Page 20 of The Therapist
The session with Lana is all I can think of. I know that’s what he’s talking about. I haven’t spoken to him since he came home. I have stayed away. Because I’m not quite sure of what his reaction will be.
Have I made a mistake? Have I pushed this too far? Is it all going to work out the way I need it to? Or am I going to pay for exposing him?
‘You need to go,’ I tell him, conscious of his size, of the anger, marinated in alcohol, coming off his body.
‘Just go,’ I say firmly.
But he doesn’t leave.
Instead, he leans down and places his hands on my neck.
And now I know the answer to my questions.
NINE
Lana
I arrive at the office at eight o’clock on Monday morning. Iggy went with Oliver and Becky to visit her parents last night and it seemed easier to let him sleep over since Becky is taking him to school this morning. I didn’t sleep very well because I never really do when Iggy sleeps out, and when I opened my eyes at six thirty this morning, I decided I might as well use the time to catch up on case notes at work. When I walk into the office, Ben and Kirsty are standing at the desk, both looking at his phone.
‘You have to tell the police,’ I hear Kirsty say.
‘What’s up?’ I ask and Ben turns to me.
‘It’s um…look, can we talk in your office?’
I nod my head and walk in, putting my laptop down on my desk and stowing my bag in a filing cabinet.
Ben sits down in a chair near my desk so I take a seat opposite him, growing concerned about how pale he looks.
‘So, there’s something I haven’t told you,’ he says and I feel my heart flutter a little at what he might say. He looks so serious and his eyes seem dull, as though he hasn’t slept well.
‘Okay. Is it to do with a patient?’
‘Not exactly.’ He shows me his phone.
You don’t get to abandon me and survive it. You just don’t. I’ve found your number now, and soon, I’ll know where you work and then I’ll know where you live.
‘I don’t understand, who is this from?’
Ben locks his phone and puts it down on my desk, turning it upside down.
‘Back in the UK, there was a patient, a woman. I was treating her for depression and anxiety. She had recently gotten divorced and she was struggling. And she fell for me, told me she loved me and’ – Ben waves his hand – ‘the usual that we get.’
‘Right.’ I nod, agreeing with him.
‘When she told me, I gave her the information on transference and a list of other therapists and I told her that I couldn’t treat her anymore. I had zero interest in her, I want to say that right now, it was all her and none of it was me. I gave her a list of great therapists to contact.’
‘Which was the right thing to do,’ I say, sitting back and crossing my arms. I don’t like where this is going.
‘Absolutely, and she seemed to accept it at first but then things got very weird. She began turning up at my office every morning, begging to be taken back. She told me she didn’t love me and she’d just made it up. Obviously, I still refused to treat her and then she began turning up at my house at odd hours of the night. I don’t know how she got my address but she did. She would ring the bell and wake me and demand to be treated, in the middle of the night.’ He shakes his head at this absurd idea.
‘I can imagine that was a very frightening experience,’ I say softly. I can see how disturbed he is by the memory and I’m thankful something like that has never happened to me, especially since I am a single mother now.
‘It was and eventually I had to call in the police. It’s one of the reasons why I left the UK and came to Australia. That and the weather,’ he says with a dry laugh.
‘Oh Ben, I am so sorry, how awful for you.’
‘It wasn’t great…and now she seems to have found me.’
