life I wanted to untangle first. Just that I needed to do something. My first appointment fell on a Saturday morning, towards the start of the Easter term a few weeks ago.
His name was Gary and he seemed very young, making me uncertain if he could help. I wondered if it was tactical, employing someone who the students could relate to. He was good-looking, in a reserved kind of way. Nothing about him particularly stood out, yet the impression he gave was calming and safe, making me feel not quite so daunted about sitting down opposite him.
‘Hannah,’ he said, smiling briefly. ‘How may I help you today?’ He uncrossed his legs and leaned back. He was trying to be all casual and hip. I felt uptight and ashamed.
My mouth opened. I tried to speak, but my voice wouldn’t work.
I tried again. Despite his kind manner, the safe environment, nothing came out.
I cleared my throat. Still nothing.
‘Would you like some water?’ Gary said.
Over the next fifteen minutes I drank about a pint, but still I couldn’t form any words. In the end he handed me a pad and pen. My cheeks were on fire. Was this it? I’d never be able to speak again?
I tried to imagine myself talking to my flatmates when I got back, chatting with Karen about the tutor she has a major crush on, discussing vegan food with Ant in thekitchen as he dissected his vegetables, or even just calling Mum for a quick catch-up. I didn’t think I’d have a problem with any of that; reckoned my voice would start working again as soon as I walked out of this building.
Sorry
, I wrote, and turned the pad round to face Gary.
‘Not a problem,’ he said kindly. ‘It happens.’
I smiled awkwardly and took back the paper. For the next half-hour, I jotted down the essence of why I’d come to see him. A couple of times I had to scribble bits out, and I mean really cross them out so they were completely illegible. Meanwhile, Gary busied himself at his computer, leaving the room a couple of times while I spewed out my words – my
confession
. Because that’s what it felt like.
I focused on my fingers while Gary read through my notes. It didn’t take him long.
Afterwards, he looked up at me, removing his glasses. There was a greasy red line across the bridge of his nose.
Then, in a panic, I reached out and took the pad back. Quickly, I wrote,
Is this confidential?
I passed it back, waiting for his response.
After what seemed like for ever, and without taking his eyes off me, he gave a nod. But only a very small one.
‘Cooper, no!’ I scream. ‘Stupid dog, come back.’ I run up to him and reach over into the rose bed, hooking my fingers into his collar. ‘Don’t do it there.’ I drag him off the soil. ‘Go under the tree or something.’ I look around to make sure that no one saw him trampling down the spring flowers that have been carefully planted aroundthe just-emerging rose bushes. A voice from behind catches me off guard.
‘Don’t worry,’ she says. ‘Dogs will be dogs.’
‘Oh,’ I say, turning round. ‘Hi.’
Susan is standing there in running gear. Her cheeks are pink and her forehead sweaty. She gives a quick glance at her sports watch and presses a couple of buttons, and then pulls out her earphones. I hear the tss-tss of upbeat music until she silences it on the iPod attached to her arm.
‘He’s got a very characterful face,’ she says, watching as Cooper heads over for some bushes.
‘Lopsided, you mean. He’s a good old boy, but a bit dozy too. He’s eight now, and . . .’ I trail off, remembering the day Dad brought him home unexpectedly, a little black ball of fluff wrapped up in a sweater. He whined all through the first night, alone in the kitchen, but not after that because I had him on my bed. Dad said he was the last in the litter; going cheap because he ‘didn’t seem quite right’ was how the breeder had put it.
‘It’s good that you allow dogs here,’ I say, filling an awkward gap.
Susan is studying me –
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