Big Little Lies(101)

Awkward? Are you kidding, Bonnie, that would be wonderful, glorious! Madeline would be a guest at her daughter’s fifteenth-birthday dinner. Not the host. A guest. Nathan would offer her drinks. When they left, Abigail wouldn’t come in the car with them. She’d stay there. Abigail would stay there because that was her home.
“Lovely! What shall I bring?” she whispered back, while she put one hand on Ed’s arm and squeezed hard. It turned out that a conversation with Bonnie was just like being in labor: The pain could always get much, much worse.

Chapter 53
53.

Ziggy is a lovely little boy,” said the psychologist. “Very articulate and confident and kind.” She smiled at Jane. “He expressed concern over my health. He’s the first client this week who has even noticed I have a cold.”
The psychologist blew her nose noisily as if to demonstrate that she did indeed have a cold. Jane watched impatiently. She wasn’t as nice as Ziggy. She couldn’t care less about the psychologist’s cold.
“So, er, you don’t think he’s a secret psychotic bully?” said Jane with a little smile to show that she was sort of joking, except of course she wasn’t. That’s why they were here. That’s why she was paying the huge fee.
They both looked at Ziggy, who was playing in a glassed-off room adjoining the psychologist’s office where he presumably couldn’t hear them. As they watched, Ziggy picked up a stuffed doll, a toy for a much younger child. Imagine if Ziggy suddenly punches the doll, thought Jane. That would be pretty conclusive. Child pretends to care about psychologist’s cold and then beats up toys. But Ziggy just looked at the doll, then put it back down, not noticing that he’d missed the corner of the table and it had slid to the floor, proving only that he was pathologically messy.
“I don’t,” said the psychologist. She was silent for a moment, her nose twitching.
“You’re going to tell me what he said, right?” said Jane. “You don’t have any client/patient confidentiality thing, do you?”
“Achoo!” The psychologist sneezed a massive sneeze.
“Bless you,” said Jane impatiently.
“Patient confidentiality only starts to apply when they get to about fourteen,” said the psychologist sniffily, “which is just when they’re telling you all sorts of stuff you’d really quite like to share with their parents, know what I mean? They’re having sex, they’re taking drugs, and so on and so forth!”
Yes, yes, little people, little problems.
“Jane, I don’t think Ziggy is a bully,” said the psychologist. She steepled her fingers and touched her fingertips to the outside of her red nostrils. “I brought up the incident you mentioned at the orientation day, and he was very clear that it wasn’t him. I’d be very surprised if he’s lying. If he’s lying, then he’s the most accomplished liar I’ve ever seen. And frankly, Ziggy does not show any of the classic signs of a bullying personality. He’s not narcissistic. He most certainly demonstrates empathy and sensitivity.”
Tears of relief blocked Jane’s nose.
“Unless he’s a psychopath, of course,” said the psychologist cheerfully.
What the f*ck?
“In which case he could be faking empathy. Psychopaths are often very charming. But—” She sneezed again. “Oh, dear,” she said, wiping her nose. “Thought I was getting better.”
“But,” prompted Jane, aware that she was demonstrating no empathy whatsoever.
“But I don’t think so,” said the psychologist. “I don’t think he’s a psychopath. I’d definitely like to see him for another appointment. Soon. I think he’s suffering from a lot of anxiety. I believe there was a lot that he didn’t share with me today. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn that Ziggy himself was being bullied at school.”
“Ziggy?” said Jane. “Being bullied?”
She felt a rush of instant heat, as though she had a fever. Energy thrummed through her body.
“I might be wrong,” said the psychologist, sniffing. “But I wouldn’t be surprised. My guess is that it’s verbal. Perhaps a smart kid has found his weak spot.” She took a tissue from the box on her desk. She made a little tch sound. “Also, Ziggy and I talked about his father.”
“His father?” Jane reeled. “But what—”
“He’s very anxious about his father,” said the psychologist. “He thinks he might be a Stormtrooper, or possibly Jabba the Hutt, or, worst-case scenario”—the psychologist couldn’t hold back a broad grin—“Darth Vader.”