with David?” said Lucy.
“Well
you know I worked with David. He was my mentor. Archaeology was what brought us
together. It seems a bit random to meet this beautiful man who shares my
passion for history, at a party, just like that - it’s too convenient.”
“Plenty
of people meet their partners at random. Some would call it fate.”
“I don’t
believe in fate and I don’t believe in coincidences, my father taught me that.”
“Your
father? He was a historian wasn’t he?”
“He was,
he taught history at the local comprehensive.”
“Was it
him that influenced your decision to become an archaeologist?”
“He encouraged
me in everything I did.”
She
reached for a glass of water from the coffee table between them and cradled it,
enjoying the coolness on her hot hands.
“He used
to take me to museums and historic sites and tell me stories about the people
who’d been there, what they’d done and how they’d changed the world, it always
fascinated me.”
“You’re
smiling when you talk about him.”
“Who, my
father? Or, Tom?”
“Both,”
said Lucy, “When you lost your father it was tough for you. We talked a lot
about that sense of isolation you felt at losing him, that you had no one left
in your life to care about or who cared about you.”
“Of
course,” she screwed her nose up, thinking what a ridiculous statement that was
to make. Then she realised Lucy was saying it to keep the conversation thread
open, she wanted to know more about her father, she must have thought it was significant,
something that Sasha needed to talk about more. “It’s tough for everyone when
their last remaining parent dies.”
“And your
dad always made you feel safe? Loved and accepted?”
Sasha
smiled to herself, she could see where the comparison was going, “Is this some
Freudian nonsense about how Tom and every other man I meet will never be good
enough because they can’t measure up to my father?”
“You
wouldn’t be the first woman to feel that way.”
She
considered it for a moment, sipped her water, “I don’t know. Maybe there is an
element of that to it. My mother died when I was young, my father was always
there for me. I guess what he represented is important – as you say, feeling loved and accepted. A
sense of belonging. Loyalty and security.”
“Those
are important qualities, and not a bad set of criteria by which to measure the
people in your life,” said Lucy, tucking a clump of shaggy dark hair behind her
ear, her small silver earrings glinting. “I’d like to hear more about Tom. Do
you look to him to give you some stability?”
Sasha crumpled
her face as she thought about it.
“The nature
of my work is fluid, I can’t rely on it for any stability. I go where I’m
needed and I need to get there quickly. I can’t clutter my life with lots of
responsibilities and commitments, what happens if I’m called on and I have to
dash off at moment’s notice?”
“You
sound weary when you say that. Does it make you weary? Do you sometimes feel
like you need to settle down?”
She
shrugged, sipped at her water and looked around the room. It was sparse,
nothing personal in there, all cream colours and vanilla air freshener. She
imagined that was deliberate. She’d never seen the rest of Lucy’s house, all
Lucy’s clients came in through a separate entrance. She’d often wondered what
the rest of the house looked like.
It was a
strange sort of relationship, paying a counsellor like this. In many ways, she
felt close to Lucy. Lucy knew more about her than she’d ever told anyone. Sasha
had always kept to herself, it was safer that way. If she didn’t get involved
with people she couldn’t get hurt. Yet, she respected the client patient
relationship – Lucy
wasn’t her friend, and that was important. Friends would judge, Lucy’s job was
simply to listen and support, that’s what she paid her £75 an hour for. Still,
she couldn’t help but be curious. It was in her nature. Although she kept
herself apart from most people, she was still fascinated by their lives,
especially those of people long forgotten. Putting together the pieces of their
puzzles and revealing their stories was why she’d become an archaeologist.
“Sasha?”
Lucy leaned forward and tried to capture her eyes. She snapped out of her
reverie and let out a small laugh.
“Sorry,
I was thinking about your question,” she said, “I guess I do sometimes think
about settling into a routine, or a relationship, you know, like normal people
do. I’m in my 30’s now, my biological clock is ticking.”
“Do you
want to have a family?”
It had
been a long time since anyone had asked her that, and a long time since she’d
thought about it.
“I don’t
know,” she said. That was the most honest answer she could give.
“And
what about Tom? Have the two of you ever talked about a future together?”
She let
out a high-pitched laugh. It seemed to have come from her subconscious, like
someone else was laughing at her from an unseen point in the room.
“I’m not
sure we’ll last that long, if I’m honest.”
 |
| Tom Sheridan |
“What
makes you say that?”
“It’s as
if he’s keeping secrets from me. I’m even starting to ask myself if he’s seeing
someone else.”
“What do
you mean?”
“He goes
off for days on end, with no real explanation other than ‘its business’. When
he’s away he rarely contacts me and when he does he seems cold, somehow. I feel
like an afterthought.”
“How
long have you been seeing each other?”
“A few
weeks.”
“What
does he do for a living?”
“Something
to do with security, but he won’t talk about it.” She could hear the
frustration in her voice as she said it.
“And do
you feel close when you are together?”
“We
spend a lot of time in bed, if that’s what you mean,” she grinned at Lucy,
enjoying the thought of his hands on her body.
“It
wasn’t what I meant,” Lucy smiled back and raised her eyebrows, “But a healthy
sex life is no bad thing. In all seriousness, other than the obvious physical
attraction, how does he make you feel when you’re with him?”
“He
rarely expresses his feelings, I’ve learned to read what he’s thinking and
feeling in his eyes. His eyes are always honest.”
“And
what do you see there?”
Her eyes
drifted closed for a moment and she pictured his eyes, thinking back to the
last time she’d seen him, a few days ago.
“Admiration,”
she said, paused and considered some other words, “Contentment.”
“It
sounds as though he feels comfortable around you, that he cares about you and
trusts you. Do you feel the same way about him?”
She
tossed the question around in her head for a moment, searching for a response.
“I care
about him, but it scares me,” she said.
“What
scares you?”
“Feeling
this way. Putting so much faith in one person. I don’t want to feel this way.”
“In
love? It sounds like you’re saying you don’t want to be in love with someone?
That you don’t want to fall for Tom, a man you think will ultimately let you
down and hurt you.”
Lucy’s
brows knitted together as she said it.
Seeing
the reaction made Sasha feel heavy, she’d said so much now, she may as well
keep going, but talking about it was like urging a sickness from deep inside.
Something hard was coiling itself through her body, pulling and squeezing.
“The
last time I thought I was in love, he used me and the spectre is still there,”
she said. A fist of something somewhere between anger and grief balling in her
throat.
“Are you
talking about David?”
Her head
felt stiff and weighty as she nodded, “They say history has a way of repeating
itself,” she said, “and it’s true. The historic record is littered with
evidence of it. I’m not going to be a victim. Not again.”
“Is that
how you feel? Like a victim?”
“Not
yet. But I see it coming. Tom will take what he wants and move on, that’s the
pattern. I’ve fallen for it once, I’m sure I’ll fall for it again, but not
yet.”
“That’s
a very cynical view point.” Lucy was looking at her through narrowed eyes now,
“what about talking a chance? What about trusting your heart? And trusting
him?” she sounded sympathetic as she said it, like she pitied her scepticism.
She
hated the idea of Lucy, or anyone else’s pity. She consciously hardened her
tone, tried to keep the emotion from it.
“It’s
too risky,” she said, “I’m not prepared for that.”
“To
trust yourself? Or him?” said Lucy.
“Both.”
Lucy
sighed and sat back in her chair. “I can’t tell you what to do,” she said, “and
it’s not my business to. But think carefully before you make any decisions and
isolate yourself.” A small smile flickered across her face and her posture
loosened. “Ultimately, my job is to help you to find what makes you happy. How
you do it and what makes you happy are your choice, but for what it’s worth,
when you’ve talked to me about Tom today, you’ve seemed happier that I’ve ever
seen you.”
Sasha
let the words sink in and they filled her with warmth.
“Thanks.
I feel more at ease about it. Have I been over thinking things?”
“Is that
what you think?”
She
shrugged, “probably,” she chuckled. Sasha relaxed back in the chair and smiled
at Lucy. “I feel like I’ve made progress today,” she said, "Thank you."
Intrigued about Sasha Blake and Tom Sheridan?
Books 1 & 2 of the Sheridan and Blake Adventures, out now on Amazon
