Page 1 of The Therapist
PROLOGUE
NOW – WEDNESDAY NIGHT
The scream can’t be coming from my mouth but it has to be. I recognise my own voice.
As I crouch on the ground, rocking while the blaring sirens get closer and closer, I feel some part of me step back.
Get a grip, I hear the better version of me say.Pull yourself together. You’re a therapist. Act like one.
But that part is not as strong as the part that is hearing the sirens, smelling the heavy smell of blood in the cold air, staring down at the body on the ground. That part cannot control what is going on here.
I was supposed to help. That’s what I do. In my consulting room, patients come to me with their worries, their fears and their secrets and I do my best to guide them to a better place. I hold their secrets close to me, keeping them even when they distress me because that’s my job. I try to make things better.
But I have made things worse, so much worse, and now there is a body and the screaming and the sirens. I have not managed to hold on to someone’s secret. Instead, I have lost control of the truth and now I am here.
And then there is shouting from someone else.
‘Put down the gun!’ a man yells. ‘Put it down, put it down now.’
I lift my gaze from the body to follow the sound of his voice, see his face screwed up in anger and something else…fear?
He is afraid of me. ‘Put it down!’ he yells again and I look down at my hand. I am holding a gun. That’s what he’s afraid of. He is holding a gun too.
But my gun is different to the gun he is holding because his comes with a uniform and authority.
I have no authority here. I shouldn’t be here.
I was trying to help; I want to explain but he doesn’t care about anything except the gun in my hand.
He takes a step closer to me and shines a torch in my face. ‘Put it down, put the gun down.’
I lift the hand holding the gun, finally managing to get the words out.
‘I didn’t mean for it to happen,’ I tell him. ‘I was only trying to help,’ I wail as I hope that he believes me. I really need him to believe my side of the story. I need him to believe me.
ONE
SIX WEEKS AGO –JULY
Lana
As I close the door on Natalia, my last client for the day, I take a deep breath, hoping that it will help the headache but it doesn’t.
I know better than to overload my day with appointments and yet I had been unable to refuse anyone for today. I took off two weeks for the July school holidays and now that my son, Iggy, is back at school, I have to get through the backlog of patients who have waited for me to return, which I’m really thankful for. It’s taken me some time to build up my practice and I know that every client who comes through the door is another opportunity for me to help someone, another person who has put their trust in me.
I’ve only been back for two days and the glorious holiday in Bali, where Iggy and I revelled in the warmth and the sunshine at the beautiful resort I booked for us, is a memory that I will always treasure. The pictures of the bright blue sky and the sparkling waters of the infinity pool have filled up my phone for me to look through and enjoy on dark, damp days.
Winter in Australia is not supposed to be terribly cold, and for the most part it’s manageable during the day, temperaturesonly dropping to freezing at nighttime. But this winter, the rain is so persistent that I know it’s contributing to the low-level sadness all my patients seemed to have walked through the door with. My office has a large window that looks out onto a park across the road and it usually allows a lot of light into the space, but today I’ve had to have the bright overhead lights on all day, dispelling the shadows, both literal and metaphorical. I’m sure that’s contributing to my headache.
I feel guilty for leaving my patients and indulging in a holiday with my son but I needed to recharge the batteries, to take some time for myself. Something I am always advising my patients to do.
When people are struggling, poor weather like this rain can contribute to feelings of melancholy. Even now, it drums against the window as below, drains on the street fill up and overflow. Getting home in the traffic will be a nightmare for everyone. Peak-hour drivers tend to be more aggressive when it rains but I’m still holding on to my holiday glow so I will use it to extend patience to everyone else on the road.
The rain wasn’t the only reason I made the decision to treat my son and myself to a holiday. I might have qualifications and the ability to steer other people through any emotional difficulties they may have, but sometimes, it’s a different story for my own life.
My ex-husband, Oliver, remarried six months ago. His new wife is only a few years younger than me but she is a fitness instructor and a great cook and she has a persistently cheerful view of the world. When we were slogging through our own months of therapy as we tried to save our marriage – before Oliver made it truly unsalvageable – Oliver often pointed to my tendency to over-analyse everything, to dismantle his thoughts for him until he found himself questioning his own ideas, as one of my worst traits. ‘Why can’t we ever simply sit on the sofa andwatch a movie without it turning into an intellectual exercise or a discussion about my faults as a human being?’ he said. That was in addition to all the other things he said. ‘Why can’t you take a compliment without wondering why I’ve said it?’ ‘Why can’t you let it go when I look at another woman, it’s just a look, it’s what men do.’ ‘Why can’t you control your jealousy?’
If I never hear that phrase again, I’ll be fine.
