Tony Hill u Carol Jordan 08 - Cross and Burn

But I wouldn’t be taking all the weight. I need to think about what that means for me.’
    ‘You don’t have to carry this alone. You can always bring it here. And as you reminded me, you have friends. You will find comfort.’ Abruptly, he stood up. ‘Would you wait a moment?’
    Jacob left the room without a backward glance. Baffled, Tony stared at the closed door. Jacob had never walked out of a session before, no matter how challenging it had become. What was going on? Had his supervisor heard something outside the room that he’d missed? He fretted over what had happened, finding that easier than returning to his own problems.
    And then Jacob was back, carrying a slim hardback book with an olive-green and cream jacket. He handed it to Tony. Rings on a Tree by Norman MacCaig. ‘I don’t know how you feel about poetry. But I find it helpful as a way of interrogating myself and my own process. There is a poem in this collection, “Truth for Comfort”. I think it would be a good place for you to start.’
    ‘You want me to cure myself with poetry ?’ He couldn’t help his incredulity showing. Jacob, that rigorous psychologist, suggesting poetry was like Elinor Blessing suggesting crystal healing as a cancer treatment.
    Jacob smiled, settled into his chair. ‘There is no cure for what ails us, Tony. But I think we can manage something better than palliative care, don’t you? And so, how is work?’
    That was one of the things Tony liked about working with Jacob. He didn’t linger once the patient had understood his next step. ‘I’m on a part-time contract at Bradfield Moor again,’ he said. ‘They seem happy to have me back. And I like the work.’ He outlined the bare bones of his clinical practice, explaining his thinking in a couple of interesting cases.
    ‘And the profiling?’
    ‘Bradfield don’t want me any more. They say it’s about economy, but I think it might have something to do with the fact that I haven’t hit it off with their new Chief Constable. James Blake and I, we’re chalk and cheese.’ Before Jacob could say anything, Tony held up one finger. ‘Which I am not blaming myself for. It’s one of those things. I’m doing bits and pieces with other forces, but there really are cuts that are affecting outside experts like me. They see us as a luxury they can’t afford. And with them training up their own so-called experts…’ He puffed out his cheeks and blew the air out. ‘I miss the work. I like it and I’m good at it.’
    ‘You are.’ Jacob took off his glasses and polished them. It was weird to see him shifting around so much. ‘And I have been thinking about that too. A man who has found his calling should be able to practise it, wouldn’t you say?’
    Tony grinned. ‘Some might say it’s better to have no call for someone with my particular skills.’
    ‘There is, I think, nobody with your expertise and experience in the field. It’s time you shared that, Tony.’
    He held his hands up, defensive. ‘Oh no. No more teaching. I’m not doing dog-and-pony shows again.’
    ‘I’m not talking about the academic life. I’m talking about writing a book. Taking the reader through your custom and practice. Showing and telling how you profile, how you resolve cases. How you work with the police, how you make your arguments. There is nothing comparable out there, Tony. You could create a future generation of profilers in your image. If the police are going to train their own, don’t you think they should be informed by best practice?’
    Tony shook his head, almost laughing. ‘I’m not a writer. That’s not my skill set.’
    ‘You’re a communicator, though. And publishers have editors to make your prose pretty. Don’t make a decision now. Go away and think about it. It may provide you with a double satisfaction. Working through those old cases might help you work through your other process. Cleansing, not wallowing.’ Jacob looked at his watch. ‘Our time is up.’ He stood up and pointed to the book of poetry. ‘Think about what we’ve talked about. Remember what they say about bridges. The hard thing is to know which ones to cross and which ones to burn. Make some changes, Tony.’
    Tony gave a wry smile and scrambled to his feet. ‘Physician, heal thyself?’ But even as he spoke, he knew he was trying to make light of what might be the most difficult choice of his adult life. Was it really time to cut Carol Jordan out of his heart for