The face he turned to her was contorted in a snarl, his eyes wild. She dropped his arm and stepped back instinctively. And another face flashed into her head – Paul’s face, during that last session, suddenly unrecognisable as the anger had consumed him.
Nick dropped to his knees. ‘I’m sorry! Oh God, I’m so sorry!’ He reached for a shard of china.
‘It’s okay, it’s fine. Hey, that vase was hideous anyway!’
Nick sat back on his heels and looked up at her. ‘What happened, Lulu? What the hell happened to them?’
Lulu had found the kitchen at last. She stood with her hand on the smooth, white-painted panels of the Victorian door, calling out to her family. She knew they were in there.
‘Mum!’ she shouted. ‘Dad!’
Silence.
And she couldn’t open the door, she realised, as she passed her hand over the ridges and planes of the panels. She couldn’t open the door because there was no handle.
But she was here.
Finally, she had found the kitchen.
The next morning, she woke late and realised that Nick must have decided to let her sleep in after yet another disturbed night. She yawned and sat up, watching the sunlight streaking across the carpet through a gap in the curtains. She felt . . . not good, but not as bad as usual. Last night’s session had been a bit of a breakthrough, and she was confident that they were both ready, now, to tackle what needed to be tackled.
They had a late, leisurely breakfast at the picnic table in the rose garden, and when they had finished, Lulu asked Nick for the car keys so she could go for a drive.
He stared at her. ‘You want to get away from me? After what I did last night . . . Oh God, Lu, are you frightened of me?’
‘Of course not!’ She had been frightened, but for him, not of him. ‘I just want to go for a drive.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
She reached across the table and took his hand. ‘No. I’m going to go for a drive, and then park up somewhere and call Karla.’ She looked at her watch. ‘It’s eight in the evening in Sydney, so now will be a good time for her.’
‘You’re going to tell her what I did?’
‘Yes, I’ll discuss last night’s session. But it’s completely confidential. Like docs having a confab about a patient. And – well, I’m not going to tell her it’s you, because what we’re doing . . . it’s kind of frowned upon to treat your own family.’ If she told Nick it was actually breaking the rules, he would probably refuse to continue. The last thing he’d want would be to get her in trouble. ‘And listen, last night, it’s nothing to worry about. These feelings coming to the surface – it’s all good.’
‘Oh yes, it’s great.’
‘Really, it’s all part of the process. It’s a good sign. It’s progress.’ She stood. ‘Can I have the car keys?’
‘I don’t want you going out in the car on your own.’
‘Why on earth not?’
‘You’re not used to driving on these country roads. I am. I’ve been driving on them since I was thirteen. Michael used to let me take his tractor from one field to the next. Illegally, of course.’ He shook his head with a reminiscent smile. ‘And that kind of thing still goes on. You come round a corner to find some kid bowling along in a tractor. If you’re not used to it –’
‘I grew up in the outback! Of course I’m used to country roads!’
‘But not single-track ones like these. They can be pretty dangerous, Lu. I wouldn’t have a minute’s peace all the time you were out.’
‘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.’