‘What about you, Leticia? What have you got planned for the weekend?’ I ask, hoping to get back on task.
Leticia shrugs. ‘Not much. Homework, I guess.’ She is retreating now the topic has changed, withdrawing into her shell. She has been coming to see me for almost a year, so I am familiar with her body language. I press on, trying to draw her out again. ‘Is there anything on your mind today?’
‘Well,’ she says, her shoulders sagging, ‘I’m really worried about the exams this year. I think I need to start practising some mock papers.’
By all accounts Leticia is a straightA student. ‘Could it be a bit early in the year for that?’ I suggest. ‘You could wait another month or two and still have plenty of time.’
Leticia looks doubtful. Future events are something she struggles with, wanting to control them as soon as she can, never able to relax unless she is implementing a plan. I think of the other ways she has shown her self-discipline recently: the carefully counted and sandwich-bagged portions of steamed rice; the apple split into segments, one or two pieces lasting the whole day as she nibbles on them.
I rarely steer Leticia to talk about her eating disorder. There are others better qualified to support her eating patterns, and my priority is to help her cope at school. She is seeing a collection of doctors and counsellors, but as yet she seems no better for it. However, occasionally in the past few sessions she has laughed. This, for me, is a breakthrough – but today I am not on form enough to help her. Today I can’t think of anything funny to say. As she waits for me to speak, I find my mind completely blank. I think of Georgia sleeping at home, and realise she looks just as grey and drawn as Leticia. I have the overwhelming feeling that I should be there, not here. Leticia’s problems feel too much for me right now.
What has happened to you girls? I want to ask Leticia. This is your time. You are in your prime. You should be out there having fun, revelling in your youth, your beauty, your freedom. How has it come to this?
‘Are you okay, Mrs Turner?’
‘You know, Leticia, I’m not entirely sure,’ I admit. This is the second time today that I’ve been tempted to blurt out my fears to a student. My professional and private lives are uncomfortably entangled, and I need to pull myself together fast. I fidget in my seat, trying to disperse another surge of agitation, similar to the foreboding I’d had on my walk home with Georgia. These feelings are frightening. Threatening. Don’t, Anya, I tell myself. Don’t go any further down that road.
‘I think I’m still getting over the shock of last night,’ I say, gathering some papers from my desk and shuffling them unnecessarily. I put them down again. ‘But that’s not for you to worry about. Will you see any movies this weekend?’
Leticia loves movies. She often goes to the cinema by herself because she likes the solitude. It’s not that she doesn’t have any friends – in fact, she has a little train of acolytes hanging around her in the corridors, worshipping her, in danger of copying her, but she seems oblivious to them.
‘Nope, not this weekend. Maybe next week – Mum wants to see that new one with Hugh Jackman.’
I stall again. I can’t remember the last time Georgia wanted to go to the cinema with me. I can’t think of the last time Georgia wanted to do anything with me. For a moment I envy Leticia’s mum as the subject of this casual remark. I envy Leticia’s mum, whose heart will be breaking as she watches her daughter disappear before her eyes.
I swallow down another rush of emotion and sit straighter in my chair. ‘Is there anything else you want to talk about today, Leticia?’
She doesn’t think for long. ‘Not really.’
‘Well, I don’t want to keep you on a Friday afternoon. How about we reschedule a proper appointment early next week? I’ll take a look at your timetable and let you know.’
Leticia nods, gets up and grabs her bag. Highly relieved, I riffle through my diary and make sure I’ve jotted down a note to arrange the next meeting.
Behind me, I hear a loud thump. When I look around, Leticia is on the floor.
‘Leticia!’ I dash over to see her eyes open and rolling.
‘Help!’ I scream. ‘Help!’
There are running footsteps and Miss Chadwick, the art teacher, rushes in. ‘Call an ambulance!’ I shout. She sprints away, then Mr Fennell, the head of biology, arrives and we begin to work as a team. He checks Leticia’s breathing, nods at me, and begins to feel for her pulse. We are just about to roll her into the recovery position when she starts to come round.