Queenie(76)

“Okay, well, we can come back to that later. For now, could you tell me why you understand that you need therapy?”

“I don’t really know how to describe it,” I said, biting the inside of my cheek and pointlessly looking out of the window that had been frosted for privacy. “Er. I don’t know. I feel a bit like things are falling apart? Well, they’ve already fallen apart.”

“Okay. And in what way do you think that things have fallen apart?” the woman asked softly.

“I had a job. I lost that. And . . . I lived in a house that was kind of rubbish but at least I could pay my rent, but now that I don’t have a job, I’ve lost that, so I’m living with my grandparents, so I’ve lost any independence. I had a relationship with a guy who was probably the love of my life. But that fell apart, and that was my fault.” I stopped speaking, remembering the way Anna had tenderly put her hand on Tom’s naked waist. I took a deep breath.

? ? ?

“Could you not touch me?” I groaned, rolling over onto my side and away from Tom. “I feel sick.”

“Oh, shit. Do you want me to get you anything?” he asked, putting a hand on my shoulder.

“No, get off me.” I wriggled away.

“Will you be all right for Saturday?” Tom asked.

“What’s Saturday?”

“My mum’s birthday, remember?” he reminded me. “We’re meant to be staying there for the weekend?”

“I don’t know, do I?”

“Queenie,” Tom started, “are you sure everything is all right? You’ve been . . . off for a while now.”

“I’ve felt like shit for a few days, all sick and light-headed. Maybe it’s a bug or something,” I said, pulling the covers closer to me. “I’m going to try to sleep it off.”

“Yeah, must be one of those bugs that makes you angry and withdrawn too,” Tom huffed, leaving the room.

I lay on my back and closed my eyes but it made me feel worse. I took some deep breaths through my nose.

“Here you go.” I opened my eyes and saw Tom standing over me with a cup of tea in the T mug.

“No thanks.” I shook my head.

“I’ve just gone to make it for you!” Tom snapped. “Don’t be so ungrateful.”

“But I didn’t ask for it, did I?” I said. “When I feel like I’m going to throw up, why would I want anything, let alone a cup of milky tea?”

“Oh, right, so I’m a bad boyfriend for not being able to read your mind?” Tom slammed the mug down on the bedside table and crossed his arms. “You’re impossible lately!”

“I didn’t say you were a bad boyfriend, did I? Why are you overreacting?”

“Me, overreact?” Tom asked, wide-eyed. “Me? You feel a bit nauseous and you’re acting like you’ve been to war!”

“You do realize that you’re having a go at me because I feel sick?” I narrowed my eyes. “Do you know how stupid you’re being?”

“Oh, so I’m stupid for trying to be nice?” Tom threw his hands in the air dramatically.

“You’re not trying to be nice, though, you’re trying to fix things immediately,” I told him. “Just go away, let me sleep.”

“This wouldn’t have happened if you’d just taken the fucking tea.”

“Don’t swear at me!” I yelped. “I’m very fragile!”

“You just told me to go away!”

“Yes, fucking go away!” I shouted. “Get the fuck away from me!”

“Fine, Queenie, if that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get.” Tom slammed out of the bedroom door and out of the flat.

? ? ?

“Why was it your fault?”

“I pushed him away. I didn’t know why I felt so bad, I didn’t know how to talk to him about how I felt, and by the time I knew what was wrong, it was too late,” I said. “I’d had a miscarriage. And, yeah, even though I didn’t want a baby, I still lost one. So maybe that doesn’t count, in my theme of loss,” I tried to joke. “And my friends, I think they’re just bored with my problems. It’s not the same with them. I seem to piss them all off, or just burden them, and one of my best friends, Cassandra, she’s moved to the countryside with her boyfriend, some guy that I slept with without knowing—sorry, this probably all sounds really silly, doesn’t it. Like playground drama.” I tried to wrap it up, not yet understanding the limits of what you should say to a therapist and what you should write in your dear diary.

“Queenie, none of this is silly at all,” Janet said, smiling. She was plump and small and had a kind face puckered with dimples, and her slightly tanned skin was dotted with tiny moles. She spoke slowly and chuckled often, her voice deep and precise, with a lilt that told me she was from up north but had been living in London awhile.

Her short hair curled around her face, auburn mainly but gray at the temples. I’d started off calling her Dr. Cosima as the letter had said, but she’d asked me not to, telling me that she didn’t want me to feel as though I was being examined.

Janet laughed gently before she continued. “Try to remember that we all encounter many issues, big or small, and that they’re all relative to us. They impact each of us in different ways. There’s nothing too trivial. It also sounds like you are dealing with some quite big losses, in a concentrated period of time. Could you tell me a little bit about how these things have made you feel?”