This Too Shall Pass by S. J. Finn

felt like an insurgent under the spotlight. But the interview began normally enough, with a pappy speech from Anton.
    â€˜We’re proud of ourselves at SKYHooks, Monty. We’re forging a new era in child psychiatry and it’s innovative stuff. Our inclusion of consumer representatives, our plans to create a hub-and-spoke design to our model, the increase of our outreach services and the triple F: fast, flexible and fitting intake system. We’re pretty snazzy, really.’
    He jiggled the knot of his tie back and forth between his fingers and looked to the others for confirmation that they thought him eloquent and masterful.
    â€˜The plan is for the four generalist teams to be moved off-site to the spokes, have mini-spokes shooting off from those again. To take our service into those outlying suburbs.’
    I could see in my peripheral vision that Celia, who was sitting next to Anton, was looking at him in horror. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d interrupted with a: Hang ON a minute, when was this plan drummed up? But she kept whatever she did think to herself.
    â€˜If you were successful today, you would be heading up such a move. Do you feel equipped?’
    And so began all the fast-talking, robust and rounded answers of the wanting-to-impress – which was, after all, the point of the exercise. I got into a rhythm, not to be put off until Nancy’s blatant case of narcolepsy caught me unawares. Although I’d noticed her eyelids had been drooping throughout the proceedings, it wasn’t problematic until she fell asleep promptly after asking me a question. I answered – the other four looking at me looking at her – without letting on that she was dead-to-the-world. My heart pumping, hers slowing, it was an odd thing to happen, a secret being concealed in full view. In conspiratorial partnership, I ignored her closed eyes and managed to finish my answer without revealing Nancy’s problem.
    Celia asked me clinical questions about attachment disorders and the presentation of enuresis (bed-wetting) – what investigations I might embark on before coming to a conclusion and deciding on a mode of treatment.
    Eddy wanted to see if I had a commitment to community development, but all I could truthfully offer, given my limited experience, was an acknowledgement of its importance and disappointment at the lack of it in the field. But Eddy – I had noticed this before – appreciated truth and was just happy not to be jerked around.
    Elliot’s questions were all about difficult staff, changing mores, modernising the staid, and kicking out the entrenched culture at Marlowe Downs, which caused Anton to swing his head about in whoops of unhappiness at the obvious criticisms. He wanted only niceties.
    â€˜Obstinate,’ Elliot was saying. ‘Some of them still think we’re trying to keep families together.’
    I took a quick look around the room at Nancy in narcolepsy hibernation, Eddy, head cocked over, finger resting up the nose in mild curiosity, Celia, dramatic curiosity scarring her expression, and Anton twisting in pre-explosion frustration.
    â€˜Are you going to ask a question?’ he said to Elliot.
    My eyes darted between them.
    â€˜I wish to know if Monty thinks she can drag this lot into the twenty-first century. Get them out of their towers.’
    â€˜Monty?’ Anton assisted.
    â€˜Well—’
    â€˜I want to know what Elliot means by that?’ Celia said. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt you Monty but really…’
    â€˜I thought I was quite explicit.’
    â€˜And I take offence to your comments,’ Celia replied.
    â€˜Well, be damned. If we don’t pull our socks up, we’re going to die with them around our ankles.’
    â€˜Oh, that’s sophisticated.’
    â€˜People, please,’ Anton said, tutting and shaking his head.
    I sat extra still. Nancy was trying to keep her eyes