Page 49 of The Therapist
‘Yeah,’ my son replies from the living room, where he is watching television and eating his apple.
‘Do you want to ride your bike next to me while I have a run?’
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ he shouts, bouncing into the kitchen with delight. ‘We haven’t done that for a million, billion years.’
I laugh at his joy, taking a moment of pleasure from the day.
Outside it’s cold, the temperature dropping quickly, and I know that soon it will be dark. It’s September and the beginning of spring but any warmth feels very far away. I pick streets where I know there will be fewer cars and some lights. Iggy and I have done this before and he knows the rules: he rides on the path and I run behind him.
It’s hard at first, my knees complaining and my lungs burning with each breath, and I am momentarily upset at myself for not doing this more often, especially since Iggy enjoys it so much.
But soon I settle into a rhythm, my breathing evens out and I feel a rush of endorphins. Iggy zooms along in front of me and I’m pleased that very few people are out.
After half an hour we get to the end of the cycle paths and Iggy stops so we can turn around. His cheeks glow red with exhilaration and cold.
‘Hold up a minute,’ I say, ‘I need to check my phone.’ I want a minute to catch my breath before we go back and I know Iggy is not tired at all.
I glance down at my phone and see I have a new message. Shock ripples through me as I open it and see who it’s from.
Sandy. I read it once and then again.
Lana, help me. He’s going to kill me.
Where are you?I type back quickly, seeing that the message came through fifteen minutes ago. I stare down at the phone as sweat dries on my body and the cold wind seeps in through my layers.
But there’s no reply. Now what? Now what the hell do I do?
‘Okay, let’s go,’ I say to Iggy.
And we’re off again. My feet pound the pavement as I struggle to keep my thoughts in order.
Finally, we are home and I tell Iggy I’m going for a shower. Standing under the hot water, I again turn over the idea that this is all some sort of sick game that Sandy and Mike play together, that they like the attention and the fear that this generates. Is that possible? They have two small children and Mike works, so where are they finding the time for this kind of thing? Unfortunately, this wouldn’t be the strangest thing I’ve ever heard of in my time as a psychologist.
At conferences there are often whispered tales of odd patients. Ben’s experience with Carla comes to mind. I know why he didn’t want to work with Sandy. It must have been so hard for him but I wonder if he has considered that this is some sort of game between Sandy and Mike.
Sitting down on the edge of my bed, I call his number, wanting to leave a message saying that I hope everything is okay. But he answers the phone.
‘Lana, hi.’
‘Hey, Ben, I just wanted to check in and see that everything was okay…with your parents. I’m not sure what’s happening but I just wanted to check in,’ I finish lamely.
‘Ah, thanks for calling.’ He sighs. ‘Honestly, it’s nice to talk to someone who understands about this stuff. My dad has bipolar disorder and he was off his meds and my mother couldn’t cope so I was up all of last night on the phone, speaking to his doctors and trying to be there for her. I know I can’t see patients on so little sleep but I came in just to make sure no one needed to see me urgently. I got a nap in and I’ll call my mother soon because I need to make sure that she knows she has my support. I feel so bad for being here when I should be there. I just want to make sure that it’s all under control again.’
I feel a pang of sympathy. Everything going on with Sandy and Mike shouldn’t be affecting Ben, not now when he has his own family stuff to deal with. ‘If you want to go over there, I’m sure it’d be okay – I mean I’m sure Kirsty can reschedule all your patients.’
‘No, no, it’s fine. I won’t have to take time off after all because I found him a place at a clinic and it’s private so it’s not cheap. Basically, I need to work.’
‘I understand and I’m glad you got it sorted out. But if things change, do what you need to do. I’m sorry you’re going through this.’
‘Thanks, Lana. Anyway, that’s life,’ he says with a dry laugh. ‘Is everything okay with you?
‘Well…’ I begin, unsure of how to explain things.
‘I have been thinking about Sandy but I assumed you would tell me if there was anything to know. Have you heard from police?’
‘Um…’ I take a deep breath, relieved to be able to talk to him about this because I really need to talk to someone. I fill him in on today and then I explain about the message that I just received. I tell him about my theory that this is some sort of game between the two of them.
‘That’s bizarre. But do you think it’s actually some kind of game? I mean what’s the payoff?’
