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Zoe sits down heavily. This has all happened so suddenly. There is no way that she had been expecting this when she came into work that morning; it was only supposed to be a regular shift, and she was supposed to have met Max this evening, she's had to fob him off with yet another story about her mother.
She could have rung Kaye and sent Sharice back home, fulfilling the duty of the uninvolved adult. And yet she has brought her to her house, she's now sitting in her spare bedroom, having spent most of the day crying on her shoulder.
Zoe had loved Sharice like a daughter. They had been so close, bound by the events that had brought them together, a real family unit. Dysfunctional, and never what Zoe had imagined for herself, but a family all the same. It had taken every ounce of strength she had to give her up, knowing that she couldn't really give her the life she deserved, needed. And now, after years, the same bond that has grown weary and strained has started to pull on her again.
But what can she realistically do now? She is the clinical lead of an overworked and, frankly, failing Emergency Department, she hasn't the time, space, or patience to take in a fourteen year old girl with so much baggage; physical and emotional. But she can't just turn Sharice back to Kaye, not when she knows how unhappy she would be.
She sighs, stands up and pours herself a glass of wine, her automatic reflex. She's about to light a cigarette before she remembers that she can't really smoke whilst Sharice is in the house. She half laughs and puts the cigarette back in its packet.
Maybe I'll quit now.
What am I talking about? Quit? She's only been back for six hours and I'm already thinking about quitting for her. God, this is all messed up.
How am I supposed to know what to do with her? I'm no good at emotions. Look at Nick. Whenever feelings are involved, I end up either very very drunk or chasing after an arrogant, sanctimonious surgeon with a brain tumour. I never know what to say with upset patients or how to comfort bereaved relatives, how am I supposed to help this girl? What do I say to make it OK?
That doesn't matter. She tells herself. She needs you to be there for her, make things right with her Nan, help her get over her grandfather, stop her from blaming herself. She doesn't need your self-doubt or messed up love life. She needs a mother figure. Sharice is the closest thing you have to a child. Make this right.
She stands up, sets the wine back on the table, and knocks gently on Sharice's door.
No answer.
"Sharice. Listen to me. I know you're angry. I know. OK? But you have to listen to me. You can't keep running away from things. Sooner or later, you're going to have to face up to this. And the longer you leave it, the harder things are going to get. She needs to hear from you. You need to explain things to her, so that she understands how you're feeling. Please. Just, talk to her. Face it."
She leans against the door. What else can she say?
She stumbles slightly as the door opens tentatively, but finds her balance quickly, meeting the wide eyes behind.
"Can you take me? To see her?"
Zoe's smile stretches slowly: "yeah? Tomorrow morning?"
"I'm not saying that I'm going back to live with her or anything, but I just want to see her."
"Tomorrow it is, then." Zoe kisses Sharice on the forehead and pulls her into a hug. "You're doing the right thing."