Chapter Sixteen
I can’t stop thinking about how great Justin looked the other night.
Not in an I-want-him-back kind of way, but more of a…
huh? Like, what? How is it even possible that he is this different?
In such a short amount of time? Obviously, I thought he was handsome before, but it was always more in a boyish, potential kind of way.
Now, he’s undeniably gorgeous. His hair has been cut nicely, his face is clean and shaved, his shirt is fresh and ironed.
And it’s not just how he looks, his whole energy is different.
He’s standing straighter and taller. He’s walking with more purpose and direction.
He’s got that good narcissist energy Sam and I talked about.
Like he really believes in and centres himself. It’s bizarre.
‘How do you cook a kale salad?’ Sam asks me from across the kitchen. We regard each other blankly.
‘Does a kale side salad need cooking?’ I ask, and she shrugs.
‘What do you do if not then – bake it?’ She blinks at me.
‘What’s actually in a kale salad, other than kale, obvs?
’ I squint at the random groceries lined up before me on the counter.
‘Like… other vegetables, right?’ Sam stares back even more blankly.
‘Ughhh,’ I wail, ‘Is it too late to just order a takeaway? It’s what I’ve done every other time I’ve hosted one of these dinners for everyone. ’
‘It’s a fine back-up plan.’ Sam nods. ‘But I want to impress Arshiya. I don’t think Domino’s Pizza is impressive.’
‘She may not be the right therapist for you if you’re this concerned about impressing her,’ I comment in professional mode.
‘Whatever,’ Sam says neutrally, reading the back of a packet of pre-chopped kale. ‘Why aren’t there instructions on this? Do you just, like, empty it into a saucepan and heat it up?’
‘That sounds right.’ I nod with certainty, trying to work out how to light the hob.
Sam and I both live on takeaways, pre-packaged sandwiches, and microwave food. It was the one area where I definitely wasn’t the perfect girlfriend for Justin.
Maybe that’s why he dumped me? Maybe Orla is an incredible chef who doesn’t lob everything into the oven at 250 degrees because it surely cooks faster.
Our hand-off the other night was short and decidedly not sweet.
He came in, politely asked how I was, handed me a Sainsbury’s carrier bag of half empty TRESemmé shampoo bottles, cleared his throat and then…
left. We barely had five minutes together and yet, it has turned my thirst for answers into serious dehydration.
Like, hospitalisation with an IV drip may be required.
What has Orla done to him? How is it possible?
Sam and I are still mid salad-cooking when Fran arrives a few minutes later. Since they’re here first, we ply them with wine, in the hopes they might not care if any food is incoming or not.
Edward is next through the door and we exchange a slightly awkward – but warm enough – hello wave. I know this is a strange situation, but something in me – deep down, but still! – feels quite happy to see him.
‘Hello,’ I greet him shyly and he nods back, regarding the flat around him warily.
‘You know this contravenes quite a few ethical codes…’ he says in a low voice, his tone a little wry. ‘Me being here, I mean, in your home.’
I shrug. ‘I can quote the British Association for Counselling and Psychotherapy, too,’ I tell him, then clear my throat.
‘Any dual or multiple relationships will be avoided where the risks of harm to the client outweigh any benefit to the client.’ He inhales, his nostrils flaring, so I quickly add, ‘And, Ed, I thought we’d already agreed that the benefit does outweigh the concern about our…
’ I smile playfully. ‘… dual relationship.’
Edward frowns. He bites his lip, looking torn, and for a moment I try to see all of this from his perspective.
His flighty, difficult and shallow colleague – a woman he’s known for a decade and worked with for four years – is suddenly a client.
She’s suddenly someone he has to turn inside out emotionally on a weekly basis.
And tonight, he’s in her home, being offered salt and vinegar crisps from a paper bowl.
‘It’ll be okay,’ I whisper more seriously, touching his wrist lightly. He nods, swallowing, and I dance away before I can think too much more about the oddness.
Arshiya and Jamal arrive last – though not late because therapists can never be late as we see too many people with abandonment issues – and hand over their coats.
Sam flutters attentively around Arshiya, chattering excitedly about a rug we recently put down in the hallway like the fake adults we are.
Arshiya looks half wary, half amused by the frantic attention.
‘Arshiya,’ I call out across the room, deciding a host’s job also includes rescuing guests, ‘Can you come give me a hand with drinks?’
She follows me over to the fridge, looking relieved. ‘Are you okay with Sam being here?’ I ask in a low voice, and she nods, smiling.
‘Yes, it’s fine. We talked about it in therapy yesterday. Though’—she side-eyes my keeno flatmate, who is watching us, eagle-eyed across the room—‘I’m concerned there is a little transference taking place. I think she sees me as a new parental figure.’ She’s only half serious, and we laugh.
‘But speaking of…’ she begins, ‘I’m actually really surprised Edward came tonight. I thought he’d find it…’ She nods awkwardly at me. ‘… uncomfortable.’
I stare at the floor, trying not to react.
Some small part of me had hoped that maybe all the drama of these last few weeks might’ve passed my colleagues by.
Like, there was surely a tiny possibility that maybe they don’t speak to each other, maybe they don’t go online, maybe they have literally no one in their life who might’ve said, ‘Hey, did you see your therapist mate Liv had a meltdown over tiramisu and she’s now a meme? ’ But no.
I swallow. ‘He did message to ask me if I was okay with him coming. He offered to sit this one out – I think he kind of wanted to – but I told him not to be silly. Tonight, we’re all just friends and colleagues, sharing a plate of…
’ I glance at the half-hearted attempts at cooking scattered across kitchen work surfaces. ‘… Domino’s pizza.’
Arshiya laughs politely. ‘To be honest, I was surprised he agreed to be your therapist at all.’
‘I think it was very much forced upon him,’ I confide, thinking of my agent Fabian and his high pain threshold when it comes to people saying no.
‘It must be really weird though,’ she continues, and I can see she’s watching Edward across the room, chatting to Fran, ‘given your… dynamic.’
‘Our dynamic?’ I shake my head. ‘You mean us working together in the collective? He’s already our supervisor, it’s not so different.’
She glances at me, looking amused. ‘No, I mean…’ she trails off, ‘you know.’
I frown. ‘No, really, what are you talking about?’
She groans. ‘Oh god, you’re not going to make me say it, are you?’ She pauses. ‘I mean… y’know, the tension between you two.’
Jeez, have I been so obvious about my dislike of Edward? I thought I’d kept a lid on the teasing about his three-piece suit and his stern demeanour – at least around the office. I mostly just complained to Sam about him. And then she would wax lyrical about his sexiness while I rolled my eyes.
‘There’s no tension,’ I protest quickly. ‘We get on fine, really.’
Arshiya squints at me. ‘I don’t mean that kind of tension. I mean…’ She sighs. ‘… the fact that Edward has always had a thing for you.’ She sips her drink. ‘I mean, obviously. You knew that, right? Like, forever. Since, like, day one of our uni course.’
I blink at her, my stomach dropping. What on earth is she talking about? Edward has a… I shoot a look across the room at him. He’s talking to Jamal, they’re eating crisps. He… what? No, there’s absolutely no way that can be true. Absolutely no way. She has the wrong end of the stick. It’s nonsense.
‘I don’t think—’ I begin and am immediately interrupted by a breathless Sam, unable to contain herself any longer.
‘How’s it going?’ she yells in our faces, her eyes wild. She turns to Arshiya. ‘Have I mentioned how nice you look tonight? I love your jumpsuit. You look amazing.’ I suppress a laugh. I’ve never seen anyone so desperate for their therapist to like them.
Arshiya gives her a sad smile. ‘Sam,’ she begins carefully, and I can hear the professional twang to her voice. ‘We talked about this. If tonight is going to work, we can’t do this.’ Sam looks crestfallen but nods.
The milling continues until the pizza arrives, and I carry the boxes through and into the kitchen.
Sam serves the hot side salad we made, fresh from its boil, consisting entirely of steaming kale and tomatoes.
We all take our seats around the table, Sam and I sat at one end, Edward and Arshiya at the other.
The noise of everyone talking is loud and comfortable, but I feel all weird and itchy.
I can’t stop sneaking glances over at the other end of the table.
Are Edward and Arshiya talking about me?
Is she telling him the same thing she told me?
After all, if she’s so badly got the wrong end of the stick when it comes to Edward’s feelings for me, might she also think I feel the same?
What if she told him I was interested in him?
Because ew! Right? Ew? That is how I feel about the idea of Edward liking me. Isn’t it? I mean, maybe not ew exactly. More just… confusion. Because he’s always been so cool and distant. So professional and po-faced around me. If anything, it seemed clear he didn’t like me at all.
Beside me, Fran leans closer. ‘So, Liv, are you okay?’ They smile. ‘I’m not asking as a therapist by the way, none of us are in work mode tonight! I’m asking as your friend – I know it’s been a rough time for you.’
I nudge a grateful shoulder into theirs.
‘Thanks, mate,’ I say quietly, then realise the whole table has quietened, awaiting my response.
‘It has been rough – it is rough,’ I concede, making eye contact with Edward and quickly looking away.
‘But…’ I trail off, not knowing what answer will placate this group of friends-cum-professionals. ‘… you know, I’ll be okay.’
Sam leaps in. ‘Can you believe that dickhead Justin already has a new girlfriend?’ Her voice is outraged, but in that delighting-in-it kind of way.
Next to her, Jamal gasps. ‘No way!’ he says loyally. ‘Already?’
I nod wanly and Fran tuts. ‘What an arsehole.’
‘Do you think he overlapped?’ Arshiya frowns at the end of the table.
I make a face. ‘That was the first thing I wondered, too, but no, I don’t think so. He was a lot of things, but I’m pretty sure he wasn’t a cheater.’
‘I think I’d rather have a cheater than a man-child who couldn’t do his own washing,’ Sam mutters, and I shoot her a look.
‘He sounds very immature,’ Fran pronounces sourly. ‘A lot of men like that need to immediately leap into another relationship. He needs to be mothered at all times.’
‘That’s what I said!’ Sam says proudly, looking over at me with eyes that say I am one of you.
I put my elbows on the table, narrowly missing a slice of errant pepperoni.
‘But that’s the thing! This new girlfriend – her name is Orla – she seems like she would never, ever mother someone.
’ I eye Sam. ‘She wouldn’t put up with that kind of crap.
She seems to have her life – her everything – so sorted.
She’s this evolved, level-headed queen of the world.
She’s cool and sexy, with a great career, great skin, great hair… ’
‘Um, it sounds like you’ve googled her,’ Edward comments disapprovingly from the other end of the table. I look away. Yeah, as if I’ve stopped at only googling her.
‘I know it’s not healthy,’ I say, feeling a spike of irritation at his judgemental tone.
We’re supposed to be here as friends tonight, not judgy therapising judges.
‘But I’m just… I don’t know, fascinated by this woman.
She’s managed to turn Justin into a fully functioning human being in the space of a few weeks, while I got nowhere close in over a year, despite all my best efforts. ’
Edward frowns. ‘I don’t think anyone should be responsible for changing another—’
‘We nearly met her!’ Sam reveals excitedly, and I fight the urge to throw a cold onion ring at her. She’s sharing too much; too thrilled to have everyone’s attention. ‘We followed Justin and Orla to a Build-A-Bear workshop.’
‘Sam!’ I say too loudly, and she grimaces.
‘Sorry,’ she says, regretful but happy. ‘It just slipped out.’
I catch this group of highly experienced and qualified psychotherapists exchange looks, and I burn with shame.
‘I just want to talk to her; to meet her,’ I explain quietly. ‘I just want to see what she has that I don’t.’
‘That’s not how it works,’ Edward says kindly. ‘All you’re doing is torturing yourself by obsessing over this woman. You need to block them both on all platforms and stop looking altogether. You have to focus on your own journey.’
I hold my hands up. ‘All right, Edward!’ I force a laugh. ‘Our next therapy session isn’t until Monday. Back off!’ I mean this to sound light; to defuse the situation, but instead it heightens everything. The room falls silent.
‘Sorry,’ I add quickly. ‘I do know what you mean, and I agree with everything you’re saying, of course I do.
I understand it’s incredibly unhealthy to be researching this woman and comparing myself to her or to their relationship.
’ I clear my throat. ‘I will do what you’ve suggested – I’ll block them both – and make sure I’m purely focused on myself from here on out. ’ I pause. ‘Okay?’
Everyone around the room nods, but no one is meeting my eyes.
They didn’t buy what I’m selling. After a minute, the group resumes slowly eating their pizzas.
Jamal is so flustered, he even helps himself to some hot kale, offering some up to Fran as well.
They both peer at it with horror, their expressions confused and frightened.
Across the table, I meet Sam’s eyes. She gives me a tiny smile, and I return it after a moment. We both know I’m talking horseshit and don’t mean a word of it. In fact, we already have a new plan to find and speak to Orla, face-to-face. And we’re implementing it tomorrow.