Chapter Six #2
Okay, so he’s not actually that bad. He’s just one of those horribly clever people who is impossible to relate to.
He’s infuriatingly calm all the time, and so sure of his opinions, even though they’re usually super annoying.
Sure, there are some basic tenets of psychology and therapy we can all agree on, but about literally everything else? We do not agree.
Example number one: He once mentioned that he’s not scared of spiders, so I bet he loves a daddy long-legs.
‘I’m out,’ Sam says flamboyantly as the doors open on her floor.
‘By the way, Liv, I’ve got a date tonight, so I’ll be back late.
’ I nod, unsure if this is true, or if she’s just trying to get Edward’s attention.
She winks at me, then adds, ‘Late or maybe not at all, eh?’ This is her embracing her preferred label: Slag.
She turns to Edward, smiling sweetly. He stares pointedly at the lift ceiling. ‘Bye, Edward,’ she calls as she bounces away.
‘Goodbye, Samira,’ he replies formally. He’s very formal is our Edward.
Always addressing people by their full names; always nodding at people by way of greeting; always wearing a full three-piece suit for no reason.
He must have about a thousand of them. This one today is slim fit, cobalt blue. It looks expensive.
‘Love you,’ I call to Sam as the doors shut behind her. Through the gap, I just about catch her giving me the finger, and yell after her, ‘I SEE YOUR AVOIDANT ATTACHMENT STYLE, SAMIRA.’
Sam is a patient of Arshiya’s. She started having therapy quite recently – just a month or so ago – but it’s been a long time coming after she lost her dad a couple of years ago.
He was ill for ages – one of those hideously drawn-out things that brings as much emotional pain as it does physical.
He wasn’t super young or anything – Sam was one of those ‘surprise’ additions to the family, turning up when her mum and dad were both already in their mid-forties – but he was a brilliant dad.
I’ve known Sam since nursery, so I got to see up close exactly how brilliant he was.
With my dad buggering off with barely a word when I was three, Sam’s dad was the only benevolent male figure in my life.
And she truly adored him. So, of course, his death hit her really hard.
I get it in an abstract way, but if I’m being honest, it’s quite hard for me to imagine being so close to family.
I am extremely low contact with mine. My mum and dad are withholding, useless shitbags, so my grandparents essentially raised me.
But they both died in my late teens, so now I struggle with relating to people who really love their parents.
We arrive at our floor and Edward gestures for me to exit first. I consider being stubborn about the outdated chivalry but quickly give in and stride away.
‘Olivia?’ he says sternly as I hurriedly stalk off in the direction of my office.
‘Yes, Ed?’ I turn back, pointedly using the shortened version of his name that I know he hates. I try to look innocent because I know what he’s going to say.
‘We need to have a conversation today if you’re free.’ He’s talking about the supervision sessions. He’s going to tell me off; give me a lecture about my duties and about sticking to my commitments. It’s the last thing I need after the few days I’ve had.
At least it’s unlikely Edward knows anything about my public dumping and ensuing meltdown.
He definitely doesn’t have TikTok. I’d be surprised if he even owns a TV.
I’d bet large sums of money that he sits around at home of an evening, still wearing his three-piece suit even though it’s after 6pm, with a crossword puzzle book in his lap, tutting about how frivolous and uncultured the rest of the population are.
Then he no doubt changes into his three-piece pyjama suit at 9pm on the dot, does a quick Sudoku, has a perfunctory wank, and is asleep by 9.
25pm. You know what, I bet he doesn’t even have dreams. And definitely not confusing ones about ex-boyfriends having sex with each other.
‘I’m actually really busy today, I’m afraid, Ed,’ I tell him quickly. ‘I have a full day of clients to see.’ I pause, then add spitefully, ‘Plus, my publisher is pushing me about my book, so I need to get some writing done.’
He nods, an odd expression on his face. I bet it’s jealousy. Not that he’d ever debase himself by acknowledging such an untoward feeling.
I clear my throat, already reaching for my office door handle. ‘I’ll check my calendar and give you a shout about any availability I might have coming up, ’kay?’ I don’t wait for an answer, coolly turning to the door, twisting the handle and flinging myself at it.
It’s locked and I bounce back off the wooden panelling.
Fuck, that was embarrassing.
I fumble for my keys, not looking up to see if Edward is still watching. At last I get it open, throwing myself into the familiar room and down onto the nearby sofa. I lie there, my face in the cushions, my cheeks burning.
At least no one was filming this time.
I turn myself over, face to the ceiling, breathing deeply.
My first client will be here soon, I can’t just lie here feeling sorry for myself all day.
It’s time to let go of everything that’s happened – everything that is hurting me – and switch on the other Liv.
Turn myself into cool, calm and collected, therapist Liv Carpenter.