‘Thanks, I’ll be there.’ Replacing the receiver he yelled across the hall, ‘Terry! You fucking little bitch, where are you?’
*****
Stephanie watched as Sarah put her head in her hands. The long loose hair fell over her shoulders, enveloping her like a shroud. She had still not decided if the girl’s hair was ginger or strawberry blond. The sobs became louder. Stephanie let her cry. It was good for her. She had done well today, well for her anyway; it was all relative, in the big scheme of things. She had actually done nothing, but Stephanie didn’t dwell, instead her thoughts turned to her dogs waiting for her at home, thankful this was the last client of the day. Would she get home in time for a decent walk before dark? Through the window she could see an inch of blue sky against the brick of next door’s wall and hoped it would be clear everywhere; the forecast had sounded reasonable for a mid autumn day. Drawing her attention back to Sarah then looking at the clock she decided it was time to intervene; too many tears were self indulgent; there was a fine line to draw between having a good cry and self pity.
‘Sarah. Sarah dear,’ she called softly. Sarah raised her head, face streaked with tears. ‘Here, wipe your eyes,’ she added as she passed her the box of tissues. She let her wipe her face then continued. ‘Better? It really is good to let all this out. No point in hanging on to it.’ Sarah shook her head in agreement. But that meant nothing, Sarah appeared to agree with most things she said, seeming to have no opinion about life at all.
The session started as it usually did. Sarah related the week’s events, listing each day chronologically, from what she had eaten for breakfast to the conversation with the corner shop man. Stephanie sat nodding her head, listening intently whilst her jaw ached inside from the yawns she couldn’t express openly. Eventually, not being able to resist the compulsion of interrupting any longer, she asked.
‘But how did you feel when you woke up?’ Stephanie sat motionless in her chair waiting for her to answer. Sarah stared back vacantly. ‘How did you feel? What did you feel?’ she repeated gently.
‘I don’t know. What do you mean? Just as I always do.’
‘And how do you usually feel?’ She coaxed watching Sarah’s lovely face distort in thought. The tick-tock of the clock broke up the silence as she waited patiently for Sarah to reply. After five minutes she gave up.
‘Push the chair back now Sarah. And close your eyes.’ She waited as the foot rest sprung out and Sarah settled down, closed her eyes, and her mouth at last. ‘Good, now just breathe gently, comfortably, that’s it and let your body relax. Good, and I’ll count from one to ten and you’ll relax deeper all the time.’
She continued on the usual countdown taking Sarah into a deep relaxed state. She spoke without thinking and it was only when she got to zero she realised she missed out five and four; but Sarah wouldn’t notice; or if she did, she wouldn’t say anything. Stephanie relaxed back into her own chair, listening to Sarah’s gentle breathing which lulled her further, eyes mesmerized by the shape of Sarah’s breasts, for unlike most women’s Sarah’s breasts did not diminish on lying down. Stephanie knew her own did when she lay down; what there was became even less. But then Sarah must be at least ten years younger. Stephanie averted her gaze to look at the notes on her desk. God, it was more than ten. Sarah was just twenty two years old, although she looked younger; especially as she lay in the chair, her face devoid of the emotion she had been demonstrating earlier. Her pale skin and soft expression displayed a young and vulnerable girl. As she continued to relax and breathe so gently Stephanie took the opportunity to really inspect her.
She wore no make-up and her waist length hair was in desperate need of a cutting, even better, some kind of styling. It was limp and lifeless as if she had never had been to a hairdresser, never had it cut. Her thin hands displayed neat finger nails; kept clean and short; no jewellery. Stephanie approved the lack of signs of ever having been bitten. There was a contradiction in Sarah. The clothes she wore were cheap and old fashioned; well worn. Stephanie was experienced enough to see beneath the baggy clothes; the large breasts accentuating the thinness of the rest of her body. Her speech belied a middle class background as did her address, and her receptionist, Jane, mentioned seeing Sarah arrive in a brand new 4X4. It didn’t add up. She was sure at one of the previous sessions Sarah had mentioned how her mother had never worked. Stephanie knew from other clients she had taken on through GP’s recommendations, social benefits and what Sarah must be earning at the surgery, where she worked, could not afford a new car and that address.
‘Sarah,’ she spoke in the voice reserved for guiding her clients into a hypnotic state, ‘Sarah, I want you now to imagine you’re in bed. You’re just waking up; your eyes open and you see the clock. It says eight minutes past seven. Now Sarah, tell me what you feel as you look at the clock.’
She wasn’t expecting Sarah to reply, she had not replied in previous sessions and this session had shown nothing to exclude it from the norm. Stephanie gave her time though, that was her job, to give her time to change the routine. While she waited she glanced absently around her office; it really was time for some redecoration. The print of the flowing river on the wall was so dated and looked a bit dingy; the books adorning her shelves needed reorganizing and to be culled; she hadn’t opened some of them for years; the paintings needed replacing, having hung there so long no matter how well the cleaner dusted them they showed their age. The purple walls needed a good coat of paint; it was time for a new colour, purple really was so outdated now. A neutral colour and some new paintings would give the room new energy. It may even give her new enthusiasm and energy for her job. That Buddha could go, and the awful angel her mother brought her for Christmas a few years ago; and the transparent telephone, which had been fashionable and crazy when she bought it, was now just tacky and out of place. Sarah’s gentle snoring brought her back to consciousness and looking at the clock she calculated there was less than half an hour to waste before the session ended.
Sarah was an enigma. She never did anything of value in her sessions and was the type of client Stephanie disliked seeing. A self-pitying victim. Stephanie’s mind projected an image from a film; the therapist imagines pulling himself out of his chair, launching himself at his client, taking him by the coat collar and shaking him. She fantasised how she would enjoy shaking all the Sarahs in her world. Shake her hard and just keep shaking her. But ethics prevented this, besides the need to keep her clients happy and returning to her and to keep paying her, she smiled to herself. They all had reasons to be in her consulting room, she knew that. They knew that. So why did they not just get on with it? God, it drove her mad. She really did want to shout at them sometimes. And had done.
That poor old man, so full of self pity for his shit of a life; having to spend all his time looking after a disabled wife. He was so shocked when she had shouted at him. Told him to get on with it. And the next week he came back so grateful; it had changed his life, he said, shown him another perspective.
Stephanie didn’t delude herself that it would work with everyone and had actually been a little shocked at her outburst. She didn’t like losing control. Then she looked back at Sarah, saw the tears trickling down her face and her thoughts softened. Sarah wasn’t as bad as some of her other clients and besides, she was far too pretty to be annoyed with for long.
Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted with the sight of Sarah’s mouth beginning to gesticulate. But no sound came out. It moved again, until eventually a soft noise could be heard but no individual words.
‘Sarah, I can’t hear.’
Her lips moved again, the sound still too faint. Stephanie forced herself to concentrate, pushing all her own thoughts to one side for a moment to listen. She leaned forward in her chair and heard.
‘I’m so lonely.’
Stephanie waited. Was she finally going to do some work? She didn’t dare interrupt. Sarah continued, self pity evident in her voice. Here we go, thought Stephanie, the poor me bit coming out.
‘I have no one to talk to. There’s no one at work I can talk to.’ Sarah whispered.
‘You’ve got me.’ Stephanie said, leaning back into her chair and looking out of the window. Silence for a few moments and then Sarah continued slowly.
‘I hear the women at work talking… about boyfriends and husbands… I’ll never… never be able to get married… I’ll never ever have a boyfriend.’ Her voice trailed off.
Stephanie leaned forward again,
‘Would you like a boyfriend?’
‘Yes…. but mother would never allow it… she wouldn’t let me.’ She paused. ‘And how would I meet anyone? All the magazines suggest going to clubs and starting hobbies. I don’t even have a hobby…’
Sarah turned her face sideways onto the head rest and Stephanie watched in fascination as the tears ran from her eye and dripped down the side of her head into her ear. She let Sarah ramble quietly on for a few more moments, knowing nothing of significance was going to emerge, but an idea began to take shape in her mind. She turned away from Sarah, to look out of the window; it would be better than using the internet, and it might work, she thought.
.
S
arah turned back to wave, but Stephanie had already closed the door. The darkness descended in her stomach as she strolled down the now solid path to her car. She could see Stephanie’s exasperation with her in every session, felt it as it crawled all over her whilst sitting in the chair in her office. Stephanie’s impatience oozed out of her, spoiling into the pretty room, tripping into Sarah’s mind and body, making her even more nervous. But if she told Stephanie everything, her mother would hear it all as well.
Her mother waited for her, even now, to arrive home. She would be standing by the window, her thin hands holding back the curtain, her sharp nose not quite pressed against the glass. Sarah shuddered. The piercing eyes, screeching voice ready to tear her apart if she didn’t tell her every last detail of what had happened, what was said. Word for word.
Putting the keys in the ignition she wondered if those people who walked around with silver foil on their heads really did stop the aliens invading their minds. She wondered if silver foil would help her; but her problem wasn’t the aliens, she would almost welcome them. No, her problem was her mother. She had yet to find a way to stop her mother getting into her head. And other people; they were all so wrapped up in themselves they couldn’t see her, didn’t see her. Even Stephanie was more interested in her own problems than anything Sarah had to tell her. Her therapist had no idea of what she went through. One day, she decided, one day she would tell her, tell her everything she wanted to know, and then she’d regret being her therapist. She had expected too much, thinking Stephanie would hear beyond the mundane she expelled to her every week. She had assumed someone of Stephanie’s reputation and experience would hear what she was not telling her, after all Dr. Short had recommended her. It was becoming too difficult for a cosy chat each week; her mother was making it too painful and it was not worth the expense.
Taking one more look at Stephanie’s front door, she pulled away in the four wheel drive, mounting the curb and down back on to the road again without noticing. She was grateful everyday to Dr. Short and what he had done for her. He persuaded her mother to buy the car for her; listing all the advantages she would get from it. At first, when her mother had finally agreed to a car she wanted to buy an old banger. But Dr. Short again explained the advantages of having a decent car, something which would keep Sarah safe. After all, he reasoned, who would look after her if something happened to Sarah? He’d used the same argument to allow her to see Stephanie.
Driving with one hand on the steering wheel she reached into her handbag and felt around until she located her mobile. Turning it on it beeped almost immediately, letting her know, as she knew it would, she had a voice mail. Although she also knew what the voice mail would say she put it to her ear to listen to it.
“Where are you? You should be on your way home by now. Why isn’t your phone on?”
As her eyes roved from road to phone, Sarah keyed in her home number, to let her mother know she was nearly home.
Driving into Sycamore Road Sarah saw the house, and the shadow of her mother behind the net curtain; watching; waiting. She had stood there since Sarah had been five years old, and as far as Sarah was concerned she never moved. If school had not been compulsory she would never have been allowed to go. The moment she walked in the door her mother would start.
‘So, what happened? What did you do? What did you say? What did she say?’
Sarah recalled her first day at school, being able to play and talk to the other children. And then going home later, skipping down the road with her new friend and her friend’s mother. The freedom was exhilarating, almost over powering until her friend’s mother pointed out they had reached her house and it was time to say goodbye. She stood and stared at them, wanting to beg them to let her go with them to their house. Maybe she could come to tea with them, she asked.
‘We’ll see you in the morning,’ her friend’s mother had replied. She knew she had smiled then. Yes, the next day she would be going to school again, and the next and the next. Her skip returned all the way up the path until she reached the front door; until it was pulled open and the eyes were on her, the tongue lashing.
‘Tell me what you did!’ The itchy-scratchy voice lassoing her into the house.
Taking the keys from the ignition she looked up and saw the curtain sway. She swallowed the home coming lump in her throat, took her deep breath and stepping out of her car, knocked her head on the top of the door, when her mobile rang. Why was it ringing? Sarah’s heart raced, and her hand shook. Surely her mother could see her? No one else ever called her. She didn’t think anyone else had her number. The only reason she had the phone was due to her mother’s insistence, so she could keep in contact throughout the day; if her mother needed her at any time, or wanted to know where she was.