I picture Will’s flat – a pristine new build in Chiswick – and have no doubt he’d do well if he sold it, but moving in together is not a decision I can make with my head. It’s my heart that has to tell me the time is right.
Squeezing his hand, I hope that even some small part of him will understand how I feel. ‘I’m just not ready yet, Will, I’m so sorry. I’m not saying never, but not just now. I need to get the business more established and, well, Freya’s so happy right now. For the last five years it’s just been the two of us in our house, so…’ But Freya loves Will and he’s been like a father to her for the last two years, so I shouldn’t use that as an excuse. I correct myself. ‘But I know she’d love it if you moved in…’
Will sighs and takes a moment to answer. ‘It’s okay, I know you have to be ready too.’ He turns to watch Freya, unable to look me in the eye because yet again I have rejected him. The kindest man I could ever meet.
But didn’t I think that about Zach? He had my complete trust and it was shattered into a thousand pieces. I won’t let that affect my feelings for Will, though. I have to be fair to him: he is not Zach.
Oblivious to the thoughts swirling around my head, Will turns to me. ‘Hey, isn’t your client due in a minute? You’d better get going.’
I grab my phone to check the time. I’ve been so wrapped up in my claustrophobic bubble, while Freya played, that I didn’t realise I needed to get back. A new client, a woman I haven’t seen before, is coming at 2 p.m.
‘Good job you only live across the road!’ Will says. I know what he’s doing: bringing humour to the moment so that I don’t meet a new client while burdened with guilt.
‘I’ll take Freya to the cinema,’ he suggests. ‘Beauty and the Beast is on, I think.’ Knowing Will, he’ll have already checked this and worked out the best showing to see, and calculated what time they will have to leave to get there so that they don’t miss any of the film.
‘Thank you so much,’ I say, my words coming out as barely a whisper because I’m so choked up by his thoughtfulness.
I leave the park and glance towards my house. The house Zach and I saved all our money for all those years ago, with the hope of a future for our little family.
Before I cross the road, I turn back and see Freya wrapping her arms around Will. He lifts her up in the air and she squeals with delight. The elderly couple on the bench across the park nod and smile. They probably think Will is Freya’s dad. Sometimes I really wish he was.
* * *
At home I head straight to my office to wait for my client. I’m lucky to be able to work from home and not have to rent office space, and my room is right next to the front door, a separate area from the rest of my home. It’s important to me to have a clear division between work life and my life with Freya, and so far this has worked well. The downstairs toilet is also right by the office, so I can be sure no clients need to see the rest of the house. When Zach and I bought this place I never thought I’d be working here, or that he would be gone.
Now I’m in this space I immediately switch into work mode, pushing all other thoughts aside. I’ve become good at doing this. But Zach would probably say that I always was, even before. I need to give one hundred per cent to this woman, due at any moment. To remind myself of her name, I check my appointment book.
Alison Cummings. She only called a couple of days ago, informing me that she thought she needed counselling after being in an abusive relationship. That was all the information she offered. I have no clue how old she is or whether she has any children, but I’m sure I will find that out in good time.
She is late. Not a good start. Minutes tick by and I’m about to give up on her – it’s to be expected that people have second thoughts when it comes to baring their souls – but then the doorbell chimes and I stand, straightening my jeans before I head to the front door. I don’t dress formally for my sessions; I’ve found that wearing casual clothes helps put people at ease, enabling them to see me as someone just like them, someone they can open up to.
The first thing I notice about her is how young she is. She barely looks twenty, but when I study her further, I realise my assumption comes from her being so tiny in stature. I am only five foot four, but I seem to tower over her, even though we’re on level ground. From head to foot she’s dressed in black, despite the heat, and I can’t tell whether she’s wearing leggings or jeans, but they cling to her stick-like legs, further emphasising her petite frame.
‘Mia Hamilton?’ she asks, her voice quiet and unsure.
I hold out my hand. ‘You must be Alison. Nice to meet you, come in.’
Her hand is fragile and thin like the rest of her, but also moist. She is nervous.
I stand back so she can enter the house, but she stands like a statue on the doorstep, making no move to go anywhere. ‘Alison? Are you okay?’
She nods, but still doesn’t move, and her eyes take in my home. ‘So is this where you live?’ she asks. ‘I thought it would be… an office or something.’
‘I work from home and my office is just there.’ I point to the left to show her how close it is to the front door, to make her feel safer.
‘Okay.’ Finally she steps forward and I close the door behind us. ‘Can I get you anything to drink?’ I ask, as we head into my office. Now she is right by me I can smell her shampoo, or whatever hair product she’s used today. It could even be perfume. For some reason it makes me think of Zach, although I have no idea why; it is definitely a female scent.
She eyes the cabinet in the corner where I keep a kettle, some mugs and a jug for water. ‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’
‘Not even a glass of water? It’s very warm out there today. And in here, actually. I’m sorry I don’t have air conditioning, but it is something I’m planning to sort out.’ I am rambling as if I am nervous, but I don’t know why. I always find first sessions tricky, before I’ve got to know a client, because it’s hard not to feel judged. People have expectations; somehow they expect you to have all the answers, when the truth is it’s a journey we have to go through together, and that means I need to get to know them. Know what puts them at ease and what makes them uncomfortable.
But there is more to it than that this afternoon, only I can’t pinpoint what it is.
‘Take a seat, Alison.’ I open the window – the air in here feels thick and cloying – and the sounds from the park across the road immediately drift in. ‘So, let me tell you a bit about myself first.’
She nods and her shoulders droop slightly; clearly she is relieved I’ll be doing the talking first.
‘I studied psychology at university, but then took a few years out to travel. I went all over the place, actually: Thailand, America, New Zealand, Europe…’ As I recite some of the places I went to, I feel detached, as if I’m discussing someone else’s life. Because it was all before, and I am a different person now. ‘Then I met my husband and we had a little girl. She’s seven now.’ Of course I don’t mention that Zach is dead, or that I never really knew the man I was married to.
Will would be devastated, would probably question our whole relationship, if he found out I never mention him in these introductions, but how can I? It would throw up questions I’m not able to answer, and I can’t have my clients encroaching on my personal life: the boundaries have to be clear.
‘Yes, I saw you in the park just now with your daughter. She’s very sweet. I had no idea it was you, of course, until you opened the door just now.’
So I was right to believe someone was watching me in the park. Well, at least it was only this woman. ‘Thank you. Anyway, a couple of years ago I trained as a counsellor and now here I am. Do you have any questions before we get started?’
Alison shakes her head and a curtain of dark red hair falls across her face.