Andrew’s weekly appointment is scheduled for this afternoon, Tuesday, as we were closed yesterday, which is going to make things especially difficult. He must have complained last week, before Easter.
It’s OK, I tell myself, trying to think. You can deal with this, just like everything else…
I can see Joe’s mouth moving, see the pained expression on his face, but I can’t hear him. He’s no doubt explaining that I’ll be suspended, that questions will be asked, statements taken and submitted to my professional body while they decide what to do with me, reviewing the case, all the ethical guidelines I’ve breached. It’ll be written about in their monthly publication for all my colleagues to see, I’ll be held up as an example, unemployable in psychotherapy, and no doubt the tabloids would like a sniff at the story too: Therapist at Top London Clinic Struck off for Affair with Client…
And there’ll be no hiding from Mark what I’ve done. Not like last time.
‘Joe, I’m so, so sorry,’ I say, sucking in a large gasp of air, knowing nothing else is appropriate. There is no defence. Disclosure is my best tactic. ‘I never meant for any of this to happen. After last year, I thought I had it under control, thought I had dealt with it but…’ I trail off. Joe is frowning, looking perplexed, as though I’ve gone mad.
‘Look, Lorna,’ he says. ‘The upshot is that Tom’s mother is willing to hold off further action if—’
‘Tom’s mother?’
‘Yes. She feels the last session was unproductive because of you checking your phone. She said Tom didn’t complain because he didn’t want to hurt your feelings. You’ve said yourself the lad trusts you, that you’ve got a good relationship with him. He’s beginning to open up, from what you say. Anyway, she’s willing to let it go, this time, if we offer her three sessions free of charge. I’ve only ever had to do this once before, Lorna, and it’s not something I want to make a habit of. In this case, I’ve agreed and only because of the progress you’ve made with him already. His mother’s not disputing that.’
‘But…’ I clap my hand over my mouth.
‘Lorna…’ Joe makes a different face now, one of puzzlement. ‘Have you actually been listening to a word I’ve said?’
I resist the explosion of relief, force myself not to fold in two, burying my face in my hands and letting out deep wails and laughs combined. ‘Absolutely, and I understand, Joe. Really, I do. Checking my phone in session was totally stupid and not cool and it will never happen again. If it hadn’t been for Freya being ill, if I’d got some backup in place and—’
‘Yes, yes, I know all that,’ he says. ‘But I have a condition too.’ He keeps his eyes fixed on me as I look pained, raising my eyebrows, bracing myself. ‘That you talk to me. Now.’ He looks at his watch, then folds his arms. ‘We’ve got forty-five minutes left.’
I sit there, nodding slowly, biting my lip. My eyes close momentarily, wanting nothing more than to spill everything out, but one thing’s for sure: I can’t. I can’t tell anyone. Ever.
‘I’ve not been sleeping well,’ I begin. ‘Stuff on my mind.’ I dredge up a skeleton of my problems, enough to keep Joe happy.
He nods, unfolding his arms, getting into a more relaxed position in his consulting chair. Part of me feels as though I want to lie down, to be analysed, psychodynamic style, picked apart, everything dragged back to my childhood so the blame doesn’t lie with me, so that I can pass it on, hide behind excuses, while another part of me wants to be sectioned, locked up in a secure psychiatric hospital, drugged and plugged into an ECT machine to get what I deserve.
‘Mum’s been on my mind a lot too. I don’t think she’s been eating properly, and all she does is go on about Dad. You know the score there, Joe.’ He nods sympathetically, knowing about my parents. Maybe it’s affecting me more than I realise, though I have no idea why. It’s been that way since forever. I should be used to it. In fact, I can’t remember a time before it, or if I’ve ever questioned it, the deeper reasons for it. The whys. As an only child, I just thought it was how families were. It was only when I hit my teens that it began to seem odd. For the most part, I brought myself up, escaping to a bedsit and a dead-end job as soon as I turned sixteen. Mum didn’t try to stop me.
‘She’s just so stuck in the past,’ I continue, wondering if that’s really more about me than Mum. ‘She rarely goes anywhere without Dad, yet she hates him. In fact, I was surprised she came to ours alone at Easter. Plus, I think Freya’s been affected by it more than I thought and has been in trouble at school. And Jack seems really confused about stuff from way back, to do with his real mum, and… and…’ Tears collect in my eyes as Joe’s expression mirrors my pain. He understands, he gets it. I just wish I could expunge everything.
‘And on top of it all, my poor husband doesn’t get much of a look in these days,’ I say with a guilty laugh. ‘There’s a lot I need to deal with, to be honest, Joe. It’s like I’m not me any more, as though… as though I’m becoming someone else.’
‘I understand,’ he says. ‘Like someone you don’t recognise?’
‘Yeah, exactly,’ I say, the relief of the client complaint not being from Andrew still flooding through me. ‘But maybe it’s the real me, and I just forgot her. Anyway, the long weekend helped. I went to a spa for a few hours on Saturday, had dinner with friends afterwards…’ I force a smile, trying to convince him it’s easy as that – four days off work and I’m right as rain.
‘Self-care is important in this job, Lorna, but I don’t need to tell you that. And while supervision is essential for your caseload, I’m going to strongly recommend you undertake a course of personal therapy with an independent practitioner. It’s not something we’d want to touch on here at the clinic.’
‘Of course,’ I say, willing to agree to anything right now.
‘It sounds to me that rather than facing issues in your life, you’ve chosen to bury them, maybe even kept things from yourself?’ Joe’s tone of voice is coaxing, lulling, comforting. He has the kind of face that makes you feel safe just from making eye contact.
‘Maybe,’ I say, thinking it through. Though we both know our minds keep stuff locked away for a reason.
Chapter Forty-Two
Lorna
‘I’ve called his mobile twice and it goes straight to voicemail, I’m afraid,’ Sandy tells me later that afternoon.
‘Can you try again?’ I say, stepping impatiently from one foot to the other by the reception desk. I check my watch again. It’s twenty minutes past Andrew’s appointment time and he’s only been late once before. It’s his last one, and I just want to get this over with.
Sandy does as I ask, putting the phone on speaker as it connects. There’s no one else in the waiting room and, sure enough, his mobile goes straight to the standard voicemail recording.
She leaves a quick message, then hangs up. ‘I’ve got a landline number for him on file here too,’ she says. ‘Shall I try that?’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ I say impatiently, frowning. ‘It was his last appointment today.’ I can hardly tell her that I’ve heard nothing from him the last couple of days either – not as Abbi74 or myself. Then I think back to those last messages, shuddering at the thought of being found out.
‘It’s ringing,’ Sandy mouths at me, the handset pressed to her ear. ‘Oh hello, is that Mr Carter?’ she says, but then pauses, looking puzzled. ‘Taylor? No, I don’t think so,’ she says, glancing up at me. Reluctantly, I jot down Andrew’s real name on her notepad for her to see, giving her a thumbs up. She knows clients often book in under another name to protect their privacy. ‘Oh yes, actually I am calling about Andrew Tay—’ she says slowly, but is interrupted. She doesn’t say anything for a while. Gradually, her eyes widen, and her mouth drops open as she listens, staring at me. ‘Oh… oh dear. Oh my goodness.’ Her face goes pale and she makes a twisted shape with her mouth. ‘I see. That’s terrible. I’m so sorry to hear that.’ More silence as she listens. ‘Me? No, I don’t know him personally… I’m ca
lling from the Grove Clinic actually, about an appointment he had today. He was a client, yes. I was checking to see if he was still coming, but obviously…’ She trails off. ‘OK. OK, yes, I understand.’ Sandy then gives out the clinic’s details while I grip the reception desk, waiting for her to get off the phone. A moment later, she hangs up.
‘What? What is it?’
She looks up at me, trying to find the right words, her mouth opening and closing. ‘Just a moment, Lorna love, there’s something I need to run past Joe.’ She holds my gaze as she gets up from her chair, giving me a little smile before she disappears into the staffroom, ignoring my questions.
It seems like forever but eventually Joe comes out, gently ushering me by the elbow through to my office. ‘What’s going on, Joe? Why won’t Sandy tell me what’s happening?’
‘Sit down, Lorn,’ he says when we’re shut inside. For the first time ever, I sit on my clients’ couch, facing Joe as he sits in my chair. It doesn’t feel natural, yet strangely fitting.
‘Just to be clear, I asked Sandy to call my client because he’s late. If he’s a no-show, I wanted to get on with some report writing instead. I did everything right, Joe. I didn’t contact him myself, I swear.’ My mouth is so dry, I can hardly speak.
‘I know, Lorn, I know that,’ he says kindly. ‘Look, there’s no easy way to say this. I know as well as you how attached we become to clients and how the relationship we develop with them can throw up all sorts of feelings. Which makes this all the harder to say—’
‘It’s not like that!’ I say, almost yelling, almost in tears. Truth is, it’s way worse. ‘I was literally just getting Sandy to check—’
Joe raises his hands. ‘Lorna, it’s OK. Really, I understand—’
‘No! How can you understand?’ I can’t even cry. I’m way beyond that. I drop my head down into my hands. For the second time in a day, it feels as though my career is about to be over.
‘Lorna… I’m afraid your client is dead. I’m so sorry.’
Slowly, I raise my head, staring at Joe, my mouth open, my eyes wide. His face is a mix of pity, compassion and sadness.
‘Dead?’ I say so quietly I wonder if I’ve even spoken.
Joe gives a small nod. ‘I’m so sorry, Lorna. It’s never an easy thing to hear about a client. The relationships we forge in therapy aren’t one-sided. We’re as involved and invested as they are. That’s what I was trying to say before.’
‘How?’ I say, my voice shaking, barely a whisper. ‘I… I don’t believe it. He can’t be dead…’ My hands go over my mouth.
‘When Sandy called his landline, a detective answered. He didn’t tell her much, but your client was found deceased in his house over the weekend. It’s being treated as suspicious.’ Joe pauses, rubbing his face, feeling my pain. Pain that I can’t show to its full extent because of everything. ‘Apparently, there’s a murder investigation underway.’
‘Murder?’ I whisper, shaking, trying to take it in.
Joe nods again. ‘That’s what the detective told Sandy. It’s dreadful to lose a client this way. I’ll stay with you for the rest of his session if you like. I know he was a newish client, and we’ve all lost them to illness or suicide over the years, but however it happens, it can still feel as if you failed them.’
I’m nodding, agreeing with him, though I can’t take it in. I stare at the floor, focusing on anything except the thoughts filling my mind.
‘Dead…’ I whisper, repeating myself over and over. ‘Murdered? But how?’ Unanswerable questions flood through me. ‘Sorry, Joe, but I just don’t believe it. Can’t believe it. Poor, poor man.’ I fight against my grief, forcing myself to hold it inside to an acceptable level. If I let the full force of it out now, it will look suspicious. In Joe’s eyes, I didn’t know him that well. ‘Did they say what happened?’
‘We know very little. I suppose it might be on the local news later. But don’t torture yourself with details, Lorna. Focus on yourself right now.’
The news. I hadn’t considered that. I nod again, my mouth hanging open, a thousand questions waiting to come out. Questions Joe can’t answer.
‘Sandy said the detectives will be coming to the clinic in the next few days, to talk to you. She’s given them our details. I can be with you if it helps.’
‘But what about client confidentiality?’ I say, feeling the panic rise. I can’t stand the thought of him being dead, but I also can’t stand the thought of having to talk to the police about how I knew him.
‘You know the score, Lorna. If they come with a court order, which they will, then we will have to disclose. His records are up to date, I take it?’
I nod again. ‘Yes, yes, I think so,’ I say, thankful I put in the work to catch up with my paperwork.
‘Do you want a cup of tea? Some water? You look really shocked.’
‘Thanks, Joe. Tea would be good,’ I say, trying to act as if the news is only mildly disturbing because he was a new client, rather than devastating because he was my lover. I close my eyes, resting my head down on my knees, my face buried in my hands while Joe’s gone.
But all I can see is him… imagining how his body would have looked to whoever found him; wondering who found him.
‘Here you go,’ Joe says, handing me a mug. ‘I put an extra sugar in it.’
‘Thanks, Joe,’ I say, sniffing, just managing to hold back the tears.
‘Look, Lorna, given what we talked about earlier, what you’re going through anyway, how about we reschedule your client list for the next few days, so you can take a break?’
‘I’ll be fine, really,’ I say, even though it’s a lie.
‘I just had a quick look in the diary and noticed you’ve got a new assessment booked in next…’ He glances at his watch. ‘In about half an hour. How about I take her instead? She’s your last client today.’
I pause, thinking. ‘You know what? I think it’ll do me good to carry on. I just need to keep going, Joe.’
He nods. ‘You know where I am,’ he says a while later, getting up to go.
When he’s gone, I put my tea on the table and lie down on my couch, pulling the grey blanket over me. I’m shivering, even though it’s not cold. I screw up my eyes, determined to keep the tears away. Instead, I cry inside, still unable to believe what’s happened.
‘Lorna, your next client is here…’
Startled, I sit up. I must have fallen asleep. Sandy’s voice rings through my intercom. I dash to my desk, pressing the reply button. ‘Two secs, Sandy,’ I say, forcing myself awake.
After I’ve quickly brushed my hair, fixed my make-up and plumped up the sofa cushions, I go out to reception. There’s only one client there – a dark-haired woman reading a magazine. She looks up as I approach, returning my smile.
‘Nikki?’ I say. ‘Please, come through.’
The usual routine. I’ve done it hundreds, if not thousands, of times over the years.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
Apart from Andrew being dead.
‘Have a seat,’ I say, pointing to the sofa. She slips off her coat – a dirty old thing – to reveal ripped jeans and a sweater underneath. She pushes her hands through her short hair, which doesn’t look as though it’s been washed in a while.
‘Excuse the state of me,’ she says, giving herself a look up and down. ‘I’ve just come from work. It’s not the most glam job.’ She laughs then, exposing straight white teeth that almost look out of place in her elf-like, angular face. I try never to read or judge someone by appearance, but if she wore some make-up, dressed up a bit, had her hair styled – well, I can see she’d be very beautiful. For a moment, I wonder if I’ve seen her before, as if I recognise her from somewhere – maybe the street. Just for a fleeting second, her face looks familiar.
Chapter Forty-Three
Nikki
‘Excuse the state of me,’ I say, unable to take my eyes off her. ‘I’ve just come from work. It’s not the most glam job.’ I can�
�t believe we’re sitting only a few feet apart, finally talking to each other. The contrast between us is stark yet oddly appropriate. I was going to smarten up but didn’t expect an appointment so soon. ‘I flip burgers. In a van. It’s greasy.’ I laugh then, already finding this much easier than I was anticipating.
It’s sort of the truth, but I can’t explain what I actually did right before I came here. She wouldn’t like it. Not one bit. But the thrill of getting that key from under the pot copied while they were all out, the excitement of testing that it worked in the lock – a plausible story at the ready should her neighbours challenge me – was too much to resist. I’m getting bolder by the day. I only intended poking my head into the hallway, seeing what it was like, how it smelt, perhaps a glance at the mail on the mat. But curiosity took over and something drew me further on down the tiled corridor, into the living room, through to the kitchen. Upstairs, I looked through her clothes, her make-up, took a couple of items for myself. I doubt she’ll ever notice.
I had to stop myself smashing everything up.
‘That sounds like you’re being a bit hard on yourself, Nikki,’ she says with a warm smile. I’ve heard her voice before, of course, but it’s never been directed at me. There’s a look in her eye, though, almost a look of recognition, making me wonder if I’ve been too cavalier with my watching.
‘At least I managed to put on some lippy,’ I say, rolling my mouth together. I did it especially for her, when I was in her bedroom just before I came here – using that one I’d found by the burger van a while back. My landlord always likes – liked – me wearing a bright scarlet colour, and on my nails too. He said it made me look like his dirty whore. I wonder if he ever made her put any on? She doesn’t look like the type, but then she doesn’t look like the type to have an affair either.
‘You look absolutely fine,’ she says, smiling, holding a clipboard and pen. She waffles on then, taking extra details from me – most of which I fake – then she goes on about some stupid contract, how the session is confidential, who she’d have to tell if she thought I was a risk to myself or anyone else.
Tell Me A Secret Page 21
