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“Left you. Alone. Is that how you’re feeling?”
I look away from her and stare at a gold-framed picture of crashing waves that’s hanging on the wall.
“How did you feel today when you went to see your father?”
As I stare at the picture, I imagine the waves moving, rolling, colliding. I close my eyes and see myself there, in the ocean, the taste of saltwater on my lips, each surge smashing against me. I grip my neck, reminding myself to breathe, and open my eyes. “I felt exactly how I must have looked. Cold. On my knees. Incapable of changing anything no matter how much I hate it. Lost. And, yes, alone.” I look at her through dry, stinging eyes. “I felt… trapped.”
“How’s work at the moment?” she asks the question almost nonchalantly, as if she’s changing the subject. It’s something she does when she doesn’t want to outwardly make an obvious connection.
“Interesting.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
I make a sound that’s somewhere between fed up and darkly humoured. “Why are you asking me?”
“Because it’s your choice. In just the same way as walking into my room is a choice you make.”
“Reverse psychology. Nice.” I fold my arms across my chest and wander to the next window along the wall. “There’s a new opportunity. A well. I’ve been invited to bid for it.”
“Do you intend to?”
“Yes.”
She moves back to her desk chair and types another note. “And this is making you feel tense?”
“It’s a new venture for me, sure. But… that’s not really it.” I watch a fire engine charging through the traffic on the street below, lights flashing. “It’s in the Persian Gulf, and Caspar Kahn’s is one of five companies invited to bid.”
Her typing stops. When I look at her, concern is written all over her face. In that split second, I actually feel like she gives a shit.
“I’m going to ask you something, Dayna, and I want you to answer me as honestly as you can. Is the well a sound business move, or do you want to go back to where this all started?”
My eyes cloud. “Both. I wanted to bid before I knew who was involved. As much as it scares me, the Persian Gulf makes sense. But yes, there’s a part of me that wants to put back together what SP lost.”
“And Caspar Kahn?”
“I want to beat him. This is the only way I know how. I want revenge, Louise, and if I don’t get it this way…” I shake my head to rid it of all the violent thoughts I’ve had about what I’d like to do to Caspar Kahn. “I’m afraid. I’m afraid that I’m in over my head, with everything. That I can’t run this company and I can’t go into battle with big players like Persian Fuels. I’m terrified of ruining everything my father worked hard to build, but more than that… I’m scared of being alone.”
Doctor Holland hands me a tissue. I take a seat on the sofa again.
“Have you thought about taking a break? Leaving London for a couple of weeks?”
“I can’t do that. I have too much to do.”
“Dayna, I say this as a friend as much as your therapist. You’re twenty-nine years old. You’re young, and you need to act like it sometimes. Go out, dance, watch a movie, meet a guy.”
“You make it sound so easy,” I say through a sniffle.
“It should be.”
