(1998) Denial (12 page)

‘A contradiction? Is that what you want me to say?’

‘I only want you to say what you
feel
.’

Amanda tapped her teeth with a fingernail. She nibbled at it, aware that she was doing so, but unable to prevent herself. She had been appalled at what a mess her nails had looked recently. ‘You think I’m seeing him partly as someone to be scared of? And partly as someone who can solve my problems? Who can slay my monster? Who can cure me of Brian?’

‘Jeff Goldblum is a curious way for you to describe him, that’s what I mean.’

‘I don’t think so, no. I’m just trying to give you a physical description. He’s tall, dark-haired, good-looking, but in a – a kind of intellectual way. Maybe he has a little Jewish blood, just a hint.’

‘Do you think he’s a kind man?’

Amanda nodded vigorously. ‘He’s really warm. I . . .’ She hesitated, searching for the right words. ‘I feel safe with him, secure. I don’t have to pretend anything with him. I’m
me
with him.
Me
.’ She frowned. ‘Am I making any sense?’

Maxine gave her a curious, rather wistful smile. ‘Yes. Go on.’

‘I don’t know. Maybe it’s because he’s a shrink, so I feel he can see through me, so there’s no point in trying to lie to him.’

‘Lie to him about what?’

Amanda scratched the back of her neck. She was suddenly finding this difficult. ‘He sent me an e-mail this morning. It was there when I got to the office. It was –’ She fell silent.

The therapist prodded gently. ‘It was what?’

‘It was really nice!’

‘What did it say?’

‘It just said, “Four hours since I saw you. I’m missing you.”’

‘Did you reply?’

‘No.’

‘OK, why not?’

Amanda tugged at her nail again with her teeth. ‘Because I –’ She shrugged. ‘I’m not sure how to reply.’

‘Because you are not sure if this is Jeff Goldblum the Fly or Jeff Goldblum the Monster Slayer?’

‘It’s more complicated than that.’

Maxine waited for her to go on, but when she didn’t, she said, ‘You told me last time that you liked Michael Tennent, but you didn’t know whether you were attracted to him. Has that changed?’

Amanda shifted her position in her chair. ‘I haven’t been entirely honest with him. I told him that we were making a documentary about psychiatrists, and that’s only partly true. What we are actually doing is a pretty hard-hitting attack on the whole therapy culture we have in our society.’

Maxine Bentham looked surprised. ‘Does this include me?’

Amanda shook her head. ‘No, I wouldn’t do that to you.’ She crossed her legs, then uncrossed them, then crossed them again. ‘Oh, God, this must sound terrible! It’s not about
good
therapists, Maxine, it’s about these people who do a three-month mail-order course, then set themselves up as hypnotherapists, or rebirthers or whatever. People go along to them and they make decisions that affect their entire lives based on what these instant therapists tell them.’

Now Maxine Bentham was starting to look distinctly uneasy. ‘Surely Dr Tennent doesn’t fit into that category? He’s a highly qualified doctor, and very eminent.’

‘Yes, he is. But therapy is a long process, right? In proper analysis you see a patient three to five times a week for years, right? But where it becomes a joke is something like when you have a radio show. Someone has a problem, they think they can just pick up the phone, call a radio show, and slam-dunk! Ten minutes of chat with Dr Michael Tennent and their life is back on track. He’s bastardising his profession. He’s lowering himself to the same status as the quacks. Here you have a brilliant man selling out to the instant-gratification culture.’

There was a long silence. ‘Amanda, you’re going to have to help me out, I’m getting a little confused here about where you’re at.’

Amanda raised her arms. ‘
You’re
confused? How do you reckon I feel? I think I’m falling in love with the guy!’

Chapter Twenty-five

Lawnmowers.

Michael could hear the drone of the mower’s engine, the pitch of its blades, the rumble of metal vibrating, and every now and then the clacking of a ratchet.

Lawnmowers were one of the downsides of summer. The contraption outside, an old sit-on Atco cylinder cutter with a train of gang mowers clattering along behind it, had been getting steadily closer all day and now, finally, at twenty past five it was right below Michael’s window.

Michael had a headache, which he blamed on his lack of sleep last night although his caffeine binge throughout today to stay awake was probably as much to blame.

Go home, gardener. It’s nearly half past five. Don’t you have a life outside cutting grass at the Sheen Park Hospital? Go home! Please
.

He tried to concentrate on the form in front of him that was headed
LIFE HISTORY QUESTIONNAIRE
.

Title:
Dr
First name:
Terence