It disgusted me that I’d been reduced to this. Amber simply refused to see me, willfully disregarding the fact that it was our money that allowed her to work in this expensive enclave of west London. I say that; she somehow seemed to have chosen the most down-market pocket of W11 possible. I elbowed my way through the great unwashed that thronged the market, squashed in close enough to smell them. The stalls sold a mishmash of unrecognizable fruits and vegetables from far-flung places and the kind of overpriced old tat that had been optimistically rebranded as ‘antique’. Eventually I found the tall townhouse that she practised out of. I ground to a halt on the doorst ep, momentarily losing my nerve. What if she recognized my voice, refused to let me up? I’d made the appointment via a phone I’d bought from Carphone Warehouse, the kind of basic lump of plastic teenage drug dealers probably used to arrange drop-offs of molly. My rage propelled my finger to the bell. Rachel was point-blank refusing to speak to us now, adamant that she wasn’t coming for Christmas. She was refusing to tell us what glorious festive plans she’d made instead: It’s something I need to guard for myself was all she’d said in her text. Of course, my instinct was to turn off the tap, put an end to the relationship that had kickstarted this whole new phase of difficulty, but I couldn’t quite risk it. When I came close to doing it, I would see her face down on the floor of that loo, or, worse, hooked up to that drip, and a flickering future memory would fell me: a coffin lowered into the ground, a mortuary drawer, my daughter’s name scrawled on the label. How could she put me through this when I loved her so de eply? If she ever became a mother, I felt sure she’d beg my forgiveness, but for now, she was a selfish child who needed her own parent to stay as solid as a rock. When Amber answered the buzzer, I tried to disguise my voice a little. ‘It’s Becky Friedman,’ I said, realizing as I said it that my alter ego appeared to be Jewish. She’d also paid for the session in advance. ‘Come on up,’ she trilled, and I pushed open the door. Even if this was as far as I got, I thought smugly, at least I’d won round one. How stupid I was. We were at least three rounds in, and I was already on the ropes. I climbed upwards determinedly, just as she must have started down. We almost collided on the landing. I waited for the shock to land on her, but she either hid it masterfully well or experienced something else entirely. ‘Lily,’ she said. ‘You know you can’t be here. I’ve been crystal clear with you.’ I hated the fact that I couldn’t hit back. I took a de ep breath, thought about those stubborn clients who don’t initially want me to be the one to rent their house, even though I know the market better than they know the alphabet. They always cave. ‘I understand,’ I said, forcing a warm smile. ‘I really do. But we both care de eply about Rachel.’ I’m her mother! I wanted to scream. You’re just the latest hired help, and trust me, I’ve fired plenty of your brethren over the years. ‘If you’d just let me have ten minutes, I think we could help each other – help her – without in any way breaking her confidence.’ Amber paused. I looked at her properly now, trying not to let her see my eyes raking over her. Was it professional to wear those snug black jeans to work, a long-sleeved Breton T-shirt slung casually over the top to complete the look? I looked at her plump skin, the suspicious absence of lines that rendered her undeniably attractive face an ageless mask. I know how subtle filler can be: I wasn’t fooled for an
instant. She could well have been only five or six years younger than me once you’d leeched the chemicals out of those firm cheeks. ‘You’re way out of line here. You know that, though, don’t you, Lily?’ I gave her a level stare. I wasn’t going to be ticked off like some schoolgirl caught with a crumpled packet of fags in my locker. After a couple of seconds, she gave a sharp little nod of her chin. ‘I’ve got professional boundaries. They protect my clients, including your daughter. Ten minutes, that’s it.’ I tried to ke ep the triumph out of my face. Come to think of it, maybe she did too. From where we stand now, even the smallest, most insignificant truth is impossible to track back and verify. Her room was as artificially casual as her outfit. The cushions on the velvet sofa were ever so slightly balding, like the weight of all the grateful patients’ bottoms had left them battle-scarred. The round brass base of the table lamp had visible scratches and dents. She would have picked them up at the surrounding antique shops I was sure, the shabby chic aesthetic designed to put desperate millennials at their ease. I found it faintly r epellent – when you’ve known real shabbiness, the artificial version just seems grubby. My mother would have got to work on her room with a mop and a bucket of disinfectant. An uneasy silence festered. It was me who broke it: if she really insisted on imposing her ten-minute countdown, I couldn’t go away with nothing. ‘I’m desperately worried about my daughter. So is my husband.’ Amber sat there meditatively, taking her time to r eply. ‘That’s why you came to me in the first place, wasn’t it, Lily? Because you were so worried about her?’ ‘Well, yes, but I don’t think she’s getting any better.’ She cocked her head, ruminative. ‘Look, Lily, I’ve made it clear I can’t discuss the specifics, but, the binge drinking for example...’ It was infuriating, the way she k ept using my name. ‘Obviously we’re thrilled she’s sticking to the sparkling water, and trust me, we’re all really supporting her efforts.’ A look of doubt, or amusement, crossed her face, clearing so quickly it was impossible to call out. ‘But she seems so angry. So hateful... when all we’ve ever tried to do is love her.’ Amber’s steady gaze bathed me in silent judgement. ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying this.’ I braced myself. ‘But it seems like you’re here to soothe your own pain, not Rachel’s.’ She smiled without warmth. ‘Sorry, I know that might sound like I’m overst epping the mark, but I wonder if you need someone to talk to yourself? This is about your whole family system, not just Rachel.’ ‘My other children are thriving.’ She took another infuriating pause, as if she was mentally leafing through the files on our collective dysfunction. ‘Just a suggestion, Lily. And as I say, I can’t talk specifics, but what I can say is that I think your daughter’s a wonderful young woman who is wrestling her demons with a lot of courage.’ ‘I didn’t say she wasn’t wonderful,’ I snapped. ‘I love my daughter very much.’ ‘I’m sure you do,’ she said. She was like some infuriating troll in a fairy tale, refusing to let me cross a bridge until I solved some impossible riddle. I tried to breathe, to calm my mounting fury. ‘I just don’t know if this...’ – my hands flung out into her ridiculous room unbidden – ‘if working with you, is actually helping her get happier. That’s all I want. For my daughter to be happy. My feelings – my emotions – are irrelevant.’
‘Right.’ ‘A world in which she doesn’t want to spend Christmas...’ – I could hear my voice rising, sharp as a knife, and I tried to blunt it – ‘with her own family, I just don’t see how that can be right.’ Amber’s look of sympathy – or was it pity? – was more than I could bear. ‘Christmas is such a triggering time, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘All those expectations we have about it. Wanting it to be perfect. Look perfect.’ That sly suggestion of my superficiality – I hoped my expression told her I hadn’t missed it. ‘I want my family to be together, under the same roof, where they belong. Like any mother would.’ A horrible thought occurred to me: did this appalling woman know what roof my daughter was spending Christmas under, when I didn’t? She continued in her infuriating sing-song drone. ‘It’s hard sometimes, isn’t it, to acc ept the fact that what our children want – what they need – is different from what we want.’ I forced myself to take a breath. ‘Do you have children, Amber?’ Something crossed her face, disturbed that implacable calm she’d so carefully cultivated. Of course it did – even Amber wasn’t made of stone. It didn’t worry me then, it simply gave me a nasty jolt of satisfaction, like a rat in a lab successfully nudging his furry nose against the cocaine lever. ‘I can’t reveal personal information to you, Lily. I’m sure you know that.’ ‘What – is it the first rule of therapist’s club?’ I shot back. She refused to smile. ‘It’s one of the many ways I ke ep my clients safe.’ ‘So you think it’s right what she’s doing? Rejecting us?’ She placed her hands deliberately on her denim knees, as if she was trying to push down the rising tension. ‘It’s not about what I think. My job is to support her.’ ‘What, so if she was about to hurl herself off Hammersmith Bridge, your job would just be to support her? That’s a ridiculous statement!’ ‘No. If I think a patient is in physical harm, I will, of course, take the necessary st eps to protect them. What Rachel’s doing is making a life choice – an emotional choice – that you’re not happy about.’ ‘Thank you for stating something so utterly obvious,’ I said. ‘That’s most definitely worth ninety pounds.’ Her jaw pulsed, her cornflower-blue eyes flashing like twin lasers. ‘I don’t think this is getting us anywhere, Lily,’ she said sharply. ‘And that ninety pounds? We both know it landed in my account under false pretences.’ Note that she didn’t offer to return it. ‘Unlike the rest of it...’ I muttered. ‘My care for Rachel is real,’ she said. ‘And I want to ke ep working with her. She wants that too. You may not realize it now, but it’s actually providing healing for your whole family. So I think for her sake – and maybe for all of your sakes – we should agree to cut this conversation here.’ It was infuriating. She was so patronizing: like a nursery teacher with a fetish for crystals and jangly brass bangles. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘I’ve got to be across town in half an hour anyway.’ ‘So, let’s say our goodbyes...’ she said, eyeing me in a way that told me I was being evicted. I slumped internally. The truth was, I wasn’t ready to leave. I wanted something from her that I couldn’t even name. I paused, considered my next utterance. It would be expensive. ‘I’ve got some idea what she will have told you – told you about us – and I just want you to know, to help you more than anything, that Rachel can be something of... not quite a fantasist, but an exaggerator.’ I laughed. ‘She’s had a gift for storytelling right from when she was a little girl. Dragons under her bed, fairies waving from the trees – that kind of thing.’
Amber stared at me without a shred of warmth. ‘The fact you’re paying doesn’t give you a right to the tapes, even if there were any.’ It was nasty, her tone. Her vowels had lost their smooth glide, had been r eplaced with something more savage. ‘And on that note,’ I said, getting to my feet, ‘I have to give very serious consideration as to whether we continue funding this – this healing process. Is that what you’d call it?’ Amber had recovered her equilibrium, staying neatly perched on her ghastly velvet sofa, as if standing up were too great a trial. ‘I would, yes. And the truth is it’s not a quick fix. When a client’s suffered years of trauma, I don’t have a magic wand that can spirit it away.’ My stomach clenched. Years of trauma. I smiled at her. ‘There are so many clever phrases for it all now, aren’t there? You can be traumatized or triggered. You can need a safe space or a safe word. It’s what we used to call being wrapped up in cotton wool.’ Amber’s stare was intense. ‘When you hired me, you seemed genuinely scared for Rachel’s physical safety. And I think you were right to be. I’d just bear that in mind, Lily.’ It sounded like a threat. It wasn’t the words themselves; it was the way she uttered them. She was warning me. ‘She’s my flesh and blood,’ I said, picking up my bag and turning on my heel. ‘Not yours.’ I should have listened. I should have listened to her warning.