Only dickheads would make a person choose between those things – but I don’t say that out loud. Instead, I give her a second, then lean in, ready to paraphrase one of my favourite therapists, Philippa Perry. ‘Wendy, if you have tochoose between guilt and resentment, wouldn’t you rather choose guilt?’
She stares at me, something dawning on her face. I internally high five myself. Yes! I’m getting through to her! I’ll have her fully slagging off those knobhead sons of hers in no time!
Beside her, Wendy’s handbag vibrates and she startles. ‘Sorry.’ She makes a face. ‘I thought I’d turned my phone off outside.’ She reaches in to retrieve the device, then smiles when she sees the message. ‘It’s the girls,’ she tells me happily, and I canseehow much this new circle of friends means to her. I cannot let her give them up. ‘We have a WhatsApp group! We’re called the Fifties Fillies! Isn’t that silly?’
I grin warmly, gesturing at the phone. ‘Please go ahead. We’re nearly at the end of our time together anyway. Are they planning your next camping adventure?’
She flicks open the message, then frowns. ‘They’ve sent a link,’ she murmurs, tapping the screen. Noise immediately fills the room, and it takes approximately two seconds for me to recognise the sound of my own voice before she can close the video. I’m shrieking those now-familiar words.
‘You can’t be serious, Justin, tell me you’re not being serious?’
She closes it quickly and we stare at one another, her face horrified and pale. I have a feeling mine is too.
I swallow hard, trying to find my voice. ‘Um, well, er, Wendy, that’s our time together for today, I’m afraid. I’ll… see you next week?’
‘Er… right,’ she says half-heartedly, standing up and fumbling for her belongings. ‘Of… course. See you… then, Liv. Definitely. Thank you for… today.’ She practically sprints for the door as I stare after her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I have half an hour before my next client arrives, and I use the first few minutes of it to stare at the wall.
I’m fine, I have my health, the world has not ended.
I repeat it five times, feeling my breath slowing. Nothing is ever really as bad as it seems in the moment.
Except maybe my life right now.
No, not even that.
I take a few more deep breaths. I need to stay being the ‘other’ me. The psychotherapist, Liv Carpenter; the calm, rational relationship expert who can face down any trauma with a cool head. The version of me who can totally handle the humiliation of what just happened. I am Liv, Laugh, Lose the Dysfunction. Not Liv, the ragey maniac – current laughing stock of the entire planet.
I take a seat behind my desk, wishing I wore glasses because I would feel so much more in character. I’d even takea pair of Jools’ Elton John glasses in this moment. I turn on my computer, robotically checking my emails.
Ah.
Ah shit.
My next client has cancelled.
So has the one after that.
Everyone else scheduled for today – they all have.
Oh my god.
Everyone booked in for tomorrow, too.
And for the foreseeable.
No no no no! How can this be? This can’t be real? Over some silly videos? Just because I had a very minor internet incident?
I’m not fine, I don’t have my health, the worldhasended.
This is a disaster.
Fuck, there’s also an email from my agent, Fabian, asking why I’m not answering his calls. I pull out my phone. I’ve been avoiding it all weekend, but I suppose I need to face real life at some point.
Sigh. I thought your phone was supposed to be where we all went toavoidreal life, not confront it head-on.
