Tell Me No Lies. Lisa Hall

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Bradshaw tonight, Steph. I know you’re still seeing him and I know you’re much better, I just can’t help worrying about you, that’s all.’ Mark says to me as we get into bed.

      ‘Honestly, Mark, you have nothing to worry about, I promise.’ I fluff my pillow behind me and change the subject. ‘Henry seems to have hit it off with Lila, that’s a good sign, right? Maybe it’ll be good for us when you’re not here, having Lila across the street. I won’t feel so isolated.’

      ‘Definitely. And I know we weren’t going to talk about it any more, Steph, but I really do think that your friendship with Lila is a sign that things are going to work out OK. The fact that you’re willing to let someone new in speaks volumes, after everything we’ve gone through together. After everything you’ve gone through. I’m proud of you.’ He kisses the top of my head, and although I want to ask him to elaborate, to tell me how everything is going to work out OK in the end, I relax into the kiss and murmur my agreement. I can sort of see what he’s getting at – after what happened before, then after Henry and the problems that I had, followed by Mark’s indiscretion (oh, it was so much more than an indiscretion, but how can I say any more than what I have done already?) I shut myself off completely from the rest of the world. I was so terrified that if I let someone new in that they would somehow end up hurting me that I just stopped doing it. I pushed away all the friends that I did have, and refused to make any new ones, cutting myself off from the outside world. The only one who stuck with me is Tessa, my oldest friend. The one who already knows everything that there is to know about me, who knows all about the darkness that surrounds me and refuses to budge no matter how hard I push. She was the one who was there to hold my hand and help me pick up the pieces when everything fell apart around me when I was fifteen. She was the one I went to when I couldn’t talk to my mum about what had happened. She was the one who held me as I cried, when I thought I would never ever feel normal again. So maybe Mark does have a point – maybe my friendship with Lila does show that I’m starting to open up again, that I’m ready to let people in, but the posy still plays on my mind. I decide to make an appointment with Dr. Bradshaw first thing tomorrow morning, just to keep Mark happy.

CHAPTER SEVEN

      Dr Bradshaw’s office is cold in both senses of the word. I sit in the reception area, avoiding eye contact with the other patients waiting for their turn to be seen. The heating is switched off, as is usual for this office, despite the fact that it’s December. It’s been snowing on and off for the last week, the first snowfall just having had time to turn to slush and ice before the arrival of the next deluge. I shiver slightly, pulling my thick cardigan tighter around my body, and give a small smile as the receptionist does the same, pulling the sleeves of her jumper down over her hands. The décor doesn’t help the chill either – walls painted with a pale, frosty light blue add to the chilly feel, and hard, plastic chairs mean no one sits comfortably while they wait. You would think for the amount of money Mark is paying there would be a little bit of luxury awarded.

      ‘Stephanie Gordon?’

      I look up as the receptionist calls my name and gestures towards the closed door at the far end of the corridor.

      ‘Dr Bradshaw will see you now.’

      I smile my thanks at her and start the walk down the brightly lit corridor, painted with the same chilly blue, my heart beginning to hammer nervously in my chest. I hate these appointments, constantly feeling as though each one is a test I must pass to be able to carry on with my life, even though Dr Bradshaw is always perfectly pleasant. I give a tiny tap on the door and push it open, making my way inside.

      ‘Steph. How are you?’ Dr Bradshaw swivels around in his chair and gives me a warm smile. Around my age, with warm, crinkly eyes and a neatly trimmed, bang on trend beard, he is ridiculously good-looking for a psychiatrist – not at all what I had imagined when I first began seeing him. Not at all what Mark would have expected either, if he had ever managed to come along with me.

      ‘I’m OK, I suppose.’ Handsome or not, I am always nervous when I see him, anxious to make sure I say the right thing so he doesn’t decide to cart me off to the loony bin.

      ‘You missed your last two sessions – is there any reason for that?’ He picks up a smart, leather-bound book and a fountain pen, poised and ready to write down my answers. When I asked him once why he didn’t get with the times and use an iPad, he told me he preferred to do things the old-fashioned way, conscious that some of his patients might be put off by the modern technology. Another point in his favour for being so considerate. Handsome AND kind, I’m sure he’s made someone a wonderful husband.

      ‘Just busy. Henry has started school and I’m still working freelance so everything has been a bit hectic. No other reason.’

      ‘And what about the pregnancy? How’s that going?’

      I purse my lips at him. I didn’t even know I was pregnant the last time I managed to make it to an appointment.

      ‘Mark told you, didn’t he? Whatever happened to patient confidentiality?’

      ‘Well, Steph, that works one way, I’m afraid. Mark is welcome to give me any information he thinks is relevant to our sessions, but you can be assured that anything that you say to me in here stays in here. I won’t discuss anything said here with anybody else.’

      I sigh, reluctant to speak about it, but now Dr Bradshaw knows about it, I know he won’t let it lie.

      ‘I’m scared, OK? I’m scared that what happened after I had Henry will happen again.’ Tears spring to my eyes and I reach across his desk for the box of Kleenex that he keeps, just for these moments. Dr Bradshaw eyes me coolly from across the desk – tears mean nothing to him; he must see them all day long.

      ‘There’s nothing to be scared of, Steph. We know about it this time and we can deal with it. There is no need to spend this pregnancy in a state of fear. I’m here to help you, Mark’s here; we’re all ready to support you and make sure we treat the post-natal depression before it manages to get a hold of you, OK?’ I nod, shredding the tissue between my fingers.

      ‘Are you still writing in the diary?’ he asks, as he scribbles in his posh journal and I nod. ‘And how are you feeling in yourself? Are you worried about anything else, aside from the new baby?’

      I take a deep breath, knowing the decision I make now could affect what happens next. It could affect whether Dr Bradshaw decides to prescribe more pills for me (no, thank you) or whether he lets me try to make sense of it all on my own, with his help, some cognitive behaviour therapy to talk it all out. I decide to bite the bullet. It’s just one event and, now I think about it, in the safety of the doctor’s office, it’s not even that much of a big deal.

      ‘Someone left something on the doorstep. Some flowers. I thought I knew who they were from, a new friend I’ve made.’ See, I want to say to him, I am trying, I’m trying so hard to be normal. ‘I asked her about them but she said she had never seen them before, that they definitely weren’t from her.’

      ‘And what do you think?’ He raises his eyebrows at me, steepling his fingers and resting his chin on them in a typical therapist listening pose.

      ‘I don’t know,’ I stress, searching his eyes to see if I can tell what he is thinking. ‘I want them to just be a goodwill gesture from someone who is concerned about me. I don’t want to think there’s anything sinister about them but … it made me feel uneasy, that’s all. They were left on the porch while I was asleep. I don’t like the thought of someone creeping around outside СКАЧАТЬ