Page 50 of Fling

Chapter 18

On Monday evening, Colin sat beside his wife in the office of Dr Mildred Burke, the therapist Tara had found online. He was struggling to get comfortable on the avant-garde couch which seemed out of place in the warm mahogany room. He didn’t like the idea of therapy. In his house growing up, people simply didn’t talk about their problems. He wanted to fix his marriage himself, not with some therapist who didn’t understand the nuances of their relationship.

Still, he promised himself he would at least try to keep an open mind. Tara had supposedly found ‘the best therapist money can buy’, although that remained to be seen. If she was the best, how had they been able to get an appointment so quickly? Colin had informed Tara that the most expensive doesn’t necessarily mean the best quality. This had inevitably led to bickering about not being able to put a price on saving a marriage so he left it alone. But €300 an hour? Really? A few sessions a month would cause significant financial stress. He felt like he was paying a therapist to give him anxiety.

Colin had spent Sunday repairing his motorcycle and, after a good day’s work, Bonnie was officially restored to her former glory. He had fixed her up, revved her engine and taken her for her first spin in years. But even as Colin had felt the breeze of freedom as he rode, it didn’t give him the feeling of fulfilment he had been expecting. Bonnie gave him no sense of triumph.

His mind was still fixated on Claire.

He had even bought a pack of cigarettes and lit one up as a way of feeling like he still had some sense of control in his life. But as he’d taken his first drag in years, he immediately felt like being sick. Perhaps the idea of a cigarette was always better than the cigarette itself. He tried to convince himself that the same logic applied to Claire. If she could just give him some kind of closure, maybe then he could move on.

At work, before he had come to therapy, he found himself checking Fling every few minutes like an addict, desperate for his fix. Even Rory said he had a problem, which said a lot considering his own addictive personality. But Colin couldn’t help himself. He was obsessively searching for Claire’s green light to illuminate the darkness.

But her light never appeared.

Dr Burke sat down in her chair across from them, ready to begin the session.

‘Tara, Colin, you’re both very welcome. My name is Dr Mildred Burke and you’re—’ she began.

‘Oh, you don’t need to introduce yourself, Dr Burke,’ Tara interrupted. ‘I was reading your book Manifesting Marriage all day yesterday and let me just say . . . WOW!’

Colin’s feathers were immediately ruffled.

‘What is this, a book signing? Manifesting Marriage, that sounds like witch-doctor carry-on to me,’ he said sceptically.

‘Colin, stop embarrassing yourself. I was just trying to hit the ground running,’ Tara said, mortified.

‘No, you were doing homework so you could be the teacher’s pet,’ he said, folding his arms.

‘Let’s just take a breath,’ Dr Burke said. ‘As I was saying, my name is Dr Mildred Burke and my area of expertise is healing broken connections so that compromise and catharsis can be achieved for all those involved.’

‘Well, for three hundred euro an hour, you could at least offer a massage chair or something,’ Colin pouted, still struggling to get comfortable.

‘In my experience, a couch is always best for couples. That way, there’s room to meet in the middle.’ Dr Burke smiled.

‘Oh my God, I love that,’ Tara said enthusiastically. ‘You’re a Libra, aren’t you?’

‘No, actually, I’m not,’ Dr Burke said.

‘Sorry, I meant Virgo. Obviously!’ Tara said, correcting herself.

‘Afraid not.’

‘Aquarius?’

‘No.’

‘Capricorn?’

‘Well . . . yes, technically . . .’

‘I KNEW IT!’ Tara yelled.

‘This is what I’m dealing with, Dr Burke,’ Colin complained. ‘She tries to use astrology to explain everything.’

‘If star signs aren’t real then why do all Taurus men not believe in star signs? Explain that!’ Tara said.

‘It’s called a self-fulfilling prophecy. When you were a teenager you probably read in Vogue magazine that Geminis are always fashionably late and, lo and behold, you’ve been late for everything ever since.’

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