Honey(56)

Layla looks at Yrsa, waiting for her to speak.

Yrsa looks at Layla, waiting for her to speak.

“In a first session”—Layla readjusts how she’s sitting—“it can be helpful to know if there’s anything that brought you to therapy?”

Yrsa thinks of all the things that could, reasonably, have brought her to therapy and shrugs.

“Thought it might be a bit of fun.”

“Have you ever tried therapy before?” Layla asks.

“No.” Yrsa breaks the eye contact. She looks to the window, but it only overlooks other windows. “Actually there is something, specific, I want to talk about.”

“Of course.”

“Sometimes I think about hurting people.”

Layla doesn’t start or flinch. “Could you describe some of the thoughts you have.”

“It’s a recurring dream. And in the dream I drown my ex.” She leaves a pause. “Does that make me a bad person?”

“You can’t be a bad person because of a dream.”

“But in the dream I really enjoy it. Holding his head under. The control.”

“Dreams are…” Layla moves her glasses to the top of her head. “Very complicated and often it isn’t productive to feel guilty about them, but it can be helpful to explore what in our lives may be influencing it—especially if it’s recurring.” She smiles. “This is a nonjudgmental space.”

Yrsa thinks of all the things she could say that would definitely illicit judgment.

Layla continues, “Was your relationship with your ex-partner a significant one?”

Felix still hasn’t matched her back on Bumble. She checks multiple times a day.

In her silence Layla asks, “What’s their name?”

“Sam,” Yrsa lies.

“And was it recently that you broke up with Sam?”

“It was at school, so like five years ago.”

“How long were you seeing each other?”

“Bit over a year.”

“And how was the relationship for you?”

“My friend told me a story once of a guy who sent out a girl’s nudes and, in revenge, she posted his credit card on Twitter. He lost 7k in two hours. One couple bought a flight to the Maldives, what would you buy?”

“What would I buy?”

“With the card details.”

“I don’t know that I’d buy anything.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not my money.”

“Okay, but after you’ve thought that, what would you buy?”

“I can’t say I would.”

“I’m sure the couple had a lovely time in the Maldives.”

“Maybe he was able to claim it back on insurance,” Layla suggests.

“Hopefully not.”

“So you’re on the side of the woman in the story?” Layla doesn’t imply whether she thinks this is a good or a bad thing.

“I think people get what’s coming to them.”

Layla writes that down. Yrsa’s not sure therapy is a good idea. She looks at the painting hanging behind Layla. It depicts a large oak, bowed over in fog and farmland.

“It’s of the Fens, have you ever been?” Layla asks.

“Yes, once.”

“Where did you grow up?”

“In London.”

“With?”

“My parents.”

“Do you have any siblings?”

“No.”

“Are you parents still together?”

“They are.”

“And they still live in London?”

“Are we on a date?”

Layla smiles. “Sorry, it’s helpful for me to have some context about you.” She pauses. She likes to pause. “I’m aware too that we’ve started our sessions at the end of term. Were you hoping to have some sessions into the summer?”

Yrsa shrugs. “What do people normally talk about in therapy?”

“There’s no normal, it can be a great range of things. The hope is that people talk about what they need to talk about, but sometimes we don’t know what that is when we start.” Layla looks down at her notes then back up. “Do you know anyone else who’s had therapy?”

“My dad suggested it, which is odd really. My family don’t really believe in this sort of thing.”

“This sort of thing?”

“Mental health.”

“In what way do they not believe?”

“My Grandmother used to think that if you had mental problems it meant you were bewitched.”

Layla leaves a pause. So Yrsa adds, “It is more fun than thinking you’re depressed.”

“Do you think that people can become bewitched?” Layla asks.

“No, I don’t happen to think that. But I did used to enjoy going to exorcisms.”

Layla isn’t quick enough to hide her surprise.

“I used to go with my Grandmother.”

“And what would happen at these—events?”

“Well someone—normally a parent—would bring someone—normally a kid—who they thought had the devil in them. Everyone would gather round and we’d sing and chant and the priest would do his thing.” Yrsa mimes some flailing hands and rolling eyes. “Often a lot of salt would be thrown. Normally the person having the evil spirits batted out of them would faint or scream or something, and then we’d eat teacakes.”