Sam cleared his throat. It wasn’t like him to be unsettled or nervous.
‘We have five minutes left,’ he said, aware of an unfamiliar huskiness in his voice. ‘And we’ve covered a lot of ground today. Plus we’ve had one or two unexpected moments, I know.’
He risked a smile as he glanced at the Librarian but somehow even this simple expression eluded him, feeling fake, forced.
An awkward silence in the room.
A cough.
Sam looked at the faces in front of him and felt a flutter of disquiet in his thorax.
The moment could only have lasted for a couple of seconds but it seemed much longer. Inside his head he imagined he could hear a faint hissing – the sound of his authority leaking away like air from a balloon.
What was it about today?
‘There’s just one last thing I’d like to try with you all before you go.’
The Boxer scratched at his ear.
The Lost Girl picked at her nails.
‘It’s a simple exercise, really. Although you might think it’s a bit silly.’
Great. Way to undermine yourself, Sam.
‘But it’s worked before, I promise. I like to have my groups do this at the end of every session.’
Who was he trying to convince?
Not the Athlete, apparently, who wrinkled his nose as he glanced down at Sam’s shoes, as if Sam had trodden in something unpleasant.
And not the Artist, who was surreptitiously checking her watch, as if wondering if she could sneak out early.
‘I’d like you to repeat something after me.’
A teetering stillness.
Some embarrassed shuffling.
He might as well have asked them to remove all their clothes.
‘It’s a sort of mantra that I want us to share as we move forwards as a group. Because I’m really hoping you’ll all come back next week. I’m hoping you can support each other as you confront your phobias and push through them together.’
No response.
‘So . . . I’ll go first and then you can all go afterwards. OK?’
He scanned their faces but none of them gave anything back.
‘Actually, it sort of works better if we all hold hands.’
Now they looked at him as if he was a crackpot.
But eventually it was the Athlete who shrugged, sat forwards in his chair and offered his hands to the Librarian and the Artist on either side of him.
Slowly – too slowly – the others joined in, leaving Sam to complete the circle by taking the hands of the Librarian and the Lost Girl, whose hand was very cool in his.
‘OK then, here goes. Everyone repeat after me.’
He cleared his throat.
‘I’m here for you. You’re here for me.’
And then he waited, gripped by the excruciating, unfamiliar certainty that he was completely on his own.