Page 10 of The Therapist

‘Yes, yes, but his tears are perhaps because I had to have a few words with him about his behaviour.’

‘What?’ I am instantly furious. Iggy is very well behaved and whatever he may have done, there was no reason for this teacher to make him cry.

‘He called Abigail “stinky breath”, and he got everyone else in the class to call her the same thing. I had to ask her mother to come and get her early because she was so distressed.’

My fury disappears and humiliation appears in its place. ‘Oh…I’m sure he didn’t mean…I would never accept…’

Mrs McDougall stares at me as I try to find the right words.

She knows I’m a therapist and I can feel her questioning my abilities in my chosen profession and as a mother.

The school has a zero tolerance policy for bullies, not something I enjoyed while I was at school being tormented by the pretty girls and the popular boys who called me ‘Llama Lana’ and ‘Lame Lana’ and ‘Lumpy Lana’, and as we all got older ‘Loathsome Lana’.

‘I’m sure it won’t happen again,’ she says, rescuing me from having to say anything else.

‘Please tell the little girl’s mother that I’m sorry and I will definitely be talking to him about this and it is unacceptable,’ I tell her as I finally find my voice.

‘Mum,’ says Iggy and I turn and leave, not taking his hand and forcing him to follow me to the car.

Once he’s buckled in, I get in and then turn around to look at my child.

‘Why would you have said such a terrible thing about that little girl?’ I ask, my voice rising.

‘That was a terrible, awful thing to do and I never want to hear of you doing anything like that again, do you understand me?’ I am yelling now and I bite down on my lip to stop myself.

‘I…’ His eyes fill with tears. ‘I… Her breath was stinky and…’ He shrugs as tears fall. ‘Sorry, Mum. I’m sorry and I said sorry to Abigail, I did say sorry.’

He sniffs and I root through my bag, handing him a tissue. ‘It’s okay, it’s okay,’ I tell him, my anger at my child disappearing. My yelling isn’t about him and what he did, and I don’t need to be a therapist to know that. My school years just came hurtling back to torment me.

‘But Iggy, that was not a nice thing to say and you made her very sad.’ I soften my tone and he nods.

‘I won’t ever say it again.’

‘I know you won’t because we don’t hurt people’s feelings, do we? That’s not nice.’

Iggy nods his head vigorously. ‘We don’t say nasty things that we wouldn’t want people to say to us,’ he says, echoing what I have told him many times.

I turn around and start the car.

‘Can we still have pizza?’ he asks in a small voice, and I feel like someone has punched me. Neither Oliver nor I yell at Iggy. It’s never really been necessary. He must be confused by my over-the-top response.

‘Yes, we can,’ I tell him and I start driving.

I know that I will need to discuss what just happened with SueEllen. It was not a normal reaction, obviously.

The older I get, the more distant school seems until something like this happens or until a client like Sandy, cloaked in beauty, walks into my office and suddenly I am the overweight teenager with a single friend who was bullied as badly as I was, actually worse than I was, much worse.

I try to push away thoughts of Janine, my one school friend, short with red hair and freckles and terrible skin but a very kind heart.

I feel like she could be sitting right next to me in the car.

I don’t want to think about her, about how she called me one night and needed to speak to me but I wasn’t in the mood and told my mother to tell her I was busy.

If we were teenagers now, she would just message me and I would be able to respond with an emoji or a single sentence.

If we were teenagers now, she would be able to find a Reddit forum and discuss her problems. But this was before smartphones and I didn’t feel like a conversation.

I have regretted that decision for twenty years now.

I still have a long way to go to put my teen years behind me.

I think about Sandy telling me that she could talk to me all day.

I certainly couldn’t imagine that, and I would never think of approaching a woman like her for friendship.

But now that I am tasked with helping her and guiding her, I worry that my own issues may be preventing me from doing the best job.

‘Rubbish,’ I say aloud.

‘What, Mum?’ asks Iggy.

‘Nothing, sweetheart, nothing.’

A terrible thought occurs to me as I make my way to our local pizza place. Maybe it’s not Sandy who can’t be trusted. Maybe it’s me. What if I can’t trust myself and the way I’m dealing with her because of my own personal history?

I need to find a way to bring my best self to my sessions with Sandy, regardless of what I think or know about her.

With that thought in my head, I park and get my son out of the car, grabbing him in a quick tight hug before we go and order pizza.

‘I love you, baby,’ I tell him.

He wriggles in my arms. ‘Yes, Mum, I know, I’m hungry, put me down.’

A happy little boy bounces into the pizza store. I need to borrow some of that and make sure I’m bringing my best self to work when I next see Sandy. I do want to help the woman, after all.

Of course you do , I reassure myself, of course you do.