Chapter 14 – Sheep

Automatically, I rested my head against Ben's head and rubbed his neck. "It's okay." His wet cheek was pressed against mine and while he went on sobbing, fresh tears trickled onto my jumper.

"I didn't… didn't…" he mumbled. "Rachel, I didn't mean to... we…"

"Shush," I murmured to him. "It'll be fine," I told him.

He went silent as he took in deep draughts of air. He continued to sniffle though. Finally he cleared his throat, asking, "What are we going to do?"

"What can we do?"

He dropped his arms and sat back on his heels. "You… and… me."

Just looking at his stricken face released another flood of tears from me. I'd promised I wouldn't do this, but there was nothing for it but to let it go. Let it all out - and I did - tortured by weeping.

Ben half-climbed onto the chair with me, and began to rub my back. "There, there," he whispered softly, over and over.

When I was little and got scared by something, be it a large and barking dog, a thunderstorm, or an unexpected shock, I would cry just like I was doing. So Mum or Dad would pick me up, and comfort me, just like Ben was cuddling me. After some time, I calmed down and could then look him in the eye. "We're a right mess, aren't we?"

He shook his head. "Oh yes." He reached to the side table and grabbing a fistful of tissues, began to wipe my face and nose. The tender way that he cleaned my face told me something which gladdened me, and frightened me as well.

It's over and done, Rachel, I told myself. Isn't it? But as Ben binned the used tissues, and then dried his own tears, I did wonder. Was it over? That was what frightened me, for I had no idea what might come next.

"So," I told Ruth, "that was that." She'd lifted me off the floor, tucked me onto a chair, and wrapped me in a soft and fluffy blanket. Now I had spilled out all of out. Me and Ben, my accidental pregnancy, emergency surgery, the aftermath, and how Ben and I treated each other last weekend.

During my exposition, Ruth Ellingham watched me with a pained expression. "You make it sound so final."

"Isn't it? What's to be done? Ben and me, we… we had a fling. That's all."

Ruth handed me another tissue, which I needed as my nose kept dripping. "Is that all it was? A fling? A one-off?" she prodded.

"Yeah," I mumbled. "Suppose so."

"No matter what you think it was, it's been bloody traumatic. That's too obvious. But you know that." She patted my hand. "Let's get some hot tea into you. My mother was rather useless when it came to dealing with most of life, but a bracing cup of tea with plenty of sugar can work wonders." She stopped herself. "Or would cocoa be better?"

"Cocoa."

She smiled and patted my hand. "Right you are." She stepped to the fridge, got out milk and got it to heating. As she puttered around her kitchen, I wondered if she was now my doctor, or instead, a nascent friend?

In short order I was sipping the hot beverage. "Nice. Thank you."

She smiled. "The best cocoa you can get from Paris. I brought this back from my last trip over there. Does a body wonders. Always perks me up when I drink it."

"Chocolate has…" I started to say.

"Oh yes, all those wonderful endorphins - like tryptophan - which make us feel a marked mental improvement; and not just emotional."

"I've read the same thing."

"It's true," she sniffed. "I recommend chocolate for a number of my Broadmoor lot," she sighed, "not that drinking hot chocolate now will excuse, or cure, what they have done."

I knew she meant the murderous inmates she treated. "What… I mean, how can they come to grips with what they have done?"

She shrugged. "Some accept religion asking for forgiveness from a higher power, others are suicidal with remorse, and some act out in the prison population. I had one man tell me that he kept getting into fights with other prisoners and guards so they would beat him, saying 'I'm a wicked man, Dr. Ruth and I deserve every lump that I get.'" Shaking her head, she added, "And I certainly hope that you do not adhere to that thought."

"Uhm, what exactly?"

"That bad things happen to bad people. That a bad lot deserves bad things. Or self-flagellation. Twisting the knife in your own gut."

I sighed. "No, no. I only… how do I get on? Where will my life lead next? The future?"

She chuckled. "If I could answer that I'd be either the Creator or a sooth-sayer."

I sipped more of the cocoa. "This is good, and I'm so sorry for falling apart."

She held up her hand. "No apology needed or accepted." Ruth pursed her lined lips. "So you feel lost?"

I nodded dumbly.

"Rachel, you must understand that sheep don't get lost on purpose."

"What?"

"Sheep tend to stay together; herd animals. Except for those that stray off, the ones the border dogs miss. They put their heads down, nibbling along and grazing, and when they look up they can't see any other members of their flock. 'Where did everybody go?' they must think."

I shook my head having no idea what she was saying.

"Get it?" she grinned at me. "My dear, sheep do not get lost on purpose," she repeated. "It just happens."

"Oh. So now I am a sheep."

Ruth chuckled. "Metaphor."

"Right." I looked at my watch. "Thank you for… the lunch, but I'd better go."

"Let me call for a taxi."

"Oh no, I'm fine."

She looked skeptically at me. "You collapsed on the floor and you are fine? Oh pish. For Heaven's sake Rachel accept a little help."

I bowed my head, for she was correct. "Right. Okay."

She rose, then looked down at me. "More important than the future, young lady, is what you will do right now. This moment; today. Not tomorrow, or next week, but today. After the taxi takes you home, please call me to tell me you got there safely. And I recommend that you contact your GP to have this fainting spell looked into."

Ruth left the room to phone for a taxi while I finished my drink. While she was away, I thought about me and Ben, as well as what I'd not told her – about the next bit.