Now Is Our Time by Jo Kessel

problems on to her. In fact, frequently it was the offloading that made them feel better. She sometimes acted as an expensive placebo prescription. 
     
    “So, how have you been,” she probed, anxious to move the spotlight away from her.
     
    She planted her backside on the wooden bench and swung her legs round to underneath the table.  Taking a pen out of her bag, she flipped open her notebook and poised the nib over the page. Orlando took a seat opposite her. As always, there was a bottle of Perrier and two glass tumblers loaded with ice and a slice of lime set on the table.
     
    “Well actually,” Orlando started, “since I last saw you I have been experiencing stomach pains.” He placed a hand on his upper abdomen, indicating a large surface area where he was feeling it most. “Sometimes it’s a dull ache, sometimes it’s more acute. I’ve tried Gaviscon, but it doesn’t help”
     
    Claire made scrawling notes. As she wrote ‘Gaviscon’ she remembered guzzling it from the bottle when she was pregnant with Miriam. It allegedly cured indigestion.
     
    “Have you noticed whether the pain comes after you eat or after something specific you’ve eaten?”
     
    “No”, replied Orlando, wiping beads of sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand before reaching for the bottle of sparkling water and unscrewing the top. “But sometimes the pain is worse when I lie down. When I’m busy and active I notice it less.” 
     
    The sun was streaming through the French windows, flooding the room with beautiful, early morning summer light. It wasn’t yet hot though. If anything there was a chill in the air and Claire wished she’d worn a denim jacket to cover her arms. Orlando, however, was perspiring profusely. He looked pasty and even in this good light she could tell that his skin was infused with an off-putting yellowish hue.
     
    “And other than the pain in your stomach, how are you feeling?”
     
    “Other than the pain, all seems fine.”
     
    “And is there anything else troubling you? Is work going well?”
     
    Orlando was currently starring as Willy Wonka in the musical Charlie and the Chocolate Factory at London’s finest playhouse, the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane . He had invited Claire and Miriam to the opening night. The whole show, not to mention his performance, was exceptional. He had won an Olivier award and there was talk of the show transferring to Broadway. 
     
    “No, everything’s fine.”
     
    Claire always felt uncomfortable delving into clients’ private lives but sometimes it was essential. It was amazing how depression and stress could physically affect someone’s body, especially the gut.
     
    “And, outside of work, is everything ok?” she probed.
     
    Orlando was very guarded about his personal life. 
     
    “Everything’s fine,” he reassured, with neither his tone nor his expression giving anything away.
     
    “And any other symptoms since we last met?”
     
    Orlando swung his head from side to side, pondering.
     
    “It’s probably just because I’m getting older and my body’s giving up on me, but I have started getting more back-ache than usual.”
     
    Orlando worked out in the gym regularly.
     
    “Do you think you pulled something?”
     
    “I’m not sure. I have stopped lifting weights but it doesn’t seem to make any difference.”
     
    Claire put the end of her pen in her mouth and started chewing on it, contemplating. A brightly painted black and red gypsy barge glided past the window catching both her and Orlando’s attention. Once it was out of view, she continued with the inquisition.  
     
    “Have you seen your Doctor?”
     
    This line of questioning produced a raised eyebrow from Orlando.
     
    “I don’t need a Doctor, I’ve got you.”
     
    Claire took the pen out of her mouth and lowered it onto her pad, cupping her chin in her hands as her elbows found the table. She looked at him and noticed that even the whites of his eyes had