An invisible hand reaches into the pit of my stomach, squeezes it hard, doesn’t let go. I feel my head fill up again. Relax, I tell myself, I practised these questions with the staff at the unit, over and over again.
‘My mum left when I was young, I lived with my dad but he died recently.’
‘Fuck, that’s pretty shit.’
I nod, leave it at that. Less is more, I was told.
‘Dad probably showed you some of this stuff last week but at the end of our road, just here, there’s a short-cut to school that way.’
She points to the right.
‘Cross over the road, take the first left and then the second street on the right, it takes about five minutes from there.’
I’m about to thank her but she’s distracted, her face breaking into a smile. I follow her gaze and see a blonde girl crossing the road towards us, blowing exaggerated air kisses. Phoebe laughs and waves, says, that’s Iz. Her legs glow brown against the ripped denim shorts she’s wearing, and like Phoebe, she’s pretty. Very pretty. I watch the way they greet each other, drape round each other, a conversation begins a hundred miles an hour. Questions are flung, returned, they pull their phones out of their pockets, compare photos. They snigger about boys, and a girl named Jacinta who Izzy says is an absolute fright in her bikini, I swear the whole fucking pool emptied when she went for a swim. This whole interaction takes only minutes, but with the awkwardness of being ignored, it feels like hours. It’s Izzy who looks at me, then says to Phoebe, ‘Who’s this then, the newest newbie at Mike’s rescue centre?’
Phoebe laughs and replies, ‘She’s called Milly. She’s staying with us for a bit.’
‘Thought your dad wasn’t taking anyone else in?’
‘Whatever. You know he can’t help himself when it comes to strays.’
‘Are you coming to Wetherbridge?’ Izzy asks me.
‘Yes.’
‘Are you from London?’
‘No.’
‘Do you have a boyfriend?’
‘No.’
‘Crikey, do you only speak in robot tongue? Yes. No. No.’ She waves her arms around, makes a mechanical noise like the Dalek from the Doctor Who episode I watched in a drama lesson at my old school. They both erupt into laughter, return to their phones. I wish I could tell them I speak like that, slow and purposeful, when I’m nervous and to filter the noise. White noise, punctuated by your voice. Even now, especially now, you’re here, in my head. Normal behaviour required little effort for you, but for me, an avalanche. I was always surprised by how much they loved you at your work. No violence or rage, your smile gentle, your voice soothing. In the palm of your hand you kept them, isolated them. Took the women you knew could be persuaded to one side, talked close in their ears. Secure. Loved. That’s how you made them feel, that’s why they trusted you with their children.
‘I might head home, I’m not feeling so good.’
‘Fine,’ Phoebe replies. ‘Just don’t get me in trouble with Dad.’
Izzy looks up, a provocative smile. ‘See you at school,’ she says, and as I walk away I hear her add: ‘This should be fun.’
The girl in the tracksuit is no longer on the wall. I pause to look into the estate, follow the tower blocks up to the sky, my neck craning backwards. There were no tower blocks in Devon, just houses and fields. Acres of privacy.
When I go back into the house, Mike asks me where Phoebe is. I explain about Izzy, he smiles, an apology I think.
‘They’ve been friends for ever,’ he says. ‘A whole summer to catch up on. Do you fancy a quick chat in my study, touch base before school tomorrow?’
I say yes – I seem to be saying it a lot, it’s a good word, one I can hide behind. Mike’s study is large with bay windows overlooking the garden. A mahogany-coloured desk, a photo frame and a green antique-style reading lamp, piles of paper. There’s a home library, rows of built-in shelves full of books, the remaining walls painted a mauve colour. It feels stable. Safe. He sees me looking at the shelves, laughs. I know, I know, he says, far too many, but between you and me, I don’t think you can ever have too many books.
I nod, agree.
‘Did you have a good library at your school?’ he asks.
I don’t like the question. I don’t like thinking about life, the way it was before. But I answer, show willing.
‘Not really, but there was one in the village next to ours, I went there sometimes.’
‘Reading’s very therapeutic, just let me know if you’d like to borrow anything. I’ve plenty, as you can see.’
He winks, but not in a way that makes me feel uncomfortable, gestures to an armchair, take a seat. Relax. I sit down, notice the door to the study is closed, Mike must have done it when I was looking at his books. He refers to the chair I’m sitting in.
‘It’s comfy, isn’t it?’ he says.
I nod, try to look more relaxed, more comfy. I want to get it right. It also reclines, he adds, you just need to flick the lever on the side, if it takes your fancy, go for it. It doesn’t, and I don’t. The thought of being alone with someone in a room on a chair that reclines, me on my back. No. I don’t like that idea.
‘I know we discussed this at the unit before you were discharged but it’s important to go over what we agreed before the next few weeks of school swallow you up.’
One of my feet begins to jiggle. He looks down at it.
‘You look unsure.’
‘A little bit.’
‘All I ask is that you keep an open mind, Milly. View these sessions as moments of respite, somewhere to pause and take a breath. We’ve got just under three months until the court case starts so partly we’ll be working on preparing you for that, but we’ll also continue with the guided relaxation the unit psychologist started with you.’
‘Do we still have to do that?’
‘Yes, it’ll be helpful for you in the long run.’
How can I tell him it won’t, not if things that frighten me find a way out.
‘It’s human nature to want to avoid the things we feel threatened by, Milly, the things that make us feel less in control, but it’s important we go there. Begin the process of putting things to rest. I’d like you to think of a place that feels safe for you, I’m going to ask you to tell me about it next time we meet. Initially it might feel like a difficult thing to do, but I need you to try. It can be anywhere, a classroom at your old school, a bus journey you used to take.’
She drove me to school. Every day.
‘Or somewhere in the village you lived next to, like a cafe or the library you mentioned, anywhere as long as the feeling you associate with it is a comforting one. Does that make sense?’
‘I’ll try.’
‘Good. Now, what about tomorrow, how are you feeling? It’s never easy being the new girl.’
‘I’m looking forward to being busy, it helps.’
‘Well, just make sure and ease yourself in, it can be quite full-on at Wetherbridge but I’ve no doubt you’ll keep up. Is there anything else you’d like to talk about or ask, anything you’re feeling unsure about?’
Everything.