‘Nick, it’ll be fine. Give me the keys.’
‘I’m sorry, but no.’
She gaped at him.
He grimaced, apologetically. His mouth quirked. ‘Mr Nutter strikes again.’
For once, though, the humour did not disarm her. ‘Having PTSD doesn’t make you a “nutter”。’
‘But it helps?’ He laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to do a Paul on you.’
It was uncanny, the way he always knew what she was thinking.
She turned away from him. ‘That’s not bloody funny!’
She made the call in the library.
‘Karla, I’m sorry to bother you again.’
She could imagine Karla sitting in her stylish modern living room, her bob of tight grey curls pushed behind her ears, poking her glasses up her nose. How many former students did she have who, like Lulu, kept bugging her? She probably spent most of her life on calls like this.
But, ‘You’re not bothering me!’ Karla laughed. ‘Always good to hear from you.’
When Lulu had told her a week ago that she had a new client she would like advice about, Karla had been enthusiastic, saying this was just what Lulu needed, getting back on the horse and all that. And she’d been encouraging about Lulu’s idea of performing the therapy in the client’s home, the house from which his mother had disappeared. Lulu had changed the details a bit so Karla wouldn’t suspect who her client really was.
When she told Karla about the last session, and her client’s anger spilling over into attacking inanimate objects, Karla said, ‘Well, it sounds like he’s processing what happened. Sounds like things are moving along well.’
Phew!
As Karla continued, Lulu reflected that she already knew everything Karla was telling her, but she still needed to hear it: that people in therapy often appeared to get worse as they started to let the feelings out and the painful memories came to the surface. She needed to hear that this was a sign that the therapy was working, that Nick, at last, was acknowledging the trauma of the past. That they would get through it and come out the other side.
‘I’ve never had a client get physically . . . not violent. What’s the word I’m looking for?’
‘Destructive? Hey, it was just a vase!’
Lulu smiled. ‘But you know, Karla, if I’m honest, the house kind of gives me the heebie-jeebies too.’
‘Of course it does. You just can’t help yourself, can you?’ But Karla’s voice was gentle. ‘Are you dwelling on it? Bad dreams?’
‘Yes, and yes. It’s . . . I dream I’m in the house. That I can’t find my family.’
For a few minutes, they talked about Lulu’s dreams. Karla confided that she sometimes experienced bad dreams herself when the client’s situation was particularly distressing. ‘We’re not automatons. We can’t just switch off at the end of the day. And remember, dreams are useful things. They’re the brain’s way of –’
‘– Processing,’ Lulu finished. ‘I know. But . . .’
‘Doesn’t make it any easier. You just have to remember what I always say. The fact that you over-empathise is hard for you, but it’s great for your clients. You’re able to get right inside their heads in a way other therapists just can’t.’
‘But I didn’t, did I, with Paul?’
‘Oh, Lulu.’
‘I should have known, Karla. I should have known how he was feeling, but I had no inkling. Not a single one!’
‘And now you don’t trust yourself with this new client.’
A long silence. Then, ‘No,’ Lulu whispered.
‘Well, that’s a load of bull! No one’s infallible. You know how many of my clients have completed suicide? Eight. Eight, Lulu! And do I beat myself up about it? You bet! But when all’s said and done, you can’t make decisions for them. All we can do is hope to help. Their lives are their own, to do with as they will. And we have to accept that.’
The metallic flash of a black vehicle went past the window.
Lulu thanked Karla effusively, ended the call, scurried to the kitchen to wash her face, and put on a smile. As she stepped out of the front door into the sun, Nick almost barged into her, coming the other way.
Yvonne was standing leaning back against a Range Rover, arms folded.
‘Let’s see what Lulu has to say about it. Lulu, I’m off to have coffee in town and wondered if you’d like to join me.’
This was a surprise. Lulu didn’t particularly want to spend time with Yvonne, but the chance to escape for a couple of hours was too good to pass up.