Chapter 21
I don’t only see couples; occasionally, I see single patients, too.
So when Suzanne called last week to make a solo appointment I was happy to book her in.
She and her boyfriend Will came to me a year ago when their ten-year relationship was rocked by Will having an affair.
We managed a handful of sessions, but it didn’t feel like we made much progress, and their last visit was more than six months ago.
It happens in therapy. Patients stop coming, and you’re left wondering how things turn out.
You hope they’ll have a happy ending, but you never knew if a last-minute plot twist is coming in the final reel.
Unfortunately, in the movie of Suzanne’s life, Tarantino had been at the helm.
And I’d been in the front row to witness it.
A couple of months ago, I’d bumped into Will in a pub. He worked in IT at the same university where I studied for my PhD, so I wasn’t surprised to see him in a bar near Euston where staff often congregated.
There are strict protocols for interacting with patients outside of sessions. We only acknowledge them if they acknowledge us first. It’s their right not to want friends and family to know they’re in therapy.
I’d kept my distance, and I’m pretty sure he didn’t see me.
Mainly because his attention (and the whole left side of his body) had been glued to a woman with Botticelli-red hair that tumbled to her shoulders in perfect ringlets.
I assumed the redhead was the reason they’d ended up on my couch.
Will had started an affair with a colleague, and Suzanne, in a rare moment of anger, had let rip exactly how she felt about that skinny ginger slapper.
Suzanne is scrupulously punctual – a quality I always appreciate – and immaculately turned out. She’s a secondary school teacher and last time we spoke, she’d been thinking of applying to become Head of Maths.
‘So, tell me what’s on your mind,’ I say, as we settle into the low armchairs opposite each other in my office.
She takes a minute before she answers, steadying herself by breathing deeply and I’m already preparing myself to console her about the end of the relationship. I need to remind her that she’s 30 and has plenty of time ahead of her if she wants to find a new partner.
‘A friend of mine died,’ she begins. ‘Brain aneurysm. She was twenty-eight and the picture of health.’ She looks up at me. ‘It’s not supposed to happen like that.’
I’m surprised she doesn’t bring up the break-up, but maybe she’s handling it better than expected. I let her talk, asking questions occasionally, usually to get her to pinpoint exactly what she’s feeling.
The session goes well, and towards the end, she asks me why I think the death of someone she wasn’t that close to has hit her so hard.
‘Things that we can normally cope with can feel insurmountable when we’re dealing with bigger issues,’ I reassure her. ‘Like losing a job or coming to terms with the end of a relationship. It’s only natural to feel vulnerable at times like this.’
Suzanne cocks her head to one side. ‘I never did apply for that promotion, so maybe I am subconsciously kicking myself over it. I chatted it over with Will and because he’s got the chance of a new job with better pay in Manchester, we thought I should look for a school up there.’
I blink, trying to reorientate myself. She and Will are still together?
‘You’re thinking of relocating to Manchester? With Will?’
‘There’s a new maternity hospital opening, and they want someone to lead the IT department.’
I don’t want to press her into talking about Will unless she wants to, but it’s okay to ask a general question.
‘How are things between you now?’
She smiles cheerily, and my heart sinks at her happy face. ‘Stronger than ever. Thanks to you.’
I bat away the compliment because it’s not true. People often say as much, but this time, shock has switched me into autopilot. ‘You guys did the work. You get the credit.’
The session ends, and she leaves feeling brighter, but I’m left unsettled.
I get up to make a coffee and think back to the night I saw Will in the pub.
It was definitely him, but I don’t know who the woman was.
Maybe the red hair was a coincidence, and it wasn’t the same woman?
But it was a divey bar, not the place you’d go to unless it was super convenient, and in this case, it was the pub closest to the hospital.
Exactly where colleagues would go to wind down before going home.
On the other hand, if Will is still with Suzanne, would he really be doing anything so public with another woman?
And, come to think of it, they weren’t doing anything that screamed infidelity.
They were just having drinks. And if they seemed a little touchy-feely, maybe it was just harmless flirting; a way to let off steam after a long day.
The facts are, I don’t have any facts. I’ve got circumstantial evidence and a gut feeling.
And maybe I’m seeing lying, cheating scumbags everywhere to compensate for not noticing the one I was living with.
How would I have felt if someone I only knew tangentially told me she’d seen Rich sitting very close to another woman in a bar?
I wouldn’t have batted an eyelid, is the short answer.
Rich can be a flirt, but I’ve always trusted him.
He’s a social animal, and flirting is just another social currency – like how Charles interacts with me.
He’s always ready with a compliment and likes to tease me, but I know things would never go further.
But the problem with a man who flirts with everyone – and I’ve seen Rich fawn over the cleaning ladies and their blue rinses – is that it’s the perfect cover for when flirting evolves into something much less innocent.