Page 12 of The Therapist

SEVEN

Lana

‘Thank you for coming in, Mike,’ I say as the man shuffles uncomfortably on my sofa. He doesn’t want to be here at all, and I wonder how Sandy got him to come, what she said to make him turn up here.

Her husband is tall, blond and square, like a well-muscled Ken doll. I cannot help the thought that they make a beautiful couple. I know they have two children and I imagine they are as lovely as their parents are. Whatever is going on in their house, I hope they are safe from it.

‘No problem,’ he says, clearing his throat. He wrings his hands together, forcing me to look at them. He is a lot bigger than his wife. He could do a lot of damage with those hands. But would he? Has he already?

‘Did you come together?’ I ask, choosing an innocuous question so that he relaxes a little. I’m not actually sure what the goal is here but I’m going to let Sandy lead the way.

‘We did,’ Sandy answers for him, ‘and I told Mike that I’m really hoping this can help us. I want us to be better at being married and being parents, being people.’

Mike shoots his wife a look. What was that –disbelief? Disdain?

Sandy is sitting on the opposite end of the small sofa, her fingers pale as she squeezes her hands together in her lap. She seems to be afraid of him, even sitting in this office with me, she is afraid of him. Or that’s what she wants me to think.

He looks around, studying the picture of the ocean on the wall, and then his gaze flicks over to the window, where a bright winter sun shines.

We all sit in silence as I wait for one of them to say something but neither does so eventually, I say, ‘Perhaps you can tell me why you agreed to come.’

‘I want to help Sandy,’ he says, folding his arms across his chest.

‘And I think that Sandy would like to help you,’ I say, and he looks at his wife.

‘Why would I need any help?’ He uncrosses his arms and shuffles some more on the sofa.

‘Please, Mike,’ says Sandy, her voice soft and cajoling, ‘please try, for both of us.’

He takes a deep breath and it’s easy to see that this has an effect on him. She is so soft and quiet that he cannot help but respond to her. There is a meekness about her in this moment.

‘I’m not sure what you want me to say here,’ says Mike, opening his arms wide.

‘Perhaps you can tell me how you view your marriage,’ I suggest.

‘Well, it’s…I mean it’s not the greatest right now… We’re not happy. I know that neither of us is happy. But we have young kids and I think…I want to make everyone happy and I work hard and I… Work is really a mess right now so I’m really stressed and…’ He stops speaking.

‘It’s okay,’ I tell him, leaning forward. ‘Go on.’ I have a feeling that we are getting somewhere and I risk a quick look at Sandy to see that she is also sitting forward.

There is something about him, something simmering underneath the surface. It’s so strong I can almost feel it in the air. Barely concealed rage maybe? Or is it something else?

‘We argue a lot,’ he says, ‘about stupid stuff mostly.’ He doesn’t look at his wife.

‘And what happens when you argue, Mike?’ I ask.

‘Things get heated,’ he says.

‘Right.’ I sit back. I doubted Sandy’s decision to bring him here but she obviously knows her husband well.

It seems possible that he may even admit to the abuse and that’s what she wants.

She needs him to admit to it. And if he does, she wants to move forward as a couple.

At least that’s what I believe Sandy wants.

I look at her, gauging her reaction to his statement.

Her eyes are wide, her shoulders tensed.

Is she afraid, right here, right now? Her mouth twitches slightly and I reassess.

Is she happy? Triumphant at his confession that things get heated?

‘I know that Sandy gets frustrated. I get that it’s hard with two young kids and…’

‘Go on, Mike,’ says Sandy, encouraging him. ‘Tell Lana what happens when things get heated.’

He turns to look at his wife, who nods. ‘There’s nothing more to tell.’ Mike scratches at his jaw. He looks around the room again, conveying his disinterest in continuing the conversation. I wait a minute to see if he will say anything else but he doesn’t.

I can see that we’ve hit a brick wall. Sandy sits back against the sofa and looks at the painting and I watch her blink quickly, keeping away tears. I can see her hopes of some kind of confession or acknowledgement of his behaviour dissipate.

I wonder why he has come and what he hopes to achieve out of this appointment, if anything at all. From my point of view, I want to know what is really going on, if I have any right to doubt Sandy.

The silence in the room grows. I try again.

‘I want you to know, Mike, that this is a safe place,’ I tell him. ‘I can help but, as with all problems, you can’t get help unless you acknowledge what’s really happening.’

‘I’ve told Lana everything,’ says Sandy. ‘I told her that I still love you and I want to be able to work it out with you. I want to try and make our marriage better. I think we can both be better, for us and for the kids.’

‘You’ve told her everything?’ asks Mike, and I watch his fists clench.

I am glad that Ben is here today and that he’s just next door with one of his own patients.

I wouldn’t know what to do if this got out of hand.

I have no doubt that this man could hurt both Sandy and me without even breaking a sweat.

But would he? Is he capable of it – not physically because he obviously is, but mentally?

Is this a possibly violent, abusive man sitting in front of me or a confused husband?

‘Everything,’ Sandy confirms.

‘And can you help her?’ Mike asks. ‘I mean, can you help her get her anger under control?’

‘Her anger?’ I ask, confused.

‘I’m not the one who needs to control my anger, Mike,’ says Sandy as she shreds a tissue in her hands. ‘You know what happens when we argue, how you go from zero to a hundred in a minute and then you…’

‘Then I what?’ says Mike as he sits forward, planting his legs wide apart.

‘You know what,’ says Sandy and then she gestures towards her eye.

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ he asks, his voice rising, and I can feel his frustration with his wife.

‘My black eye,’ says Sandy, her voice filled with defiance.

‘I told her about my black eye; well, I mean she saw that, didn’t you, Lana?

’ She sits back and I can see that her body is trembling as though it has taken a great deal to say these things out loud.

I doubted that black eye but was I right to?

Maybe the make-up on the tissue was just her trying to cover the black eye?

If it was real, was that the first time? Is it ongoing? Do I need to get the police involved here?

Mike looks bewildered. ‘You never had a black eye – what the hell are you talking about?’

‘Lana saw it, Mike, she saw it.’

It becomes clear to me now that Sandy has been waiting to confront her husband because she needed someone else to hear this information when she did it, knowing that he would not attack her in front of someone else because abusers rarely do, especially ones who deny the abuse.

I look at Mike, whose whole body is tense, and I wonder how quickly Ben could get in here if things went awry.

But am I only seeing what Sandy wants me to see? My thoughts are giving me whiplash.

He shakes his head. ‘Look, I don’t know what you’ve told Lana, but I’m not the one who lashes out.’

‘Liar,’ says Sandy quietly.

‘You’re the liar,’ he replies, his voice rising.

There are always three sides to every story. Everyone knows that. I have always prided myself in being able to ascertain, fairly quickly, who is closer to the truth when I undertake marriage counselling. I have never had a situation where I am as unsure as I am now as to who to believe.

‘Okay, I feel that this is not the best way to move forward,’ I tell them both, hoping that the tension I can feel smouldering in the air can be tamped down. I cannot have this session get out of control.

Mike looks from Sandy to me and back again. He won’t do anything in here, surely? I can see that he’s getting angry. He jiggles one leg and cracks his knuckles. But I also sense a lot of confusion from him.

I watch him take a deliberate breath and I can almost see him counting in his head. ‘What exactly has Sandy told you?’ he asks me.

‘I told her that when you get really angry, you hurt me,’ whispers Sandy, looking down at her lap, where she has started on a fresh tissue, moving it from hand to hand and tearing off small bits.

‘I told her that you black out when you drink and that’s when you hurt me.

’ Sandy has not told me this. She has told me about the drinking and the gaslighting and she has also told me she got the black eye when she walked into a door.

The explanation didn’t make sense but I get it now.

She feels safe enough, with me here, to say what she needs to say.

But he seems puzzled as well as angry. Even if he blacks out and hurts her, he must have seen the results of his violence.

It cannot be that she has never said anything at all about his behaviour to him until now.

She’s talking as though this is something they both know.

Is his puzzlement all an act? Are her accusations of abuse a lie?

I hate that I am still not completely sure who is telling the truth.

He raises his hands and runs them through his neat blond hair and then he closes his eyes. I wait again in silence for him to say something. Finally, he looks at me and says very slowly, ‘That’s a lie. Everything she says is a lie.’ His tone is even, as though he is simply stating a fact.

I find myself questioning everything I know about this situation again. Who should I believe?

‘You’re the one who makes things physical,’ he says as he looks at me although he is obviously talking to Sandy.