Page 16 of Sunrise By the Sea

‘Hello,’ said Marisa shyly. She had taken the laptop as far into the bedroom as she could to avoid the many renditions of ‘What Will We Do with the Drunken Sailor’ being laboriously banged out on the other side of the wall.

Anita introduced herself and explained the basic components of CBT – cognitive behaviour therapy – that they were going to use.

‘It’s baby steps,’ she said. ‘Every week I’m going to set you a task – do you have a workbook?’

Of course Marisa had a workbook, neatly filled in in her beautiful handwriting, a freshly sharpened pencil at the ready. Anita was both pleased and concerned at the same time. People who were normally very organised and in control could fight extremely hard to preserve that control, including reducing their world to a tiny space which could not harm them.

‘You’ll need more people than me,’ she said. ‘Are you speaking to your friends? Your family?’

Marisa shrugged, blushing. It felt such an admission of failure to admit that she wasn’t really speaking to her mother at all.

‘My mum thinks I’m just . . . putting it on.’

‘Why would you do that?’

‘I know,’ said Marisa.

‘No, I’m asking,’ said Anita seriously. ‘What is in it for you?’

Marisa thought about it for a long time.

‘Nothing . . .’ she started indignantly. Then she paused. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘I suppose . . . I mean, I feel safe here. And outside . . . it doesn’t feel safe to me.’

‘Outside is never safe,’ said Anita. ‘That’s a part of life we normally accept. But in your brain, right now, there’s a little feedback loop that’s overemphasising that.’

Marisa shifted uncomfortably.

‘I know,’ she said.

‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of,’ said Anita. ‘And there is no rush to fix it.’

‘MUMMY!’

A soft toy hurtled behind Anita’s head. She placidly ignored it.

‘. . . well, beyond the NHS rush, of course. But we’re not going to rush.’

‘I have another problem that’s making me very anxious,’ said Marisa, explaining about her noisy neighbour. Thankfully, Anita didn’t suggest she immediately run off and confront him or anything else as impossible to her as flying to the moon.

‘Good,’ said Anita. ‘See it as an opportunity.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, you need to learn how to leave the house. And he is making your house unbearable. See him as a useful motivating factor.’

Marisa stared into the Zoom.

‘Are you serious?’

‘Totally,’ said Anita. ‘And this week. All I want you to do is go out and stand on your steps. That’s it. That’s your homework. Do your breathing exercises – they’re in the book. Do a visualisation – have you got one?’

‘Yes!’ said Marisa, feeling ridiculously teacher-pleasing. A visualisation was something she was meant to think of when she felt a panic attack coming on: a happy place, somewhere she felt calm and at peace. She was meant to imagine as much of the scene as she could, put herself there until the panic attack had passed. ‘Do you want to know where I chose?’

‘I don’t have to,’ said Anita. ‘As long as it is special to you.’

‘Oh,’ said Marisa, slightly disappointed.

She had chosen the beach at Imperia, in the old town, just as the sun was setting. The sand still held the warmth of the day but wasn’t scorching; the old ladies had come out after their afternoon siestas and were standing in the water in large old-fashioned bikinis, gossiping. Other families were taking theirpasseggiata, their early evening stroll, done up in their finery, looking forward to anaperitivoshortly, followed by a good long meal. It was one of the happiest places she knew.

---