You wanted me to look, right?I silently challenge.Why else take off your shirt?
‘How does it feel?’ I ask after a long beat. When he doesn’t answer, I specify. ‘Your nose – does it feel broken?’
He moves the shirt away from his face and tears his gaze from mine so he can examine his nose in the mirror. ‘It got broken once before. This feels different.’
He throws the wet shirt into the bath, then rinses his hands in the sink.
‘How did you break it?’ I ask, as he closes the tap. ‘Did you get caught with another man’s girlfriend?’
His eyes flash, lingering on my mouth.
I take a step back, but he leans forward, trapping me against the towel rail.
‘I know what you think of me.’ His voice has a hard edge. ‘But what I can’t work out is whether you want to be proven right or wrong.’
His eyes search mine, waiting for an answer.
If he didn’t have so much skin on show, I’d be able to think of a comeback. But he’s so close, and the heat rolling off him is frying my senses.
He brings his hand towards me, and I flinch.
My reaction must shock him because he freezes, and when I look up, I realise he was simply reaching for a towel from the rail behind me.
‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ he says, moving back, his expression unreadable. ‘But no angry boyfriends were involved. Just a drunk Giovanni and his angry fist.’
Chapter 21
I don’t only see couples; occasionally, I see single patients, too. So when Suzanne called last week to make a solo appointment I was happy to book her in. She and her boyfriend Will came to me a year ago when their ten-year relationship was rocked by Will having an affair. We managed a handful of sessions, but it didn’t feel like we made much progress, and their last visit was more than six months ago.
It happens in therapy. Patients stop coming, and you’re left wondering how things turn out. You hope they’ll have a happy ending, but you never knew if a last-minute plot twist is coming in the final reel. Unfortunately, in the movie of Suzanne’s life, Tarantino had been at the helm. And I’d been in the front row to witness it.
A couple of months ago, I’d bumped into Will in a pub. He worked in IT at the same university where I studied for my PhD, so I wasn’t surprised to see him in a bar near Euston where staff often congregated.
There are strict protocols for interacting with patients outside of sessions. We only acknowledge them if they acknowledge us first. It’s their right not to want friends and family to know they’re in therapy.
I’d kept my distance, and I’m pretty sure he didn’t see me. Mainly because his attention (and the whole left side of his body) had been glued to a woman with Botticelli-red hair that tumbled to her shoulders in perfect ringlets. I assumed the redhead was the reason they’d ended up on my couch. Will had started anaffair with a colleague, and Suzanne, in a rare moment of anger, had let rip exactly how she felt aboutthat skinny ginger slapper.
Suzanne is scrupulously punctual – a quality I always appreciate – and immaculately turned out. She’s a secondary school teacher and last time we spoke, she’d been thinking of applying to become Head of Maths.
‘So, tell me what’s on your mind,’ I say, as we settle into the low armchairs opposite each other in my office.
She takes a minute before she answers, steadying herself by breathing deeply and I’m already preparing myself to console her about the end of the relationship. I need to remind her that she’s 30 and has plenty of time ahead of her if she wants to find a new partner.
‘A friend of mine died,’ she begins. ‘Brain aneurysm. She was twenty-eight and the picture of health.’ She looks up at me. ‘It’s not supposed to happen like that.’
I’m surprised she doesn’t bring up the break-up, but maybe she’s handling it better than expected. I let her talk, asking questions occasionally, usually to get her to pinpoint exactly what she’s feeling.
The session goes well, and towards the end, she asks me why I think the death of someone she wasn’t that close to has hit her so hard.
‘Things that we can normally cope with can feel insurmountable when we’re dealing with bigger issues,’ I reassure her. ‘Like losing a job or coming to terms with the end of a relationship. It’s only natural to feel vulnerable at times like this.’
Suzanne cocks her head to one side. ‘I never did apply for that promotion, so maybe Iamsubconsciously kicking myself over it. I chatted it over with Will and because he’s got the chance of a new job with better pay in Manchester, we thought I should look for a school up there.’
I blink, trying to reorientate myself. She and Will are still together?
‘You’re thinking of relocating to Manchester? With Will?’
‘There’s a new maternity hospital opening, and they want someone to lead the IT department.’
