The distance from No. 18 Forrester Avenue to the London School of Economics – located between Covent Garden and Holborn – was close to six miles. It was possible to walk there in a little under two hours, though today Sam had taken the Tube. The District Line from Putney Bridge to Temple. A ten-minute stroll after that. He’d delivered his foundation lecture on perception and memory to a group of half-awake and semi-interested first-year undergrads and now here he was, contemplating the four strangers seated in front of him.
The first-floor seminar room was unremarkable in most ways. It had the same grey hard-wearing carpet, whitewashed walls and suspended ceiling tiles as nearly every other seminar room in the university complex. There was the same interactive whiteboard. The same stained board rubber and pens. The same U-shaped arrangement of tables and chairs.
With two main differences.
The first was outside the room, where beneath the number fitted next to the door – 22A – was a small screen on which Sam had input the words PRIVATE MEETING.
The other was inside the room, where Sam had placed six chairs in a circle in the middle of the space. Six for now, because there was no predicting how many more people might respond to the ads he’d posted online and around the university complex.
Do you have a crippling fear or phobia?
Would you like to talk about it in a
supportive group environment?
‘How is everyone feeling about being here?’ he asked.
The strangers smiled nervously, exchanged hesitant looks, glanced down at their hands. A short silence passed before a stylish woman in a denim smock, colourful necklace and dark leggings broke the ice.
‘A bit nervous?’
‘I’d have to say it’s the same for me,’ agreed the tall, muscular young man dressed in athletic gear who was seated next to her. He had a cut-glass accent, excellent posture and a full head of curly blond hair. The long-sleeved training top he had on over a pair of gym shorts and leggings featured the insignia for the LSE rowing club over his left pectoral.
‘I’m just hoping for some help,’ said a willowy girl with dark eyeshadow, purple lipstick and jet-black hair, whom Sam guessed was probably a final-year student. There were multiple piercings in her ear, a ring in her lip. The black leather bag on the floor next to her was open with binders and textbooks spilling out.
‘I don’t really know what to expect.’
This last answer, spoken almost inaudibly, was from the gaunt and bug-eyed guy in the slim-fitting V-neck jumper and skinny grey jeans who hadn’t stopped fidgeting since he’d arrived. Sam recognized him and felt a tug of sympathy. He’d seen him working behind the main counter in the university library, although it was no surprise that he’d removed his staff lanyard before coming here today.
‘OK, good.’ Sam nodded and smiled, as if they’d said exactly what he’d expected them to say. ‘The first thing I want you all to know is that this is a safe space. You’ll have submitted your consent forms, which I myself don’t see, and you don’t need to tell anyone here your names. You don’t need to give any identifying details.’
Aside from the crippling anxieties and fears you’ve come here to share.
Because, let’s face it, Sam could recognize the signs. The edgy restlessness. The dry skin and haunted eyes and cracked lips. The pained smiles and the wary reluctance to meet his gaze, as if they were each burdened by something shameful.
This wasn’t the first support group Sam had organized. Over the past three years he’d run similar groups that had helped him to meet the community engagement requirements the university imposed on all academic staff, as well as offering him an opportunity to give back.
And – being honest – the groups had also uncovered some interesting research opportunities, which is where Sam’s real passions lay. With the way his career had begun to stall, not to mention his heavy teaching load, his opportunities for pure research were getting fewer and fewer, and that was one of the reasons he could feel a frisson in the air. The neat thing about phobias was you never quite knew what you might be presented with. And if some of the participants here today were willing to consent to further assessment down the line . . .
‘No names at all?’ the well-spoken young man asked, bringing him back to the room.
‘For now,’ Sam said, and as he scanned the faces in front of him, he could detect clear signs of relief. ‘This is our first session. Let’s see how everyone feels next time around.’
If everyone turned up, which Sam also knew from experience not everyone would.
The anonymity would help with that, though. And not just because it encouraged the group members to relax. Truth was, Sam also had to be careful not to become too invested in the lives of the people who came to him for guidance. It was vital he kept some scientific distance, where possible, aiming to think of them as potential case studies, not people. And sure, part of that was because he needed to maintain some academic rigor, while the rest was pure self-preservation.
Not that it stopped him from assigning them all his own private labels. The librarian could be, well, the Librarian. The woman in the denim smock and colourful beads could be the Artist. The female student with the pale skin, dark hair and piercings could be the Lost Girl. Which left the young man in the athletic clothing and pristine training shoes to be the Athlete.
‘We’ll give it another minute,’ Sam said, taking his phone out of his pocket to check the time and seeing the little aeroplane icon in the top corner of the screen. ‘If you could all turn off your phones or switch them to airplane mode, I’d appreciate it.’
There was a rustle as they reached into pockets, backpacks and handbags to comply.
That was when the door to the room swung open and a balding, ruddy-faced man thrust his head inside. He was thickset with a crumpled nose that had obviously been broken at some point in his youth.
‘Is this the place for people going out of their minds with crazy thoughts?’ he asked, in a voice that was deep and hoarse.
The Boxer, Sam decided.
‘That’s not quite how I’d put it,’ he told him. ‘But come on in. Sit down.’