part0010

I ’m a bit early. Does that look really sad? It probably does. Who in their right mind gets to a counselling session early? But it doesn’t feel like counselling, it’s more like talking to a good friend.

I feel safe with Adam.

I’ve decided I’m not going to feel bad about how I feel; I usually manage to make myself feel guilty about everything. This counselling is helping me and that’s all that matters.

The door’s open so I go in and take my coat off and sling it over the back of the chair, settle down in the seat and wait for Adam to arrive.

Yes. I’ve taken my coat off; no more huddling and hiding in my Parka. It’s a new development, the taking off of the coat. Not a major deal for most people but for me it’s a massive step forward. Not saying that I’m that brave anywhere else, apart from Uncle Ralph’s office, but one step at a time. I hope the day is not too far away when I can sit in the college canteen without huddling and hiding in my Parka. I’m a good advert for this counselling – only my fifth session and it’s already made such a difference. Obviously, I’ve still got a long way to go but I’m on my way and I’m feeling a bit better every day. There are still some things that I haven’t talked about, and one thing that I’ll never talk about, but I’m getting there.

I’m impatient for Adam to arrive so we can get started; I’m looking forward to telling him about the band rehearsal. As I gaze around in my boredom, I wonder what else this office is used for. There are stacks of box files marked A to Z on metal shelving which means there must be twenty-six of them. Can’t imagine that Q and Z get used very much. There’s a musty smell in here of old paper and rubber bands and pencil shavings and, everything looks like it could do with a good clean.

‘Hi!’ Adam crashes into the office pulling me from my musing. He seems out of breath, as if he’s been running and he smells of fresh air, as if he’s been outside. He usually smells of aftershave; I don’t know what it is but it’s sort of musky and makes me feel a bit light headed when he’s close to me.

‘Hi.’ I can’t help beaming at him.

He closes the door with a clang and comes round and flings himself down into the chair opposite me, his long legs taking up half of the room.

‘Sorry I’m late.’ He gives me that lovely smile. ‘Had a bit of a crisis with a client, but it’s all okay now.’

I feel a stab of resentment at the thought of another client, or is it jealousy? I don’t like it when he mentions other clients; he never tells me anything about them but I suppose I don’t like to think of him talking to other people like he talks to me. Although I’m sure it’s not the same when he’s with other clients, they won’t talk like we talk.

‘You okay? Want a drink or anything?’

‘No. I’m good, thanks.’ I don’t think I’d want a drink out of the rusty old kettle sitting on top of the filing cabinet and who knows where we’d get water from.

See how easily we talk to each other now? We get on so well, as if we’ve known each other forever.

‘So,’ he says, interlocking his fingers and stretching his arms above his head, ‘How is the band doing?’

I’ve been keeping Adam up to date on the rehearsals; just over a week to go now until gig night. I’m sort of looking forward to it because I think Tourists of Reality are good and they deserve to play in front of an audience and get some applause. At my last session I nearly asked Adam if he’d come and watch them but I stopped myself just in time. As if someone like him would want to come and watch a college band. But then I think, I don’t know, maybe he would want to come because he is a sort of friend really, isn’t he?

‘Rehearsals are going well and I’m not feeling so anxious about it all. I’m almost looking forward to it.’

‘That’s great! They’re so lucky to have you as a manager – the Old Vic was the place to go when I was a student. All the up and coming bands played there.’

I was totally honest and told Adam that Dad got them the gig, not me. But Adam said the way he sees it everyone needs a bit of help when they first take on a job and there’s nothing wrong with a helping hand. He says it’s just a matter of confidence, that as my confidence grows, I’ll be able to go out and talk to people, get the band gigs by myself.

‘Yeah, only a week to go. You should come and watch them.’ As soon as I’ve said it, I could just kill myself. Adam won’t meet my eyes and looks uncertain. Idiot. Of course he doesn’t want to come, why would he?

‘Yeah, sure, sounds like a plan.’ He says it casually but still won’t meet my eyes. I could just die. Why did I say it?

Still avoiding looking at me he rummages around in his backpack on the floor and pulls his notebook and pen out. He sits back up and flips it open and studies the page. He obviously can’t even look at me and I can feel my face starting to burn.

After what feels like forever, he finally looks up with a smile on his face. ‘Exams? Last time we didn’t have time to talk about your exams.’

I’ve been dreading talking about this but now I feel like he’s thrown me a lifeline. We can forget that I stupidly asked him to a gig. A horrific though occurs to me - did he think I’d asked him like, on a date? OMG kill me now. My face feels even hotter.

‘Josie?’ He’s looking at me with concern. ‘Do you think you can do that? Tell me what happened with your exams?’

‘Yes.’ I swallow, might as well get it over with. ‘Basically, everyone thinks I failed them on purpose.’

Adam nods. It’s hardly a surprise.

No! But I know that no-one believes me, not even Dad. Probably because I haven’t told anyone what really happened. I still can’t understand it even now. I was a shoo-in to get all A stars. I’m not bragging, just stating a fact. I’ve been blessed with a near photographic memory so it’s not like I even have to swot up on stuff, I just remember it. Not instantly; sometimes it takes a little while, but it’s all there, just waiting to be selected and used.

I’d like to say it was deliberate, that I was making some grand gesture because that’s what everyone thinks; that I did it on purpose. But I didn’t.

‘You left every page blank, never wrote anything at all?’

It’s true. I remember the first exam, it was English Literature. I sat down, they started the clock and I turned the paper over and started to read. I must have read that paper twenty times but I couldn’t make sense of it, the words tumbled around the page and just wouldn’t stay still so I could read them. I can still feel the rising panic that I felt then, frantically trying to read the questions and not having a clue what I was supposed to do. When the invigilator told us to put down our pens, I realised that I hadn’t even picked mine up.

I turned the paper face down on the desk and walked out with everyone else but I felt I was someone else, somewhere else. The next exam was the same, they were all the same. I tell this to Adam, he listens without comment until I’ve finished.

‘Okay.’ He taps his lips with his index finger.

‘Are you afraid it’ll happen again?’

I nod dumbly, unable to speak. I’m so frightened it’ll happen again and I’ll never be able to pass anything. Ever.

‘Have you ever had a panic attack?’

‘I think what you’ve described is a kind of panic attack.’

‘No.’ I shake my head emphatically. ‘I don’t think so. I’ve seen panic attacks, a girl at school used to have them, she had to blow into a paper bag to calm herself down.’

Adams smiles. ‘There are different types of panic attacks, you couldn’t think straight, you panicked.’

‘But I was calm to start with. It was only when I couldn’t read the questions that I felt any panic.’

‘Why couldn’t you read the questions?

‘I don’t know.’

‘I do. Because you panicked, you couldn’t think straight and panicked some more. Classic panic circle.’

Sort of makes sense. But it’ll happen again, I know it will.

‘You think it’ll happen again.’ He reads my mind.

‘There are coping strategies, things I could teach you that’ll help.’

I almost believe him. I want to believe him.

‘Honestly, you don’t need to worry. You’re in a much better place now than you were a year ago, you’ve moved on. Look at you, you’ve improved so much in the last few weeks.’

It’s true, I am much better than I was; I’m getting better. Maybe it doesn’t have to happen again, maybe he can help.

‘Next session I’ll bring some information on coping strategies, we’ll go through them together, make sure you’ve got the coping mechanisms to ensure it doesn’t happen again.

‘Thanks.’ I manage a small smile.

‘Just remember you’re not alone Josie, I’m here for you.’

We’ll go through them together, he said, he’s there for me. Bet he doesn’t say that to his other clients.

I wake up and it’s pitch black; I have no idea what time it is and for some unexplained reason I feel suddenly afraid. I reach my hand out and grope around for the switch and put the bedside lamp on and the familiar contours of my room emerge from the gloom. The sound of Skipper snoring gently at the end of the bed reassures me and I reach down and rub his fur and he snuffles and then resumes snoring. I can just make out the faint pattern of one of my socks clamped underneath his paws. I look at the numbers on the alarm clock, 3:27.

I’m not sure what woke me, it may have been a dream but whatever it was it’s gone now, vanished into the night. After Mum died, I used to wake like this a lot, but then it was always nightmares that used to wake me. Nightmares of Mum and trains, the whoosh of a train hurtling towards me and horrible visions of Mum jumping onto the tracks and screaming that it was the only way she could be free of us. Jumbled thoughts of grief made into nightmares.

I’ve been sleeping a lot better lately and yesterday was a good day. After my counselling with Adam I went back to my classes and then watched the band rehearse again. I can’t see why I would wake up like this when I had such a good day.

That’s a lie, I do know why. Yesterday’s counselling was a breakthrough, I’d never told anyone about what happened in the exams, but after I’d told Adam I felt like a weight had been lifted; I felt so much better. I think I may even be able to talk to Dad about it.

And that’s why I’ve woken up; because there’s this voice in my head that keeps saying; if you feel so much better after talking about what happened in the exams why don’t you tell Adam about Mum? Maybe it would help.

But I can’t. It would be so disloyal and I don’t want him to judge her. He never knew Mum and he’d have a perception of her that isn’t anything like she really was.

I wish I didn’t know. If only I hadn’t answered the phone, then I would never have suspected. The phone was quietly put down and even then, I wouldn’t have guessed if Mum hadn’t given herself away. The silent phone calls happened a few times, nothing so strange in that is there? I saw the worried look on Mum’s face when it happened but even then I wouldn’t have known for sure if it wasn’t for the card. If it hadn’t been for the birthday card, I might never have put two and two together.

Mum’s birthday fell on a Saturday, we were getting ready to go out for lunch at her favourite pasta restaurant. We’d had such a lovely morning, Dad had cooked us salmon and scrambled egg for breakfast, making his usual mess in the kitchen, and then we’d sat on the sofa while Mum unwrapped her presents from us. Dad had bought her a beautiful blue cashmere jumper and I gave her a blue beaded bracelet to go with it. I remember her laughing when she opened her present of socks from Skipper and said what a good job he’d done of the wrapping up with his paws. But I also remember that she got a bit tearful, said how lucky she was to have such a fantastic family. Looking back, was that because she was thinking of leaving us or because she wished she was with him?

Dad went upstairs to have a shower and Mum and I were sitting chatting when the post arrived. I jumped up to go and get it because I knew there’d be loads of birthday cards for Mum and I knew she’d be looking for the one from Nanny and Grandad. They retired to Spain five years ago and I know Mum missed them like mad. We’d go and stay with them for a couple of weeks every year and we were always sad to leave. I picked the cards up from the doormat and took them into Mum and she sat and opened them, showing me each one after she’d read them. Except for one; she opened it and slid it underneath the empty envelopes. She thought I hadn’t seen, but I had. I wish I hadn’t. She had a strange look on her face too, she looked almost frightened. She must have been afraid of getting found out.

While she went upstairs to get ready to go out, I arranged all of her birthday cards around the room. Once I’d done that I started to wonder who the mysterious birthday card was from and what she’d done with it. So I went looking. I didn’t have to look very far; Dad was upstairs so I guessed she hadn’t taken it up there and she’d been out to the kitchen to take her coffee cup out so that’s where I looked.

I found it quite easily; it was in the bin underneath the empty envelopes from her birthday cards. She’d torn it in half then in half again but I pieced it together on the worktop. I knew instantly and the silent phone calls suddenly made sense. The handwriting was quite large and l remember thinking it untidy, almost childish. It said:

It wasn’t signed but there were lots of X’s in the shape of a heart.

I felt sick and couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Suddenly everything was ruined and the whole day disappeared into a big black hole and I just wanted to cry and cry.

Then I started to get angry. How dare he send it to our house where Dad and I might see it, or was that the plan, to force Mum to tell us? I couldn’t believe how Mum had betrayed us, how she’d sat and opened her presents and said how lucky she was to have us. All lies! While she was lying to us, she was wishing she was with him, wishing she could spend her birthday with him.

I was still standing there when I heard Dad coming down the stairs, whistling an unrecognisable tune. I quickly picked up the pieces of card and shoved them back in the bin and put the envelopes on top. I composed myself and never said anything but the rest of the day was torture. Mum knew something was wrong and kept asking me if I was okay; I told her I didn’t feel very well but really, I wanted to shout at her and tell her I knew. But I couldn’t.

For the rest of the weekend I pretended I was ill and mostly stayed in my room. Sunday lasted forever and as I stayed in my room with the door shut, I wondered what the hell I was going to do, wondered if Mum was going to leave us. Half of me felt guilty for ruining Mum’s birthday and the other half of me hated her, hated her for what she’d done.