‘Like the old adage says, if you don’t use it you lose it. That said, we need to deal with the trauma first.’
He tilts his head to one side. ‘But what if I don’t want to talk about it?’ I’ve the message loud and clear: he doesn’t want to discuss his traumatic experiences with me. This isn’t unusual in itself. It’s not exactly pleasant conversation and, in some respects, discussing the bad things can make the trauma worse; especially if the client is anxious at the time. Creating yet another anxious-to-be-avoided experience can only compound the trauma further.
‘It’s not a problem. We can treat the trauma specifically; there are techniques that do not require you to discuss it with me. Non-invasive techniques. You will still need to recall the experiences in your mind’s eye, though. I’ll give you more information about this before you leave so you can go away, think it through.’ I wonder why he’s so anxious about sharing it with me. He asked for the referral himself. He must already know I’ve worked with many serving and non-serving people. What could be so bad? Or what did he not want me to know?
Eventually, we move on to talking about historical patterns. How we learn to respond and react to circumstances and people, based on past patterns of behaviour. He crosses and uncrosses his legs, intermittently swigging from his bottle of water. Little beads of sweat appear on his brow. Where has the self-assured man gone who entered my room? This isn’t supposed to happen in this order. Something I’ve said has triggered his response and he’s struggling to refind his footing.
His left leg jigs up and down in time to his tapping heel. I can’t ignore it any longer. ‘Are you okay? Before we go on. You seem a little on edge. Is it something I’ve said?’
His eyes dart from me, to the desk and back. ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’ He tugs at the collar of his polo shirt. ‘It’s pretty warm in here.’
I’ll oblige him. ‘It is, isn’t it? I’ll open the window.’ I begin battle with the window once again, conscious this is not the cause for his anxious moment. It isn’t overly warm at all. We’ll both be freezing in a minute. I sit back down, deciding to change the subject.
‘What about family, William?’
‘What about it?’ he challenges.
‘Do you have any close family or friends to support you at the moment? A partner maybe?’ I’ve noticed the absence of any ring.
‘Nope, I don’t. No family. No partner,’ he shuts me down.
Interesting. Why such a sensitive topic? Another one.
‘Okay. Any close friends? Anyone to help you through this? Someone you can talk things through with?’ He exhales, lifting his chin to me. ‘It’s not a problem. This is simply background information. So I have an understanding of your support system.’ He sits tense, almost defiant, as if I’m judging him. I’m not.
‘No.’ He sighs deeply, rubbing his outdoor hand through thick dark hair. ‘Look, if you don’t mind me saying, I can’t really see how this helps. But, in answer to your questions, no. I don’t have anyone. A life in the forces can do that to you.’ I’m not mistaken; his eyes take on a deep look of sadness. I think we’ve encountered another knot in the tissues here.
I hold my hands up to him. ‘It’s fine, William, we can move on.’ A glimmer of relief washes over him as he physically relaxes into his chair. ‘Just so you know,’ I say, ‘you’re not the only one. Many people are without support. It must be tremendously difficult to build relationships when you never really know where you’re going to be based. Always on the move, overseas, out of the UK so often.’ Or sometimes people choose not to involve friends or family. It’s not too often I come across people who are completely alone in the world. How sad. ‘Anyway, that’s what I’m here for, so it’s no big deal. Let’s just move on.’
Clearly he doesn’t wish to talk about his family or his past. It could be a personal privacy issue, but I sense this time it’s more than that. I stand to give him a moment. ‘Think I’ll pull down the window now, if it’s okay; it’s getting a little chilly in here.’ I begin to bump down the pig-headed window.
‘My parents are dead,’ he blurts at my back, so as to get the stuck words to release. I turn to acknowledge him but remain silent. I don’t want to interrupt his flow. I nod at him whilst sitting down. A few breaths later he adds, ‘The thing is, I’ve never known my parents. They died before I got the chance to know them. I can’t even remember them. Sometimes I think I see them. Hear them too in my memories. But I’m not sure if they’re actual memories, or if they’re just in my imagination or my dreams. Other than that, I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind.’ I smile and nod at him. Before he adds, ‘I can assure you, though, it’s not really a problem for me; I’ve had plenty of time to get used to it.’
The sadness I witnessed earlier is no longer with him. I think he probably is okay with it. ‘Of course, whatever we talk about has to be because you want to, or need to. Not always the same thing.’ He would appear to have no history, no roots and no current base. It’s not what he’s saying, but what he’s not saying, that concerns me. I glance at the clock on the shelf to the left of the door, purposely placed so I can keep my eye on time without alerting the client to it. ‘Do we have an address for you, William?’ I flick through my paperwork. ‘For some reason the referral form was incomplete.’
‘No, I don’t think I had a fixed address at the original meeting.’ He rubs his hand through his hair, still in the same position from before. ‘I told them I’d be heading down to Cornwall anytime soon for a while. So they suggested I booked in with you.’
‘Fine. Can you please give Ruan your full details before you leave? It’s quite important. Are you registered with a GP down here?’
‘Nope.’
‘Can I suggest you do, when you have a moment? Whereabouts are you living – in Truro?’
‘You can suggest I register at the GP’s, yes.’ He grins; confidence is back in the room. ‘Just outside Truro, on the outskirts.’
‘I’ll get Ruan to set up our next appointment and then—’
‘What kind of experience do you have with trauma, Eve?’
‘I’ve worked with trauma cases for many years. What would you—’
‘No, I mean personal experience?’
‘I see. Sorry, William; I don’t express details about my personal life in clinic. It’s a—’
‘I just wondered as you appear to have such an innate understanding.’
I feel the beginnings of a blush. I could be wrong, but it sounds as if he’s challenging me; digging at something. ‘That will be my training. That, and my experience of working with it,’ I explain.
He nods, smiling. ‘Understood.’ He jumps to his feet, holding out his hand. ‘Well, it’s been… insightful, Eve; thank you.’ I stand to shake his hand. He embraces my hand for a moment too long, before adding, ‘Do you have anyone to support you, to talk things through with?’ I stare blankly at him; what is he trying to say, imply? He continues, ‘Of course, I’m referring to the difficult cases you must work with.’
But this is not what he meant at all. What does this man know about me and who is he? Does he know you? Have you sent him? ‘Don’t you worry; I can look after myself,’ I tell him.
‘Yes. Yes, so I believe. Thank you, Eve.’ He turns and leaves my room, before one last turn, his eyes meet mine. Unsaid words meet somewhere in between us, and he closes the door behind him. I fall down to my seat, rest my elbows on my desk and place my head in my hands. What the hell was that all about? My eyes fall once again to the A4 envelope.
A few minutes later; I’m broken from my thoughts by a gentle knocking at my door, followed by Ruan’s head.
‘Coffee? You’ve time now for a quick break.’
‘Please, Ruan, thanks.’ He backs out of the door.
‘Ruan?’
‘Yeah, I know, strong! Already on it.’
‘No, not that. Did William leave his address, before he left? Did he give you his details?’
‘No. Should he have?’
‘Yes, I asked him to.’