Page 31 of The Therapist

EIGHTEEN

Lana

I have half an hour until my next patient arrives and all I want to do is get up and leave right now, fetch my child early and lock the both of us in my house, but I already told Kirsty I would wait for my next patient so I have no choice.

At least Iggy is at school and safe. Mike knows that I have a child – someone I will do anything to protect.

I went to his house and I am sure that he’s not above coming to my home.

Perhaps I should call Ben and talk to him about this but after the way he reacted when I told him about going over to Mike and Sandy’s house, I have no desire to tell him that he was right about everything.

And he has enough to deal with right now with whatever is going on with his parents overseas.

Sitting down at my desk, I take Detective Franks’ card out of my wallet, running my fingers across the smooth flat surface as I bite down on my lip.

I wish I didn’t have to call him but I know I need to report Mike for coming here.

He didn’t threaten me exactly but he grabbed me and I felt vulnerable and scared.

Who knows what would have happened if Kirsty had not returned from getting coffee?

Before I call him, I make one last attempt at calling Sandy. She doesn’t answer and an automated voice tells me that her mailbox is full. A very bad sign. She hasn’t listened to any new messages for a while.

I dial the detective’s number, expecting to get his voicemail, but he answers.

‘Franks here.’

‘Detective Franks, this is Lana Stanton. I came to see you this morning.’

‘Ah yes, Ms Stanton…’

‘I need to tell you that Mike, Sandy’s husband, just turned up here.

He wanted me to tell the police that he wouldn’t hurt his wife and he…

grabbed my wrist. I mean he didn’t hurt me but I was scared and I really feel that you should speak to him.

I don’t know…I was scared.’ I know that I sound very unsure but I’m not certain what else to say.

‘If he hurt you, you can file charges for assault,’ says the detective. ‘If he laid hands on you in any way, you can file charges.’

I think about what it would take to file charges, to go down to the police station and spend some time doing that. ‘If I do, will you arrest him?’

‘Well, we would go and see him and get his version of events. And he may be arrested, yes. Did anyone else witness what happened?’

‘My receptionist came in at the end. She had gone to get coffee and she came in and he was next to me and she saw that he was holding my wrist.’

‘Okay, well you can come down and report the incident and we will look into it.’

This is not the answer that I wanted. I want the police to care more, to help me. Maybe they would be able to figure out exactly what’s going on.

‘Do you know that he has a criminal record?’ I ask the detective as I pick up my pen from my desk and begin doodling on my notepad. I feel like I want to jump out of my skin and I’m trying to keep myself grounded.

‘Who told you that?’ Explaining it all would take too long. ‘Sandy – she told me when I was treating her,’ I lie. I glance at my phone, seeing that I only have fifteen minutes.

The detective clears his throat. ‘Interesting,’ he says and I have no idea what he means by that.

‘Look, I don’t actually want to file charges against Mike. I just want to know that Sandy is okay,’ I tell the detective as I stand and begin pacing around my office. ‘I’m really worried about Sandy.’

The detective is quiet for a moment. ‘Actually, I was going to call you.’

‘Oh?’ I stop walking, hold my breath.

‘Yeah, we had a call about twenty minutes ago from Mrs Burkhart.’

‘What?’ I don’t understand what he’s told me and a mixture of relief and disbelief flow through me. Sandy called them?

‘Mrs Burkhart just called me; well, she called the station and explained the situation and was put through to me. She has confirmed what her husband told you, which is that she needed some time away. She was apologetic about any waste of police time.’

A thousand questions and scenarios run through my mind. ‘But why didn’t she call me or her husband? He was just here. Are you sure it was her? Maybe she was coerced? Maybe he’s got her locked up in that house and he’s…hurting her. Why would he have come here if he knew she was safe? Does he know?’

‘Ms Stanton,’ says the detective firmly, ‘you need to slow down. Mrs Burkhart called us from her phone. She confirmed her details and she also said that you have taken a more than usual interest in her as a client, something that was beginning to make her feel uncomfortable, and that’s why she did not come to her session and she has not returned your calls. ’

‘But how did she know that I’d gone to the police?’

‘I called her this morning and left a message on her phone, asking her to contact me and informing her that there was a concern for her safety. She must have assumed that you were the one making the report.’

I sit back down in my chair and I can feel my mouth opening and closing as I struggle to find a suitable reply. I cannot believe what I’m hearing.

‘Her mailbox is full,’ I say. ‘I tried to call her again and her mailbox is full. That doesn’t happen – I mean she must have listened to her messages if she’s okay and if she listened to your message, it wouldn’t be full.’

‘She did tell me that you have called her a lot and of course her husband did as well but as Mrs Burkhart said, she just needed a couple of days away. That’s hardly a crime.

I know my own wife has a girls’ weekend every now and again and it really helps with her mental health.

You’re a therapist. I’m sure you understand that sometimes rest is needed. ’

I feel patronised, condescended to, humiliated. There is no point in continuing this conversation. ‘How come she hasn’t told her husband then? Why did he just turn up here and ask me to speak to the police?’

He sighs. ‘Mrs Burkhart did tell me she and her husband had a disagreement and she felt some time apart was a good idea. She said that she would let him know that she’s safe and I’m sure she will do that shortly.

I assume she has her reasons for not contacting him right away and while that may not be the best way for her to handle the situation, police do not get involved in people’s marriages unless there is a reason. ’

I think about the dying months of my marriage to Oliver when I would contact him ten times a day sometimes, getting all my anger out over text, and he would simply ignore every message.

Is this the same thing? No, I think this is different. ‘There is?—’

The detective doesn’t let me finish. ‘If we interfered in every argument, we would have no time for anything else. I’m sure you understand.’ I can hear the background sounds of phones ringing and people talking. He must be in an open space.

‘But Mike…’ I mutter, unable to process this.

The detective clears his throat, unable to conceal his desire to end this conversation.

‘Again, Ms Stanton, Mrs Burkhart has said that she will speak to her husband and that she expects they will resolve their disagreement. I imagine she will go home soon and all will be well. But he should not have come to your office and threatened you. If you would like to press charges, I advise you to go to your nearest police station and they will be able to help you start the process.’ The background sounds grow muffled and I know that he’s taken the phone away from his ear to talk to someone else.

He’s done with me and whatever has been going on here.

Mike did not look like a man whose wife was just taking some time away, so Sandy had obviously not called him yet. And Mike looked like an angry man who was worried about the police catching him. Unless that was all an act.

‘You should be relieved that this situation is sorted out, Ms Stanton. I would ask that you do not contact Mrs Burkhart again. I’m sure you understand.’

I imagine the man is smiling, enjoying this. ‘I do,’ I say shortly. ‘I’m glad she’s okay, thank you.’ I end the call before he can say anything else. Pompous arse.

It’s incredibly rude of Sandy to not reply to my messages and I feel like I have been manipulated into behaving like an idiot.

‘Vanessa is here,’ says Kirsty through the intercom.

I take a deep breath, pushing everything that has happened today away for one more hour. ‘Send her in,’ I tell Kirsty and I stand, ready to greet my next patient.

Has Sandy been lying to me all along? Or is Mike lying? Does he know where Sandy is and this whole charade is to make me back off? Why did Sandy call the police?

I rub my hand across my eyes, wishing the next hour away as it occurs to me that maybe Sandy and Mike are doing this together. Maybe this is a game to the two of them and I have been taken along for the ride? This makes sense to me in a way that nothing else has.

My skin prickles as I realise that I have been made a fool of, that I have been turned into a joke.

As though no time has passed, I am back at school, standing on the stage, holding up my award for English as my fellow students laugh and jeer.

I was so nervous to be up on that stage, so happy to have won despite my grief over Janine that I couldn’t help some tears.

And that made me even more of a joke. I was the girl who thought winning a stupid award was worth crying over.

They had all forgotten about Janine by then, as though she had never even existed at all, and I had spent the last months of school alone in the library once again.

I hate feeling like this.

The door opens and my patient comes in. ‘I had another argument with my mother,’ says Vanessa without even saying hello, and I am pulled away from my thoughts, but as I sit down, I know I am not going to just let this have happened to me.

I can feel the anger inside me at this woman and her husband, even at Ben, who pulled me into this weird situation; I can feel it growing and getting hotter.

I hate to be made a fool of and it’s not something I will tolerate.

I think about the gun in my desk drawer. It’s not something I will tolerate at all.