‘How are you feeling today?’ Stephanie asks. Stephanie Green is my counsellor. She’s in her mid-forties, with chestnut-brown hair styled into a neat bob and blue eyes that narrow when she’s listening to me.
‘I couldn’t sleep last night,’ I tell her. ‘I was thinking about something Ben said. We didn’t have an argument, exactly, more a discussion. He disagrees with me that addiction’s genetic. His stepfather was an alcoholic, but no one else in his family drinks. What do you think?’
‘I think it can be. There’s also learned behaviour. Your friend Ben grew up as a child watching a grown-up drink. As a child you only know what you see. Many people are born with the potential for addiction. Sometimes it gets realised, sometimes it doesn’t. Often there’s a catalyst. I don’t think it happens by accident, there is always something underlying going on and, from my experience over the years, I see a certain personality type. The main thing is, whatever the reason, we learn from our past and take responsibility.’ She stops, as if she’s talked too much. Sometimes I wonder if she’s talking from her own experience.
I’ve seen Stephanie for the past four years and our relationship is professional, but there is no doubt we are getting closer; yet I know nothing about her. Her room is cosy, shelves filled with books and there are always flowers on her desk, but no photographs. There’s nothing personal that hints at the life she has outside this room.
‘Tell me more about Ben,’ she says, making sure the conversation leads back to me. ‘Is he a new friend?’ Stephanie likes to build a picture of my life.
I end up telling her all about him, not realising how much I am talking until our time runs out.
On my way home, I realise that’s the first time Stephanie has offered any encouragement over a friendship with a man. She was always quiet when I told her about my last boyfriend, David the lawyer, the one I met in front of the Picasso sculpture. She did smile once when I marvelled at how controlled he was in all aspects of life. He lived by the motto, ‘Everything in moderation’. I told Stephanie that if I opened a bar of chocolate it would be wolfed down in virtually five seconds. I teased David, calling him Mr Two Cubes as he’d only allow himself two cubes of dark chocolate after supper, before carefully wrapping it back in its silver foil and putting it back in the fridge. I see now, that it was never going to work between Mr Two Cubes and me.
*
It’s bedtime. Louis has been quiet since I picked him up from school and took him to the café.
‘What’s the best thing you’ve done today?’ I ask, tucking him up in bed.
‘Nothing,’ he mumbles, his little jaw clenched.
‘Louis, is something wrong?’ I stroke his hair.
A thundercloud descends over his face. ‘Everyone at school has a daddy, where is mine?’
‘Oh, Louis, we’ve talked about this.’
‘Luke’s dad helps him take his shoes off at school, and his coat.’
‘Emily doesn’t have a daddy,’ I say. ‘She has Uncle Ben. Sometimes in life things aren’t as simple as they should be, but you have Uncle Hugo and …’
‘But he’s not my daddy! Where is he?’ He kicks his feet under the duvet.
‘He has problems.’
‘What problems?’ More kicks. ‘Why can’t I see him?’ He hurls Fido the dog on to the floor, tears rolling down his face. ‘I want my dad,’ he sobs.
*
I sit on my rocking chair, unable to sleep.
I stayed with Louis until finally he drifted off.
Not a day goes by when I don’t feel guilty that Louis doesn’t have a father. Stephanie tells me I must move on, that the only thing I can do is learn from a bad relationship. She’s right, but it still doesn’t stop me wishing I could rewind time and do things differently.
If I could do one thing differently, I’d go back to that night when I first met Matthew. I was teaching nursery children back then, but I would come home, strip out of my uniform and party all night.
We met in a bar.
I knew he was trouble.
I should have listened to Hugo.
Should have walked away.