‘Hello, Ulrika,’ she begins. ‘Thanks for coming.’
The first meeting is all about establishing trust. And Ulrika needs to feel that trust immediately. She lets Ulrika direct the conversation wherever she feels comfortable.
Sofia listens, leaning back with interest.
Ulrika explains that she hardly ever meets other people.
She might miss interaction, but whenever she ends up in a social situation she is gripped by panic. She once took an adult education course. On the first day she went along, hoping to make new friends and gain new skills, but her body stopped abruptly at the entrance to the college.
She never managed to go inside.
‘I don’t understand how I dared come here,’ Ulrika says with a nervous giggle.
Sofia realises that the girl is giggling to hide the seriousness of what she just said. ‘Do you remember what was going through your mind when you opened the door?’
Ulrika takes the question seriously and thinks about it.
‘“Let’s do this,” I think,’ she says in surprise. ‘But that sounds really weird – why would I be thinking that?’
‘Only you can know the answer to that,’ Sofia says with a smile.
She realises that she’s dealing with a girl who’s made up her mind.
One who doesn’t want to be a victim any more.
From what Ulrika tells her, Sofia understands that she’s suffering from numerous problems. Nightmares, compulsive behaviour, panic attacks, stiffness, insomnia and feelings of disgust towards both eating and drinking.
Ulrika says the only thing she can get down without difficulty is beer.
Sofia realises that the girl needs consistent support, and a strong hand to hold.
Someone has to open her eyes and show her that another life is possible, and that it’s right in front of her.
Ideally Sofia would like to see her twice a week.
If there’s too long between sessions there’s a risk that she’ll start to question and doubt things, which would make the process much harder.
But Ulrika doesn’t want to.
No matter how Sofia tries, she can’t persuade Ulrika to agree to more than one session every two weeks, even when she says she won’t charge.
As Ulrika leaves, she says something that worries Sofia.
‘There is one thing …’
Sofia looks up from her notes. ‘Yes?’
Ulrika looks so small. ‘I don’t know … Sometimes I have trouble … knowing what actually happened.’
Sofia tells her to shut the door and come and sit down again.
‘Tell me more,’ she says, as gently as she can.
‘I … sometimes I think I invited them to humiliate me and rape me. Of course I know that isn’t true, but some mornings when I wake up I’m convinced that I did. I’m so ashamed … and then I realise that it wasn’t like that.’
Sofia looks hard at Ulrika. ‘It’s good that you’re telling me this. Feelings like that are normal when you’ve been through the things you have. You take on some of the guilt. I appreciate that it doesn’t feel any less unpleasant because I say it’s normal, but you’re going to have to trust me. Above all, you’re going to have to trust me when I say that you didn’t do anything wrong.’
Sofia waits for Ulrika’s reaction, but she just sits in the chair, nodding apathetically.
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come back next week?’ Sofia tries again. ‘I’ve got two appointments available, one on Wednesday and one on Thursday.’
Ulrika stands up. She looks forlornly down at the floor, as if she’s made a fool of herself. ‘No, I don’t think so. I have to go now.’
Sofia resists the urge to get up and grab her arm to make her see how serious this is. It’s too soon for that sort of gesture. Instead she takes a deep breath and composes herself. ‘OK. Call me if you change your mind. I’ll keep those appointments free just in case.’
‘Bye,’ Ulrika says, opening the door. ‘And thanks.’
Ulrika disappears out the door, and Sofia remains behind her desk as she hears her get into the lift.
The way Ulrika thanked her lingers as a sign that she actually got through to her. From that single word Sofia deduces that Ulrika isn’t used to being seen for who she really is.
Sofia makes up her mind to call Ulrika the next day to see if she’s reconsidered and is ready to come back the following week. And if that doesn’t work, she’ll suggest that Jeanette go and see Ulrika during the week. She mustn’t let go of her.
She wants to help a new life to rise from the ashes.
Sofia wraps her arms around herself and feels the irregular scars on her back.
Victoria’s scars.
Sierra Leone, 1987
SHE GRABBED HOLD of the boy’s hair, so hard that she tore out a big clump. In her hand the roots looked like little threads.
She hit him in the head, the face and the body and she hit him for a long time. Dazed, she stood up, left the jetty and fetched a large stone down by the shore.
It isn’t me, she said, letting the boy’s body sink into the water. Now you must swim …
The girl immediately begins to thrash her arms and legs, but swallows a lot of water and sinks.
Victoria pulls away a metre or so and looks on.
Twice the girl comes up to the surface, coughing, only to sink again when she tries unsuccessfully to reach the edge. But Victoria swims calmly over to her, grabs her under the arms and pulls her up. The girl’s legs won’t carry her, and she collapses on the terrace beside the pool. She rolls onto her side and throws up violently. First comes the chlorinated water, then the sticky grey strings of the porridge she ate for breakfast.
After a couple of minutes the girl calms down and Victoria rocks her in her arms. ‘You see,’ Victoria says, ‘you managed to kick me, and I was nearly knocked out.’
The girl is sobbing, and after a while she sniffs a silent apology.
‘Never mind,’ Victoria says, hugging her. ‘But we probably shouldn’t tell anyone about this.’
The girl shakes her head. ‘Sorry,’ she repeats, and Victoria no longer hates her.
Ten minutes later she’s rinsing off the terrace with the garden hose. The girl is dressed again, and is sitting on the sunlounger under the umbrella on the veranda. Her short hair is already dry, and when she smiles at Victoria it looks like she’s embarrassed. A regretful smile at having done something stupid.
Alternate between caressing and hitting, first protecting and then destroying, Victoria thinks. He’s taught me that.