This is just an opener so it may seem a little slow, but things do pick up soon. Promise.
People don't get by having, as so many people call it, no fear. Everyone has fear in them. The difference is how people deal with it. Some people confront it. Some deny and bury it. Some run from it. Some don't even have the rationality to acknowledge it, and that's if they recognise it for what it is in the first place.
It's only when she turns around and looks over her shoulder, seeing only the sea of people in the train station, that Shayna Roberts realises that she is the type who run, because facing fear is too terrifying a prospect. Fear itself is the biggest fear a person can have. That is why she runs. That is why she runs with her massive blue rucksack slung over her shoulder, her daughter's wrist in one hand, her train tickets and mobile phone in the other.
At thirty-two years old, she should know better. She should know who she can and cannot trust. She should know that everyone, in the end, fails. But she is unable to banish the childlike dream that the world is not so awful a place. She has alienated everyone to retain something from which she now runs; it's a sick irony that the one place she has left to go is to the person who first let her down. The person she had spent months tracking down, only to find out by complete chance from a drunk in the bar where she had to go seven months ago. It had taken her that long to plan her way out.
It is brilliantly twisted that it is so perfect an opportunity to run today – a burst pipe at her daughter's school, a flat waiting for her to move in, set up months ago when she had first spoken to the drunk man who spilled the secret to her, a job waiting for her, her daughter enrolled into the primary school and someone who owes her and, if they turn out to be a decent human being, will care about what happens to her. She can almost taste freedom as she puts her daughter's ticket in the reader and ushers the little brunette through the gates.
She quickly follows and glances at the departures board. The train is due to leave in three minutes. They've made it by the skin of their teeth, and she is beginning to notice that this is becoming quite a habit of hers.
The train is almost full of people heading home on a Friday evening, chatting away and looking forward to their weekends and respite. It's all she can do to find the last empty table on the carriage and put her bag on the overhead compartment. Her head in her hands when she finally sits down, she stares out the window at her last glimpse of London, hoping it may be forever. She turns around and looks right through the carriage; she won't be free or relieved until this train leaves the station and she is on her own with her daughter.
As she looks at her child she understands she cannot mess her final chance up. She cannot not allow her heart to rule her head, or her fear to warp her mind. She will always be somewhat afraid. She is coming to accept that.
The pale white scars on the backs of her hands remind her of why she runs – if not to protect herself then to prevent her daughter spending her childhood watching her mother break apart.
The train pulls away from the station, the sound unmistakable as it gathers velocity in its journey. She looks around again and sees only people she doesn't know. The notion of freedom loosens the ropes tied around her chest as she takes the hair tie from her wrist and pulls her thick brown hair back into a loose and careless knot just so it's away from her face. She reaches out and touches her daughter's nose, making the girl giggle and herself smile lightly. This was her breaking away from her own mess in an effort to build a safe future.
It's a dark Monday morning when Ric Griffin steps out of his car. He can see his breath as water in the air, reminding him that summer is still a long way off. Whatever possessed Guy Self to assign him to work with Serena Campbell today, he is grateful for it. He hasn't woken with much patience, and a day of paperwork and routine theatre with her is far more appealing than putting right the madness of the wards themselves. For her he has more patience than he has for many others; she may be frustrating at times but she knows him well enough by now to leave him be when she sees his patience tested.
With an internal groan, he begins the trek up to Keller. It's just after seven in the morning and he is not in the humour for conversation. It's far too early in the day for that. What he needs is coffee before the routine meeting at eight o'clock, called by Guy Self. Why he times it as such is both an annoyance and a mystery to him.
In front of him a woman with her long brown hair in a high ponytail drops her phone while looking for something in her bag; she seems not to notice and begins to wander away once she has pulled her lip balm from her bag and dabbed some onto her lips. Out of sheer politeness, he bends down and picks it up. "Excuse me!" he calls to her. She turns around and glares at him, obviously in a hurry. "You dropped this."
She huffs slightly and replies with a slight smile, "Thank you." He cannot help but notice when she reaches out to take the phone that her hand is scarred, having clearly been burned somewhere along the line. "Hey, you wouldn't happen to know where Keller Ward is, would you?" she asks. She's not from around here, quickly made obvious by her accent. She sounds like she's spent her life around London and Surrey, not here in the south-west.
"I can take you up," he answers, guiding her forward with his hand just behind her back. Though it's too early in the morning, he decides she seems nervous and he breaks their silence when they reach the lift. "Are you a patient or a relative?" he asks her.
"Neither," she says. She says nothing more. It leaves him wondering who she is. Of course, it is none of his business, but her lack of an answer intrigues him.
They step out of the lift and he says, "Welcome to Keller."
"Thank you," she smiles. Her phone makes a twinkling sound and she immediately swipes her thumb across it while she walks away. Slightly bewildered, he enters his office and sets his belongings down in their usual places. It won't be long before Serena Campbell arrives, bringing with her some sarcasm and a not-a-morning-person vibe until nine o'clock, by which time she has usually brightened up.
Serena is someone he finds difficult not to like. Even when she riles him – and when she riles him, she does it properly – she is charming. In the first few days, weeks and months working with her, he had never known how to take her, but he has seen her flaws and they are not what he first thought they were. They are not her drive or her ambition or her sharp tongue. Her greatest flaw was uncovered over Christmas and New Year. She holds a fear of her own weaknesses.
Tired and already hungry, having skipped breakfast, he sighs and gets to his feet to go to the cafeteria for coffee and food. He passes the woman again as she speaks to Zosia March, who looks like she is giving directions to somewhere.
He doesn't give it a second thought as he stands in the queue for the coffee stand. In fact, he only realises that he is staring into space when a click of slender fingers brings him back to Earth. "I'll just jump in the line with you," smirks Serena Campbell. She is wrapped in a long coat, a scarf and her hat, that furry thing that softened her face and made her seem less frightening to the common passer-by.
"Will you really?" he retorts quickly. She raises an eyebrow at him and he takes a half a step to the side to allow her in the queue beside him. He smells coconut and decides she must have washed her hair this morning, the scent strong enough that it is not completely disguised by the hat that could probably deflect gamma rays.
Their silence isn't uncomfortable. It's a companionable silence, one they share almost every day. But she chooses to break it anyway. "Good weekend?" she asks of him.
He had done very little over the weekend but clean his house up a bit, watch television, read and catch up on some paperwork. Hardly thrilling but he replies, "Yes. Yours?"
"Yes, yes, it was fine," she smiles. It's a lie and they both know it, but he was wary of broaching the subject in public. A few minutes later they are heading back to Keller, their coffees in their hands while he carries both their pastries so she can carry her own bag.
Colette Sheward approaches them with the woman he had seen earlier. She was now in blue scrubs and he smirked to himself. Why couldn't she just come out and say what she was doing here in the first place? "Meet Shayna Roberts, your new nurse," says Colette.
Shayna holds out her hand and he shakes it warmly. "Ric Griffin," he introduces himself.
"Serena Campbell," Serena adds, again shaking Shayna's hand. Shayna's dark eyes linger on Serena's face and he watches the younger woman go over each and every one of Serena's facial features before smiling and turning to follow Colette away.
He follows Serena into the office and watches her go through her methodical morning routine until she is sitting in her chair picking at her food and sipping her coffee; in itself that isn't like her. Usually she has, like him, skipped breakfast and is positively starving by the time she gets her hands on food. It doesn't normally last longer than a couple of minutes but she has sat here peeling bits off her Danish for at least ten by now.
"Out with it," he sighs.
"Out with what?"
"What's bothering you?"
She looks up at him and he can tell she is worried. "I got a call from Edward," she admitted. "He left a message." He waits patiently for her to continue in the knowledge that Edward Campbell, her ex-husband and thorn in her side, is a touchy subject after their messy second break up on Christmas Eve. "Apparently he's done something wrong with regards to me. He can't quite recall what or how long ago, but he's certain he's messed up before he even arrived here."
In all fairness, there doesn't seem to be much Edward has done right, but he does see why the admission on his part has Serena worried. If Edward can't remember how he has messed up then he's probably done so while intoxicated, which means the term 'messed up' can be applied to anything from causing someone to cry to causing someone to die.
"Unless you think you can get some sense out of him," Ric reasoned with great caution, as he always did when it came to matters involving Serena, "then you should just leave him to it. The chances are he doesn't even know what he's saying," he added.
Serena flashes him a slight smile and he looks at his watch. She does the same and stands up; she grabs her coffee and takes a hasty bite out of her Danish, and they rush up to their meeting, for which they know better than to be late.
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