Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
‘Come in, Felicity. Have a seat.’
Felicity edged into the therapist’s room and looked around.
It looked normal. Just what she had expected, in some ways. Potted plant in the corner: check. Leather-topped desk in front of the window: check. Comfortable chairs with a coffee table between them: check. Man-sized box of Kleenex: check.
No chaise longue or couch though. Not like you’d see in a Times cartoon. But then her therapist wasn’t a cartoon dog, either.
‘Just sit wherever you feel most comfortable,’ said the therapist.
Her name was Hattie, of all things, and she had a friendly schoolteacher-ish look about her. She was wearing a mustard yellow cardigan over a long grey dress and a pair of kitten heels. Her dirty blonde-grey hair was piled on top of her head in a reassuringly messy bun, and she had a pair of glasses balanced in front of it. Felicity was dying to look to see if she had any pencils stuck in the bun, but she thought that might appear a tad rude. The room smelled vaguely exotic, like incense, but not too much, the scent was very faint and just wafted across the room every so often, conjuring up opulent images of faraway markets and peppermint tea.
Felicity sat – or rather, perched awkwardly – on the edge of one of the comfortable chairs, which was a lovely deep orange velvet and had upright wooden arms. After a few seconds, her hands began to cramp from gripping the arms rather too forcefully and with an effort she unclenched them, put them in her lap and tried to relax. Resisted the urge to march right out of the door again. Deep breaths.
Hattie sat opposite her in a matching chair and crossed her legs. She peered at Felicity as if already assessing her. Felicity concentrated on trying to look normal.
‘So, Felicity,’ she said. ‘What brings you to see me today?’
Until she opened her mouth, Felicity didn’t know what was going to come out. And then – wow – it all came out in a rush. So much so that after a couple of minutes Hattie held up a hand, a smile spreading across her face.
‘I’m sure that’s all very interesting and relevant, Felicity. Unfortunately, you’re speaking so fast I can’t understand a word you are saying,’ she said gently. ‘Take a deep breath and start again, can you?’
‘Sorry.’
‘And don’t be sorry. I won’t allow any apologies in my therapy room. Unless you were to stand on my foot of course,’ she added, still smiling.
‘Fair enough,’ said Felicity. She sat back a little.
‘So, let’s start again, shall we? What brought you to see me today? Take your time.’
Felicity could feel her heart hammering in her ears. ‘I’m here because I don’t know who I am,’ she said. And there it was. Tears prickled behind her eyes.
‘Go on,’ said Hattie.
‘I thought I knew. I mean, I really did think I knew who I was, Hattie.’ She cringed at this familiar use of the therapist’s name, but Hattie didn’t seem to mind. She was listening intently.
‘It sounds really angsty and childish, I’m sure, but I genuinely don’t know who I am. I don’t ever seem to know my own mind, what I want, how I feel about things. And I think it’s probably because I’ve never really had anyone around me to bounce things off? Do you know what I mean? It’s always been me having to work things out on my own.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Hattie. ‘Have you ever had any role models in your life, that you can think of? People you’ve looked up to?’
‘I do now, I guess. I have friends. My boss, perhaps. She’s pretty cool. But no, there was no one when I was growing up.’
‘No one?’ said Hattie, making a note.
‘No one. And I do mean no one.’
‘What about your parents?’
‘They were completely useless.’
Hattie looked up from her notes, sharply. ‘Define “useless”.’
‘Literally useless. Ineffectual. Ineffective. “An item having no use”. They were non-parents, really.’
‘Those are very strong words, Felicity.’
‘In this case, justified.’ Felicity could feel her jaw clenching.
Hattie nodded slowly, as if sizing her up. ‘Okay. Do go on. What effect has that had on you, on how you live your life?’
‘It’s affected everything, I reckon. Mostly because I’ve spent my adult life being terrified that I might end up like them.’ She paused. ‘I say them but I really mean him .’
‘Your father?’
‘Yes. I’ve always thought I was like him. Or at least, that I could be like him. That I had that potential.’
‘And that’s obviously not something you wanted? To emulate him?’
‘God, no.’
‘And why is that? Can you be more specific than “useless”?’
How long have you got?
‘ He… hurt us badly when I was young. He hurt me badly when I was young, and I never quite got over it.’
Hattie scribbled something in her notebook. Felicity took a breath.
‘But now – recently – I found out it wasn’t just my dad who was… well, bad. My mum was too, she was just as bad as him. Maybe even worse. And so now I have a whole new parent trauma I don’t know what to do with. Honestly, my parents are – wait, am I being a real cliché right now? I just heard myself then and I sounded like a proper therapy cliché.’
Hattie laughed gently. ‘There’s a good reason that parenting traumas are therapy clichés,’ she said, simply.
‘You could write a whole book about mine,’ replied Felicity.
‘Let’s start with one session, shall we? Why don’t you tell me a little more about your family?’
And so, she did.