Once I was inside and in my bedroom, I began my night-time routine with brushing my teeth. I was a few seconds in when I realised I had forgotten to start counting to thirty-four. My mind had been replaying a conversation between me and Will where I must have said something funny, which made Will look at me with endearment. When I got into bed, my thoughts were buzzing. But not in the usual way. The fear and panic I had felt in the art room were now replaced with a happiness that I hadn’t felt for such a long time. It made me get right back out of bed again and fling open the window as wide as it would go.
28
Now
I arrived at Joe’s house on Tuesday morning, where he ran his practice from a three-room extension round the back. Marion, his receptionist, smiled warmly at me when I arrived and offered to take my coat and make me some tea. I accepted a chamomile and a few minutes later Joe was ready to see me.
He greeted me as warmly as he could without breaching patient/counselling boundaries, with a grand smile, taking my tea and placing it on the coffee table next to a chair. Then he gestured to where I should sit and when I sank into the seat, it was as though no time had passed at all since our last meeting.
At one point, when the pain was so raw and breathing was so laborious, I had wondered whether I would always be in therapy. I had checked myself into A&E so many times with chest pains and heart problems that I knew the staff by their first names. Of course, there was never anything wrong with me – not that they could see from looking at an X-ray anyway. Joe had said there was always the possibility that I would find myself back here and that I was always welcome.
‘I thought I was just getting on with stuff,’ I began.
Joe pulled his usual nonchalant face. He never liked to butt in when I began talking; this was something I had noticed from the beginning. At first I thought he was a total charlatan, and that he was expecting me to just monologue for an hour and take my money, but after a few sessions I began to see the pattern; he would slowly talk more as the session went on, always allowing time for me to formulate the words and sentences at my own pace.
‘As I said on the phone, I’ve started to feel different. A whole mix of emotions. And I have been busy. I have certain behaviours now, do you remember, we discussed them via Skype last year? – I know I shouldn’t – but they help massively.’
Joe nodded and smiled.
‘I mean, they don’t affect my life or anything.’ Joe nodded, and I knew I sounded as though I was trying so hard to justify them. I knew it was what all OCD sufferers said, how every compulsive behaviour bore no infliction on their life. But I honestly didn’t see how a few minutes of repetitive action made any difference to mine or anyone else’s life.
‘But just recently, there have been a few occasions where I just forgot to do them.’ I carried on, ‘I wondered if that was normal for a start. Then there’s the anxiety. It comes and goes, and when it’s not there, I’m scared it will return. And, of course, these feelings that are surfacing, I’m feeling them all from anger to frustration to, sometimes, happiness.’ I cleared my throat and stretched my legs out. ‘Sometimes, recently, I have been feeling these pangs of…’ I could barely say it. ‘Maternal instinct. I hear my neighbour’s child crying a lot. I was really concerned at one point, and I’m ashamed to say I called social services and now my neighbour hates me. It turns out it’s all okay according to social services, but I’m still concerned.’ I gave a small smile and looked around the room. ‘Hardly serious psychotic behaviour, I know, but I just wanted to know if, well, like I have always said to you, if I’m… if I’m going to be okay?’
Joe took a long breath in, as if preparing himself to speak. But he didn’t. He just waited. Because he knew I had more to say.
‘And I see him, you know, all the time. He comes at me, and he grabs my arm, and he tells me I can’t run away. I don’t know if I’m delusional, but I know I don’t want to keep seeing him.’
‘I take it when you say “him”, you’re referring to your husband?’
I sucked in a breath and looked at my finger that once held a wedding ring.
Joe looked at me and waited.
I swallowed and blew out the breath.
Joe gently stroked his chin with his thumb and forefinger. ‘Let’s just focus on the child next door for a moment. You said you were worried about him.’
I gave a firm nod and my stomach lurched as I waited for his next statement.
‘We know from experience this isn’t the first time this has happened.’
I looked down at my hands as the past sessions in this room came flooding back.
‘You do know what I am talking about?’
I nodded again.
‘You’ve allowed yourself to become emotionally involved with children who all bore some resemblance to—’
‘Don’t say it. Don’t say his name.’ My nose burned with
