Planet of the blind, p.3
The Therapy Room: an edge-of-your-seat psychological thriller, page 3
I give her my best fake smile. ‘Sorry, Natasha.’ I point-blank refuse to call anyone Tash. ‘I’ve just had a rough visit with my nan, and I’m not really feeling up for company tonight.’
She tilts her head slightly to the side and nods slowly. ‘That must be so hard for you, Liv,’ she says with what sounds like forced sincerity.
I nod back. ‘I think I’m just going to go to bed.’
‘Well, I’m late, so I’d better get a move on, but if you change your mind, you know where we are.’ She pulls on her jacket and heads for the door.
A moment later, I’m all alone. Peace at last.
After making myself a hot chocolate, I head up to my attic room at the top of the house and lock the door, just in case anyone comes home unexpectedly.
Sitting cross-legged on my bed, I open my laptop, ready to do some digging on Shelly Hunter.
I start with a quick search in Facebook, but none of the Shelly Hunters that appear are the Shelly I’m looking for. I do the same search in Instagram and TikTok but to no avail. And when the only results for Shelly Hunter I can find in Google are in newspaper articles from Dan’s trial almost two decades ago, it makes me think that she either has zero digital footprint, or she must have got married and changed her surname since I last saw her. It’s disappointing but not the end of the world. I have other things to be getting on with.
On the way home from seeing Nan, I came up with an idea of how I might be able to get into the group. The question is whether or not Dr Galanis will go for it, but I guess there’s only one way to find out, so I type the Alpha Institute into the search bar.
As was the case when I searched on my phone earlier this evening, a bunch of links appear on-screen, all connected to what is described as ‘’Newcastle’s premier mental health and well-being centre’. I click on the first one, which takes me directly to the Alpha Institute’s website. Scanning through the various tabs, I find more detailed information explaining the benefits of group therapy, as well as what appears to be Dr Galanis’s vast experience within the field. If her testimonials are to be believed, then she’s a very smart woman, and for a moment I doubt whether my plan can work. But the truth is it’s the only one I have, so if I want to get into that group, then it has to be worth giving it a go.
I click on the Contact Us tab at the top of the screen. A second later I’m redirected to a general enquiry form, and I quickly realise there are a couple of things that I need to sort out before I can fill it in – a fake name and an email to go with it.
The name is easy. I decide to stick with the fake one I pretended was mine whenever I got into trouble as a teenager. It always worked back then, and hopefully the familiarity of it will help me stay in character. Something the Hollywood actress – and my all-time hero – Samantha Morton says is so important when playing a role. I’ve always wanted to be an actor and even went to acting classes when I was a kid. But all that stopped after Dan died and my family pretty much fell apart. With so much pain and grief consuming our house, there was little time or energy for anything else. I glance up at the framed picture of Samantha on my wall, captured in her role as Claire in the movie Enduring Love. She was quietly brilliant in that film, and just looking at her, I feel totally inspired to reconnect with the actor within me and play my own part now as best I can.
The fake email is next on my list, and thanks to the modern world of non-existent identity checks, it takes just a few minutes to set up.
With everything in place, I fill out the basic information: name, email, mobile, etc. I then sit for a while as I work out how best to fill in the box asking me to share a little bit about my supposed issue. This is where my ability to live the life of my character will come into play once I’m in the group, and I figure it’s best to give my story a vague semblance of truth, but the last thing I want to do is talk about Dan. As well as being far too upsetting, saying anything about Dan once I’m in front of Shelly will instantly alert her. So I make up a younger sister and use her premature death as the basis of my story. I also add in a few sentences about my dad’s drinking and the fact my mum died when I was quite young, the truth of which I can lean into when I’m playing the part.
As I give it one final read-through before sending, I’m impressed by the tragic nature of my fake backstory, and I can’t help grinning. ‘Dr Galanis won’t be able to resist,’ I whisper as I press enter. A second later a message appears on-screen, confirming my enquiry has been sent and that someone from the institute will aim to be in touch within twenty-four hours.
‘Here we fucking go,’ I whisper as I shut my laptop and lie back on the bed, filled with a sense of nervous anticipation of what’s to come. And for the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel like life could be about to get very interesting indeed.
CHAPTER SIX
SHELLY
Alfie had another bad night last night, which meant I did too. It was my turn to get up through the night, as Nick was due on an early train this morning for a midday meeting in London. I did eventually get back to sleep about 4 a.m. but was awake again just after six when Alfie started crying for his morning feed. By the time I staggered downstairs to sort his bottle, Nick had already left for the station, and the next couple of hours passed by in a blur as I attempted to get Alfie fed and dressed for nursery, as well as getting myself ready for work.
It’s just after 7.30 now, and I need to be out of the house ASAP, or I’ll be late again, but because I’m feeling so exhausted, my OCD is in overdrive this morning. I made the mistake of using the iron earlier, and no matter how many times I try to tell myself I’ve switched it off, I can’t help but go back to check the plug over and over. I stare at the empty socket, now attempting to hardwire the image of the plug lying flat on the kitchen countertop into my brain, but I know as soon as I get to the front door, I’ll be back to check again. That’s what always happens when my head is fried like this.
Glancing at the clock on the kitchen wall, I know that if I’m to stand any chance of getting into the office on time, I need to leave the house in the next few minutes in order to drop Alfie at the nursery in the village by 8 o’clock so I can get on the road for 8.10.
After taking one last look at the plug of the iron resting on its side, I slip a little coat on Alfie, then place him in his car seat. I grab my bag and car keys and head for the front door, but as expected, as soon as I wrap my fingers around the handle, my mind starts to play tricks on me. Did I really see the plug was out of the wall? Or did I just imagine that? I glance back towards the kitchen, feeling an overwhelming urge to go back and check. But I know if I do that, I’ll get stuck in a loop for God knows how long, checking and rechecking everything, and never get out of the house. Honestly, it’s completely exhausting.
Mustering all the strength I can find, I push my paranoia to the back of my mind, then open the front door and head down the steps to the car.
With Alfie’s car seat safely secured in the back seat, I jump in the front and switch on the ignition. But then, a second later, I switch it off again. Can I really be sure the iron is safe to leave as it is? I didn’t check the hot plate on it. Could it still be hot enough to cause a fire? And while I checked the plug was out of the wall, I honestly can’t remember whether I left it standing up or flat down. My head is suddenly filled with images of the iron smouldering away before the flames that follow engulf the kitchen. Damn it. I need to go back and check.
Leaving Alfie in his car seat, I run inside the house and, to my great relief, find that the iron is indeed standing in a safe position next to the hob. ‘Happy now?’ I ask myself before rushing back out to the car, knowing that if I put my foot down, I can still probably just about make it into the office on time.
However, it seems Alfie is also determined to slow me down this morning, and as soon as I open the driver’s door, I’m greeted by the sound of him crying and hit by the unmistakable stench of a dirty nappy. ‘God. Not now, Alfie,’ I growl. The right thing to do in this situation would be to take him back inside the house and change him, but I really don’t have the bandwidth for this right now. So instead, I decide to leave it to the nursery staff to sort out. That’s what I pay them for, after all. I’m sure one more shitty nappy won’t make a difference.
Ten minutes later I race down the path to his nursery and virtually launch Alfie at one of the staff before racing back to the car, and it’s not long before I’m speeding down the Coast Road towards the city. I’m gonna make it, I’m gonna make it, I tell myself, but my optimism is soon dashed, and my heart sinks when I see brake lights flashing in the sea of stationary cars in front of me, signalling a traffic jam up ahead. Damn it.
After sitting in the jam for close to thirty minutes, it’s almost 9.30 by the time I reach my desk at Greystones Finance Solutions in the heart of the city. ‘Bloody traffic,’ I mumble to Jane, who sits opposite me, as I dump my bag on the desk.
Jane is one of the good guys. She’s only a few years older than me, but I always think of her being closer to my mum’s age. Mainly because she wears hand-knitted cardigans most days and keeps her glasses on a chain around her neck when she’s not using them. ‘Darryl’s on the warpath,’ she says, glancing towards the glass box at the end of the office.
‘Of course he is,’ I mumble as I take a seat. ‘He’s got fuck all else to do, has he?’
Me using foul language always elicits a chuckle from Jane, and this morning is no exception, but her face suddenly changes, and she stiffens in her chair now. ‘Heads up, he’s on his way.’
Just as I fire up my laptop, Darryl, the newly appointed head of the department, sidles up to my desk. ‘Can we have ten in my office?’
I don’t know why, but his Essex accent always sets my teeth on edge. It’s not as if I have anything against people from Essex, it’s just him that bothers me.
‘Of course.’ I force a thin smile as I stand up and follow him back to the glass box.
Walking behind him, I’m reminded how much I detest Darryl. There’s something about the way he moves that irritates me. He has a habit of strolling around the office like he’s God’s gift to women when in actual fact his long limbs and gangly frame make him look awkward and gawkish. My negative view of him isn’t helped by the fact he took my job when I was on maternity leave. It was only supposed to be a temporary thing while I took six months off, but things soon changed when I told the company that I wanted to work four days a week when I came back. Apparently you can’t run an effective team doing a short week, so now Darryl is the permanent head of the department. Something he never tires of telling me.
‘Do you want me to close the door?’ I ask as we step inside the office. My old office, no less.
He nods. ‘Yeah. It’s a close-the-door kinda meeting.’
I have to stop myself from visibly flinching. What does that phrase even mean? I turn my back to him and mouth the word wanker as I shut the door behind me.
I sit down on the chair opposite his desk and wait for the torrent of management-speak that I know is imminent.
He links his fingers together as he leans forward across the desk, his brow furrowed. ‘I’d like to share some robust feedback with you, Shelly, if I may.’
Robust feedback is an example of the latest management bullshit he’s picked up on yet another training course he attended recently.
‘Go on,’ I say, barely able to hide my contempt for him.
‘This is the third time in a month you’ve strolled in late—’
‘I didn’t stroll in, Darryl.’ I can’t help but cut him off. ‘I virtually ran from the car park to get here as quickly as I could.’
He leans back in his chair now and folds his arms across his chest. ‘So what’s your excuse this morning?’
Now, if Darryl were a good boss – a nurturing and supportive leader who actually cared about his team – I could tell him the truth: I was late because I suffer with crippling OCD that keeps me a virtual prisoner in my own home most mornings. Not to mention the fact that I’m seriously struggling to balance being a new mum with being back at work. And that I could really do with his support and understanding as I try to figure out what my new world looks like. But sadly, Darryl wouldn’t know how to support a chair with three legs, so instead I keep my reasons simple. ‘There was an accident on the Coast Road. A lorry went into the back of a car near Jesmond Dene.’
His lips purse as he considers my answer. ‘In that case, you should have called to let me know you were delayed.’
I can’t help but recoil slightly. ‘You’re not my keeper, Darryl.’
He sits to attention in his chair now. ‘No. But I am your boss.’
‘In name only.’ The words fall from my mouth before I can stop them.
A slight snarl forms on his top lip. ‘I’m sure you’re aware that the company is going through a period of rationalisation, Shelly.’
‘Cost-cutting, you mean.’ I’m really not doing myself any favours with how I’m reacting to him, but I simply can’t help myself. He’s such an arsehole.
His snarl intensifies as he continues unabated, ‘And thanks to said rationalisation, everyone needs to be on top of their game to stay the course. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
I clench my toes in my shoes as I attempt to keep my disdain for him from showing on my face.
‘I spoke to one of the project leads yesterday,’ he adds. ‘And they told me you were a day late sending through the reports on the HMRC system migration.’
‘Do you mean Elliot?’
‘Who it is isn’t important right now.’
‘Well, whoever you got your information from,’ I snap back, ‘did they also tell you that my documents were delayed because the hard data was delivered late to me the week before?’
Darryl sniffs in defiance. ‘That’s not really the issue here now, is it?’
‘Isn’t it? Well, then what is, Darryl?’
‘Look, Shelly,’ he says before clearing his throat. ‘The bottom line is the HMRC account is up for tender in a couple of months. And as you well know, it’s worth tens of millions in revenue to this firm over the next five years. So we can’t afford any mistakes.’
‘And there weren’t any mistakes. Like I said, the data came to me late on Thursday afternoon, and I processed it as quickly as I could on the Monday morning.’
‘That’s right. I forgot. You don’t work Fridays, do you?’
He knows damn well I don’t work Fridays. He wouldn’t be sitting in this office if I did.
As he glares across the desk at me, I have to fight the urge to tell him to go fuck himself as images of me slamming his head onto the desk repeatedly play over and over in my mind. ‘Is there anything else?’ I manage to muster finally.
‘Actually, there is.’ He reaches into the top drawer of his desk and pulls out an A4 document. ‘Do you know what this is?’
I glance down at it, but struggle to read what’s written, as the text is upside down and facing him. ‘Should I?’
He taps his forefinger on the document. ‘This is a blank PRP – which I’m sure you’ll be aware stands for performance review plan.’
‘I know what a PRP is,’ I snap back. ‘I used to run this department, remember?’
He glares at me now and ignores my comment. ‘Based on your continued time-keeping issues, I should make you aware that if you’re late one more time this month, then I’ll have no choice but to put your name on this PRP.’
I can’t help but shake my head. ‘You want to put me on performance review? Someone with my experience?’
Darryl shrugs. ‘Experience is one thing. Performance is another thing entirely.’
I hold his gaze in silence for a few seconds before responding, ‘Well, I guess I’d better not be late again, then, had I?’
‘That would be a start,’ he says smugly.
‘Is there anything else?’ I ask.
‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘You can go.’
I’m up and out of the chair in a flash.
‘But just remember, Shelly.’ It seems he isn’t actually finished. ‘This business is changing, and everyone needs to be on top of their game to be part of its future.’
I nod without conviction before turning away and heading out of the office. As I walk back to my desk, the anger I feel in this moment threatens to completely overwhelm me, and I have to clench my fists and dig deep to keep the tears of frustration out of my eyes. On another day and in another life perhaps, I’d love to tell Darryl to stick his job up his arse, but the sad fact of the matter is, with Nick’s business in a state of flux at the moment and a huge mortgage to pay every month, I really need the money.
CHAPTER SEVEN
OLIVIA
I never thought I’d find anything more boring than managing data like I do as part of my job at the bank. But that was before I was invited – more like forced, actually – to spend an entire day on a training course showing me how to operate the new data management systems that are being rolled out next month. They’re not so different from the existing protocols, and if truth be told, I kinda figured out how to use them within an hour of the training starting at 10 a.m. Which means, for close to four hours now I’ve been killing time waiting for this mind-numbing torture to be over. And the worst part is, there’s still another two hours of training still to come. Seriously, I swear this job is going to be the death of me – murdered by total boredom.
Finally, as the clock on the wall ticks over to 2 p.m., the rotund, sweaty man with the glistening bald head who’s delivering the session at the front of the training room utters the words I’ve been longing to hear. ‘Could everyone do with a short break?’
He doesn’t need to ask me twice, and a split second later I’m up and out of the chair as quickly as my legs will carry me.
