Page 12 of Sorry, Not Sorry

Delilah frowned at the number on the scuffed door, looked up and down the busy high street, and then checked her phone again.

It was definitely the right address, but the shared offices above a general household goods shop was not where she’d expected to find Polly’s highly recommended therapist. She squinted at the labels alongside the two buzzers: ‘Sadie, Tarot Specialist’ and ‘Arne Bergen’.

The harsh November wind and gloomy grey skies didn’t help Delilah’s mood.

It had just started raining and the doorway offered no shelter, but she still hesitated, hovering her finger over the buzzer beside Arne’s name.

Although Polly had made it clear that therapy was non-negotiable, it had taken a week of Salome’s relentless nagging before Delilah had reluctantly agreed to make an appointment.

Even the idea of opening up to a stranger’s prodding and probing felt exhausting, but if she was to avoid a repeat of her experience with Verity, Delilah knew she would have to play the game.

This time, instead of stonewalling, she decided, she would answer the therapist’s questions but reveal only what he needed to hear to confirm her readiness to return to work.

Armed with a strategy, she had booked a slot in Arne’s calendar, but now she was actually here, she could feel her stomach twist into a spasm of anxiety and couldn’t shake off an uneasy sense of foreboding.

Pull yourself together, Del . You’ve got this!

A cold gust of rain-soaked wind blew over her, and she gritted her teeth and pressed hard on the buzzer.

Hearing a click, she pushed the door open and walked into a narrow hallway.

Inside, the building was as dingy as the exterior had promised, with stacks of letters and junk mail on the shelf behind the door, tired mosaic floor tiles and faded floral-patterned wallpaper, and a musty odour of damp walls.

There was no sign of life, and when she closed the door behind her, the sound of traffic was replaced by silence.

She slipped off her damp puffer coat and shook her braids free before wiping her boots on the worn doormat and walking down the corridor.

At the foot of the stairs leading up to the offices, Delilah’s nerves kicked in again.

Taking a moment to remind herself of her gameplan, she climbed up to the first floor and continued down the passageway past a door stencilled with a pack of black and white playing cards.

Although she wasn’t normally one for spiritualists, at that precise moment Delilah would gladly have traded Polly’s revered Arne Bergen for Sadie the Tarot Specialist.

Arne’s name was on the door at the end of the corridor, and Delilah knocked softly.

Moments later, the door was opened by a very tall man with a striking mane of red curly hair and piercing electric-blue eyes.

His oversized Argyle patterned jumper and baggy corduroy trousers had clearly been designed for comfort rather than style, and with dark bushy eyebrows, saggy under-eye bags, and a scruffy beard, he looked like a rumpled, middle-aged Viking.

‘You are Delilah, yes?’

‘Um… yes,’ she said hesitantly, shaking the hand he had extended. While his height was imposing, his voice was deep and gentle with an accent Delilah couldn’t place, but assumed was from somewhere in Scandinavia.

‘I’m Arne. Please come in.’ He stood back and she walked in, immediately struck by the contrast between his warm, brightly lit office and the run-down interior of the building.

‘Will you take some coffee?’ Arne enquired, and when Delilah nodded, he walked over to a coffee machine in a tiny kitchenette at the end of the room.

While Arne busied himself, Delilah quickly scanned his office.

The high ceilings and pale blue walls were decorated with black and white framed photos of snow-topped mountains and forest scenes that seemed a world away from the depressing grey November morning.

Judging from the number of books crammed onto shelves that lined an entire wall, Arne liked to read.

The room was plainly furnished, and a woven chocolate-brown rug with a cream geometric design brought a touch of style to the parquet flooring.

There was no sign of the proverbial therapist’s couch, and other than a desk in the corner, the room was furnished with three large armchairs, one of which was occupied by a sleek tabby cat who briefly opened one eye to scrutinise Delilah before closing it again.

Arne carefully placed a full mug of coffee on a side table and gestured towards a chair. ‘Please, sit.’

Delilah took a seat and clasped her hands in her lap, while he sat in the chair across from her.

He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his long legs, and Delilah tucked a braid behind her ear and cleared her throat, suddenly self-conscious under his scrutiny.

She picked up the mug and took a tentative sip, almost scalding her tongue, and quickly set it down.

She glanced at Arne with a nervous smile, and when he didn’t seem inclined to break the silence, she nodded in the direction of the sleeping cat.

‘What’s her name?’

‘His name,’ he corrected. ‘Sigmund. As in Freud. An inside joke, you might say,’ he added with a straight face.

Delilah regarded him quizzically, not quite sure what to make of him.

She hadn’t given much thought to what the therapist would look like, but she certainly wouldn’t have pictured this shaggy-haired giant with his calm, almost hypnotic voice and disdainful cat.

There was a twinkle in his eye that made Arne seem less intimidating than she had initially thought, and despite his unorthodox appearance and the run-down premises, he appeared to be very much in demand.

She had struggled to find a time in his online calendar, and in the end she’d been forced to book a Monday morning slot, which wasn’t exactly when she was at her best.

‘Thank you for coming. As you know, Polly Danbury contacted me to request that I work with you,’ Arne said.

Despite his strong accent, he was easy to understand.

‘I believe you are on a leave of absence, and that you started personal therapy sessions in the past which you then discontinued. Am I correct?’

Delilah nodded. So far, so true .

‘Was there a particular reason why you stopped attending your therapy sessions? It will help me understand if this process is one you will find useful and how committed you are to doing the work.’

Delilah gnawed her lip for a moment and then reached for the mug, taking a few cautious sips of the hot coffee while she gathered her thoughts. Tell him what he needs to hear , she reminded herself.

She put down the mug and said carefully, ‘Yes, I am committed.’

Before she could help herself, her deep sense of frustration took over and she blurted out, ‘But if I’m completely honest, I find this all a bit unnecessary.

I don’t know how much Polly told you, but you should know that I passed my counselling exams with flying colours.

Is there room for me to improve in my work?

Yes, of course! But that’s what training is for, isn’t it?

I just don’t get why I need to go through this…

this…’ Don’t say sham! ‘…process,’ she finished lamely.

‘Is that why you stopped your previous sessions – did you also consider them unnecessary?’

Uncomfortable with Arne’s calm questioning, Delilah shifted in the armchair and crossed her legs. ‘I wasn’t getting anything out of it, and there was absolutely no chemistry with my therapist. Frankly, I think she was just as relieved as me when I stopped going.’

‘I see.’ Arne nodded and gently tugged his full beard. ‘So tell me, Delilah, what motivates you to be a relationship counsellor?’

Delilah blinked, thrown off by the sudden switch in topic. She scrabbled for a response that might impress him, and when none came to mind, she reached for her mug and swallowed a large gulp of coffee.

Arne gave her an encouraging smile, and she forced a laugh. ‘Well, I’ve had loads of relationships myself, so there isn’t much I don’t know about them, haha!’

Cringing at her own pathetic attempt at humour, Delilah uncrossed her legs and sat up.

‘I enjoy helping people and supporting couples to navigate conflict. You know, help them to improve how they communicate with each other and understand the other person’s perspective, and…

basically, develop more positive behaviours. ’

‘Anything else?’

‘Well, I also think it’s important to be aware of when couples can be a danger to each other—’ She stopped abruptly, instantly regretting her choice of words.

‘Danger?’

She felt a flash of annoyance that he’d picked up on the word, but it was too late to row back. ‘Yes, you know – toxic relationships.’

Arne pondered on her words for a moment. ‘Help me understand. Do you see your role as supporting couples to address their challenges or do you believe you should be saving people from holding on to poor relationships? I’m wondering what success looks like for you.’

Delilah shrugged. ‘That depends.’

‘On?’

‘The safety of the woman – I mean, of the couple. If they’re not good together, they shouldn’t feel compelled to stay in a relationship.’

‘Do you feel counselling encourages couples to prolong unhealthy relationships?’

Fired up by Arne’s questions, Delilah had completely forgotten her game plan.

‘Honestly? Yes, I think it can. I mean, we’re so focused on helping people resolve their conflicts that sometimes we risk making them accept the unacceptable.

I’ve had friends who’ve stayed with their boyfriends even when the men are literally the worst, and I don’t believe my profession should be enabling that. ’