Page 12 of Conflict

“What’s wrong, do all these men you have breakfast with not have an appetite?”

CHAPTER 16

JAMIE

Sitting in the therapist’s waiting room is not my idea of fun, but the army insisted on a few sessions to try and get on top of the PTSD. I’ve decided to go with the NHS therapist from the hospital instead though. I’ve convinced Mum and Scarlett I didn’t need a chaperone but I did agree to meet Scarlett after the appointment. I hopped on the train into town to get here by myself which had been a bit of challenge, but one I knew I had to do. I stood by the exit door the entire thirty-minute journey, my heart racing with every minute I was on there. Making sure I knew where my exits are is a big thing for me now. That and being able to see any possible assailants. I’d made it in one piece though, despite my heart rate going through the roof.

The longer I sit here the more I just want to bolt out the door. Sweat patches are starting to show under the arms of my T shirt, my left leg is doing that nervous bounce and I’m powerless to stop it. The clock on the wall ticks loudly as the second-hand sweeps past the numbers. I’ve been here fifteen minutes waiting for my appointment with the therapist. In that time, I’ve gone from being calm and collected to now wondering what the hell I’m doing here. I’ve run my hands through my hair once toooften, I’m sure it’s currently sticking out at right angles to my head. The thick dark mop is inherited from my father, as is my large frame, according to my mother. I couldn’t look any less like my mother who at just over five feet is petite and blonde. Although I’m told I have her smile.

If the therapist doesn’t hurry up, I’m in danger of running out the door. Although attending these appointments is part of the process in order for me to leave the army. I argued I didn’t need counselling but the powers that be decided otherwise. All this waiting around is getting to me, and the receptionist keeps giving me the eye. I can’t decide if she’s flirting with me or whether I’m pissing her off with my nervousness.

I pull my phone from my pocket, and unlock the screen to scroll through the pictures again. There are loads of me and Tom together, both at base and back home. The last few weeks since he died, I’ve studied them daily, wishing there was something I could do to turn back the clock.

I’ve moved to stand in front of the window now, my arms reach up to grasp the frame above, stretching out my ribcage and allowing me to draw breath properly. It’s suddenly very hot in here and I rest my forehead against the cooling pane of glass, taking comfort from the cold rush it sends through me.

“Corporal Kasper?” My head swings around, my body automatically stands to attention when I hear my name called. Years of training drilled into me. “Sorry to have kept you waiting so long. Please, come in.” The therapist indicates to the now open doorway allowing me to enter. “Take a seat, Corporal.” The room isn’t at all clinical in appearance as I’d presumed it would be. There’s just two big armchairs and a coffee table. There’s a notepad and pen on the table along with a box of tissues and a jug of water.

The therapist isn’t anything like I expected. I envisaged some hot bird with her tits on show and her glasses perched on theend of her nose – yeah maybe I’ve watched one too many porno movies. No, this guy must be in his late sixties with a grey beard and a nasty tweed jacket and dress pants. “I’m Dr Munroe, but most of my patients prefer to call me Peter.” His hand is outstretched waiting for me to shake which I do, firmly.

“Sir,”

“None of that in here, Corporal. Or can I call you Jamie?” His eyebrow is raised quizzically as he awaits confirmation.

I know he’s just trying to put me at ease but it feels weird. Hardly anyone calls me Jamie. I’m either Spooky or Kasper, or some connotation of either. “Jamie or Jay is fine.”

He nods his appreciation before continuing. “Okay, Jamie, let’s just set a few rules; nothing discussed in here will be disclosed outside this room unless I feel you or someone around you is at risk. At the end of all our sessions, I will prepare a report for your Staff Sergeant which will no doubt be shared with your Sergeant Major and kept on file, but you will get a copy of that final report and any correspondence relating to our meetings. The report will only cover my findings on your mental health. It will set out any treatment plans or recommendations I feel are suitable or necessary for your recovery but this will only be after we have discussed it privately.” The old guy studies me, waiting for a response. When I don’t offer one. he continues. “If you don’t have any questions, then maybe we should just get started, yes?”

My head nods involuntarily, it’s only when I try to speak, I realise that my mouth is parched and my lips are stuck to my teeth. Talking about my feelings doesn’t come easy. I’m a ‘man-up’ kinda guy but I have a sneaky suspicion that attitude isn’t going to fly in here. Six sessions Sergeant Keldy said I had to attend in order for them to facilitate my discharge. Just six. I can bluff my way through six hours, surely. Reaching forward, I pour myself a hefty glass of the iced water that’s on offer. Taking alarge glug rehydrates my mouth and liberates my lips from their stuck position.

Dr Munroe addresses me again. “So, what would you like to accomplish from our sessions, Jamie?” His hands are folded neatly in his lap as he waits for me to respond.

I have no clue what to expect from these encounters, this wasn’t my idea. “I’m not really sure, Sergeant Keldy thought it’d be good for me to talk through what happened to Tom, and why I thought it a good idea to down a shit load of alcohol and pills, landing myself in night in hospital.” My shoulder raises on a shrug. “Maybe allow myself a time to process everything and deal with his death.” It’s all I’ve got.

The therapists face remains neutral, not giving anything away. “How are you dealing with his death? Tom died in a landmine explosion, am I right?” Dr Munroe is sitting with his legs crossed adjacent to me. His hands remain folded in his lap as he waits for me to continue.

My tongue darts out to wet my lips again. “Yeah, I was in the truck behind his, I should’ve been in his truck but I was wasting time on the phone to my mum,” It’s blunt and to the point. I don’t want to describe the scene to anyone, trust me that’s something you do not want to have an image of. Dr Munroe just nods and waits for me to continue. “It wasn’t pretty. There wasn’t anything I could do.”

He reaches forward and makes a note on his pad before he returns his attention back to me. “How does that make you feel? When you say there wasn’t anything you could do, what do you mean?”

How does he think it makes me feel? I hate this psychoanalysis crap. “Guilty. I feel shit and responsible. I couldn’t do anything because his body was in pieces, scattered across the makeshift road.” The image of Tom dead flashes through my mind’s eye and halts me for a second. “If I’d notphoned home, I would have been in the first truck with him, I don’t know…”

“Don’t you think that he would be glad you weren’t with him, and that he’d be elated that you’re still alive and well?” Dr Munroe jots something else down on his notepad which I’m not privy to.

My shoulder lifts on a shrug. “Probably.” It’s a sobering thought but he’s right, and I can’t change the past.

The rest of the hour-long session goes by in pretty much of a blur of me going over old ground and Dr Munroe listening and nodding in all the right places. How this shit is supposed to help me deal with everything I don’t know, but if it means I can get back to normal and feel like I can breathe properly again then I’m willing to do it.

The doctor clears his throat as he stands, holding out his hand to shake mine. “I’ll see you next week, we’ve made a good start but I know you’ll be anxious to get out of here today.” He smiles warmly as I nod, my eye drifts to the clock on the wall. I have about ninety minutes before I have to meet Scarlett. I could call her and get her to come now but I know she was spending some time with Rachel, her best friend this morning, too. I don’t want her to feel like she has to babysit me, she’s healing too and seeing Rachel will help her gain some normality. Her life has been nothing but sadness recently and I’m well aware I’ve done nothing but add to her grief. As I leave the clinic I notice a park across the road, it’s a nice day and some of local young lads are playing football. It looks like a school holiday club, there are a couple of adults coaching them. I decide to grab a drink from the shop next door and go watch them for a bit. Tom and I used to organise the lads on the base into teams for five-a-side. I used to love that down time, kicking a ball around with my mates was always great fun even though Tom was the most competitive person I’d ever met.

Settled on a nearby bench, I watch the young kids play, their focus as the coaches set them into teams was steadfast. A couple of the kids are quite good, the majority were just there to have fun but you can see the ones that mean business. One of the lads takes a corner and misses spectacularly, sending the ball in my direction. As it lands at my feet, I stand to kick it back to the kid. “Thanks mister,” he raises his hand and grins goofily, revealing the missing teeth he’s waiting on coming in.

“No problem, better luck next time with the corner kick.” I shout over to him.

“Thanks, but I’m shit at football, I only come because my mums at work today,” he laughs raucously at his own words and I can’t help but join him. I check the time on my watch and realise I need to get a move on or I’ll be in Scarlett’s bad books for keeping her waiting.

CHAPTER 17

JAMIE

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