Our hand-off the other night was short and decidedly not sweet. He came in, politely asked how I was, handed me a Sainsbury’s carrier bag of half empty TRESemmé shampoo bottles, cleared his throat and then… left. We barely had fiveminutes together and yet, it has turned my thirst for answers into serious dehydration. Like, hospitalisation with an IV drip may be required.
What has Orla done to him? How is it possible?
Sam and I are still mid salad-cooking when Fran arrives a few minutes later. Since they’re here first, we ply them with wine, in the hopes they might not care if any food is incoming or not.
Edward is next through the door and we exchange a slightly awkward – but warm enough – hello wave. I know this is a strange situation, but something in me – deep down, but still! – feels quite happy to see him.
‘Hello,’ I greet him shyly and he nods back, regarding the flat around him warily.
‘You know this contravenes quite a few ethical codes…’ he says in a low voice, his tone a little wry. ‘Me being here, I mean, in your home.’
I shrug. ‘I can quote the British Association for Counselling and Psychotherapy, too,’ I tell him, then clear my throat. ‘Any dual or multiple relationships will be avoided where the risks of harm to the client outweigh any benefit to the client.’ He inhales, his nostrils flaring, so I quickly add, ‘And, Ed, I thought we’d already agreed that the benefitdoesoutweigh the concern about our…’ I smile playfully. ‘…dualrelationship.’
Edward frowns. He bites his lip, looking torn, and for a moment I try to see all of this from his perspective. His flighty, difficult and shallow colleague – a woman he’sknown for a decade and worked with for four years – is suddenly a client. She’s suddenly someone he has to turn inside out emotionally on a weekly basis.
And tonight, he’s in her home, being offered salt and vinegar crisps from a paper bowl.
‘It’ll be okay,’ I whisper more seriously, touching his wrist lightly. He nods, swallowing, and I dance away before I can think too much more about the oddness.
Arshiya and Jamal arrive last – though not late because therapists can never be late as we see too many people with abandonment issues – and hand over their coats. Sam flutters attentively around Arshiya, chattering excitedly about a rug we recently put down in the hallway like the fake adults we are. Arshiya looks half wary, half amused by the frantic attention.
‘Arshiya,’ I call out across the room, deciding a host’s job also includes rescuing guests, ‘Can you come give me a hand with drinks?’
She follows me over to the fridge, looking relieved. ‘Are you okay with Sam being here?’ I ask in a low voice, and she nods, smiling.
‘Yes, it’s fine. We talked about it in therapy yesterday. Though’—she side-eyes my keeno flatmate, who is watching us, eagle-eyed across the room—‘I’m concerned there is a little transference taking place. I think she sees me as a new parental figure.’ She’s only half serious, and we laugh.
‘But speaking of…’ she begins, ‘I’m actually really surprised Edward came tonight. I thought he’d find it…’ She nods awkwardly at me. ‘… uncomfortable.’
I stare at the floor, trying not to react. Some small part of me had hoped that maybe all the drama of these last few weeks might’ve passed my colleagues by. Like, there was surely a tiny possibility that maybe they don’t speak to each other, maybe they don’t go online, maybe they have literally no one in their life who might’ve said, ‘Hey, did you see your therapist mate Liv had a meltdown over tiramisu and she’s now a meme?’ But no.
I swallow. ‘He did message to ask me if I was okay with him coming. He offered to sit this one out – I think he kind ofwantedto – but I told him not to be silly. Tonight, we’re all just friends and colleagues, sharing a plate of…’ I glance at the half-hearted attempts at cooking scattered across kitchen work surfaces. ‘… Domino’s pizza.’
Arshiya laughs politely. ‘To be honest, I was surprised he agreed to be your therapist at all.’
‘I think it was very much forced upon him,’ I confide, thinking of my agent Fabian and his high pain threshold when it comes to people saying no.
‘It must be really weird though,’ she continues, and I can see she’s watching Edward across the room, chatting to Fran, ‘given your… dynamic.’
‘Our dynamic?’ I shake my head. ‘You mean us working together in the collective? He’s already our supervisor, it’s not so different.’
She glances at me, looking amused. ‘No, I mean…’ she trails off, ‘you know.’
I frown. ‘No, really, what are you talking about?’
She groans. ‘Oh god, you’re not going to make me say it, are you?’ She pauses. ‘I mean… y’know, thetensionbetween you two.’
Jeez, have I been so obvious about my dislike of Edward? I thought I’d kept a lid on the teasing about his three-piece suit and his stern demeanour – at least around the office. I mostly just complained to Sam about him. And then she would wax lyrical about his sexiness while I rolled my eyes.
‘There’s no tension,’ I protest quickly. ‘We get on fine, really.’
Arshiya squints at me. ‘I don’t meanthatkind of tension. I mean…’ She sighs. ‘… the fact that Edward has always had a thing for you.’ She sips her drink. ‘I mean,obviously. You knew that, right? Like, forever. Since, like, day one of our uni course.’
I blink at her, my stomach dropping. What onearthis she talking about? Edward has a… I shoot a look across the room at him. He’s talking to Jamal, they’re eating crisps. He…what? No, there’s absolutely no way that can be true. Absolutely no way. She has the wrong end of the stick. It’s nonsense.
‘I don’t think—’ I begin and am immediately interrupted by a breathless Sam, unable to contain herself any longer.
‘How’s it going?’ she yells in our faces, her eyes wild. She turns to Arshiya. ‘Have I mentioned how nice you look tonight? Iloveyour jumpsuit. You lookamazing.’ I suppress a laugh. I’ve never seen anyone so desperate for their therapist to like them.
