LITMIR.BIZ

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always supervised. And most of the children who come here with their parents are traumatised because of their family situations. I imagine that Lena will tell you that drawing isn’t the most disruptive way of revealing that trauma.’

      ‘Not by a very long chalk.’ Lena grinned. ‘Anyway, sometimes it’s the ones who sit quietly in the corner, and can’t bring themselves to reveal anything, who worry me the most.’

      ‘As opposed to someone like me, who reveals everything by painting all over your walls?’ Cori chuckled, nudging Lena.

      ‘We’re not getting into that. We’ll be here all evening.’ Lena turned to Tom. ‘There’s more I’d like to show you. Through here, when you’re ready …’

      ‘Yeah. Thanks.’ Tom couldn’t take his eyes off the huge painting. It was like Cori, disturbing and confronting and yet captivating. Something he wanted to touch, but he knew that once he did so he would be unable to conceal the feelings that had the power to destroy him if he let them have their way.

      ‘He’s the only one.’ Lena shrugged, mouthing the words to Cori as Tom turned from the painting, walking briskly away from it. He was the only person, adult or child, who had stood in front of the wall art with a pen in their hand without making their own addition to the design, however tiny.

      And it was Tom Riley, the man who was in charge of her future for the next seven weeks, who had turned out to be completely immune to the temptation to draw. The one man she wanted to impress, and her best shot at doing just that had left him cold.

      Maybe he was just trying to be objective. To not get involved so that he could make a better decision. Cori held on to that thought, allowing Lena to usher him into the activities room.

      He spent a while looking at everything. The child-sized painted chairs, each of which had an individual design snaking up the legs and across the back. The art table, which she had arranged like a sweet shop, different pens and paper displayed with an implicit invitation to touch, to pick up and to draw.

      ‘We got the chairs from a recycling charity.’ She had to say something to break the silence. ‘Some of them were a bit rickety, but we fixed them up and painted them …’ This morning it had seemed like a good idea to show him this. Now she was wondering whether she hadn’t blown things completely.

      ‘They’re great.’ Finally, he smiled. Not the conspiratorial, we-know-a-secret smile that she liked more than she cared to say, but it was something at least.

      ‘The wall here is painted with a wipe-clean surface.’ She ran her hand across the hard, white finish. ‘It’s a different experience from the one outside. A clean slate.’

      He nodded. ‘You’re encouraging the kids to paint on the walls?’

      Lena came to her rescue. ‘Just this wall. This is an experiment too. If we find too much graffiti all over the place then we’ll paint over it and put it down to experience.’

      ‘It’s a lot of effort just to paint over.’

      ‘If we try something and it doesn’t work, that’s not wasted effort. We learn and do better the next time. Lena’s been great in allowing us to experiment a bit.’ Cori flashed a grin towards Lena, who nodded, encouraging her to go on. ‘You wanted to see something where the benefits didn’t rely on having an in-house art therapist. I think this is it.’

      ‘And how much did all of this cost? Just a ballpark figure.’

      Cori caught her breath. If he was going to dismiss it out of hand, surely he wouldn’t have asked that.

      ‘Cori’s group is self-funding.’ Lena stepped in again. ‘We couldn’t have afforded this on our budget.’

      He turned to her. The approval in his eyes was breathtaking. ‘How much?’

      ‘I’d … have to work it out. I can supply you with figures, but … Well, I’d prefer it if you would come to see our fundraising operation.’ Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

      ‘You have an … operation?’ He raised one eyebrow.

      ‘Well, that might be a bit of an overstatement …’ No. They did. And she was proud of it. ‘Yes, we do. And when you’ve finished looking around here, I’d like you to see it.’

      As they left the building and walked back to the car, the cold evening air on his face seemed to jolt Tom back into the here and now. ‘Where are we going this time?’

      ‘The High Street. You carry on down here, take a left and then keep going until you get to the traffic lights.’ She settled herself into the passenger seat of his car and buckled the seat belt, clearly not inclined to give any more information about what he was going to see.

      ‘Right.’ He started the engine, wondering what she was going to come up with next.

      There were no clues from the place she indicated as a parking spot, and he became more baffled as she led him into a bright, warm tea shop, bustling with activity. Sitting down at a table, she loosened her scarf and coat, and signalled to a waitress.

      ‘Hi, Cori. Pot of green tea?’

      ‘Yes, thanks. Tom …?’

      At some point in the course of the afternoon she’d responded to his request to stop calling him Dr Riley. Tom couldn’t remember quite when that had been, but it felt good, as if she’d acknowledged that he might be at least partially on her side.

      ‘Earl Grey, please.’ He settled back in his chair, looking around. ‘You run a tea shop?’

      ‘No, of course we don’t. Where would we get the time to do that?’ She grinned, jerking her thumb at the back wall. ‘That’s our fundraising operation.’

      The wall was covered with canvases, ranging from tabletop height almost as far as the ceiling, jostling together in a chorus of colour. ‘You painted all of these?’

      ‘I wish. There are over a dozen of us in the group, and everyone contributes a few paintings. The tea shop displays them for us and gets ten percent of sales. It brings people in here and they have something to put on their walls. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.’

      ‘And you use the money to fund the work that you do for charities.’

      ‘Yes. Charities, schools, hospitals …’ That impish grin appeared again. ‘Actually, we haven’t done any hospitals. But we would, if we got the chance.’

      Tom chuckled. ‘Anywhere in mind?’

      ‘No, not specifically. We’re just open to the possibility.’

      ‘I see.’ He could think more clearly now. ‘So can you tell me what all this has to do with art therapy?’

      She laughed. ‘I was wondering when you were going to ask me that.’

      ‘It’s the obvious question. As I understand it, art therapy is all about the process of engaging people in some kind of artistic pursuit in a safe environment, and working through the issues that it raises for them. I’ve only seen the first half of that process today.’

      ‘It has its benefits, though.’

      ‘I’m not denying that.’ Tom nodded a thank-you as the waitress put a cup and saucer and a small teapot down in front of him. ‘I think what you’ve done at the centre is fantastic. It’s welcoming and inclusive, and at the same time it’s challenging …’

      ‘But you’re right. It’s not art therapy.’ She flashed him a smile. ‘It is sustainable, though, and it’s helping to create a culture where users of the centre can use art to express themselves. I’d like to have a conversation with you about doing something of the sort in your department.’

      This was something that she lived for, that set her alight, the way that medicine set Tom alight. And fire suited her. He wondered what it might be like to feel her heat flickering across his skin,

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