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Chapter 4

Tuesday 4.00pm

The day I told the lie about going to visit Dad was a Tuesday. I wasn’t pleased that I had told a lie – at all – but I was pleased that I told the lie on a Tuesday, as it meant maybe I could sort it all out, with Fiona. I see Fiona every Tuesday at 4.00. The powder blue room with beige chairs and a picture of three pebbles by a calm lake and the word Tranquillity underneath. Every Tuesday I leave school at 3.30. Walk, quickly, to the Good Life Therapy and Counselling Centre.

And this is why I go every Tuesday because I want a good life and I do want to thrive and reach my full potential. I don’t want a life of standing in cold stairwells or lying to people, but I make sure no one sees me as I run out of English. Fiona, my counsellor, says talking to a professional is perfectly normal and is a really positive life choice but I’m not sure Nev or Lara would agree with that…so I move fast on Tuesdays. Along the marbled, speckled corridor and I glance towards Science Room 3, where Lynx has just had Physics before he goes to football practice.

I want a Good Life.

Up the three steps to the school reception, slowing my pace down, to avoid Debbie, the Head’s PA, who shouts,

“DON’T RUN!”

And I want to say back,

“Don’t shout!”

Past the Head’s office. The Head.

HEAD HEAD HEAD HEAD

Count the Roman Coins in the glass cabinets – 12.

Down to the cloak room. Through the staff car park and exit the clanging school gates.

Along Vale Drive to a Good Life.

I like to arrive 10 minutes early and sit in the waiting room and I think about what I will say to Fiona and how I can work towards a Good Life! Sometimes the school gates are repeatedly clanging shut in my head or Debbie’s “DON’T RUN!” bats about inside my skull, but today it’s the tape worm LIE I told Shaznia which I’ve brought with me. LIAR.

The lie twitches and wriggles in my tummy and it feels like it might wake up fully and travel all round my body and take me over, squirm up my throat and crawl out my mouth.

The waiting room clock ticks its way to 4.00 and then wonderfully, beautifully, soft, reassuringly honest Fiona opens the door to the safe powder blue space. At 4.00 exactly! And says,

“Hello M. Do come in.”

And I love this. I LOVE this. Every week 4.00.

TICK TICK TICK

4.00 door opens.

We sit. She smiles. I copy her and smile too.

COUNSELLOR SILENCE

And she says,

“Tell me about your week M.”

And even though my weeks are full of anxiety and confusion, with possible splashes of golden good times, I want to clap my hands in joy at this predictable, ordered series of events. Why, oh why can’t all of life be like this?

And the lie twitches and I break the COUNSELLOR SILENCE and tell her about what I said. I’m wondering if I get the LIE out here maybe I could leave it in the room. I finish telling Fiona about Shaznia and what happened and trail off… I feel so guilty, I look up at the framed black and white picture of three pebbles by a lake. Tranquillity.

“Lies can be very…helpful sometimes,” states Fiona. My eyes dart from the picture to her eyes – fleetingly.

“Sounds to me like you were being very wise and protecting yourself from a difficult situation. I commend you for your quick thinking M.” And the LIE does leave me!

I feel it practically travel up from my tummy, through my oesophagus, throat and my mouth and past my lips as I say,

“Really?”

And the tape worm lie slithers through the gap under the door. Gone.

And Fiona continues,

“It’s good in life if we can tell the truth, so that people know how we honestly feel, but sometimes that can be difficult. And M, I think you must have been put in a very difficult situation and felt you had no other option.”

I nod my head.

“What could you do next time Shaznia asks you to go to town and you don’t want to go?”

I truly don’t know. I look at the gap under the door. Oh God don’t come back tape worm! Fiona tilts her head and makes eye contact with me and draws me back to my counselling.

But I am panicked.

“Well, I have a suggestion,” she continues. “Maybe next time you could say, ‘No thank you Shaznia, I just don’t feel like going to town this Saturday but how about the following Saturday?’ That way you haven’t told a lie, and remember you don’t have to explain yourself to everyone, all the time.”

CounselLor Silence

I break through the silence.

“Shaznia is quite…” And as I try to find my words…

COUNSELLOR SILENCE

“…but you see, she just keeps asking me. Shaznia doesn’t really give up.”

COUNSELLOR SILENCE

“And she would ask me to explain myself. But we’re friends, so I guess she just wants to know what I’m doing and that’s what friends do, don’t they?”

“Friends also respect boundaries and privacy,” says Fiona.

“Yes, but friends share secrets good and bad. Friendships are gold, like treasure.” Fiona adjusts her glasses and says,

“Tell me more about what you just said.”

“Shaznia sent me a birthday card last year and in gold writing it said,

My friend, it’s you I can tell my secrets, good and bad

And I am here for you when life is sad

I think you are an angel! Where are your wings?!

Because you always know how to say the right things

The joy you give me is impossible to measure

A friendship like ours is golden, like treasure.”

BIG COUNSELLOR SILENCE

This counsellor silence feels different and her eyebrows tighten. I am wondering if Fiona is annoyed or angry and she says,

“I would like to add a final line to that M: ‘Friends respect boundaries and privacy and don’t pressurise us into doing things we do not want to do.’”

“But it doesn’t rhyme Fiona.” And she smiles.

“No, but it is very important that you remember that. We’ll talk about it more next time I see you.”

And our 50 minutes is up and I leave the powder blue room. As always I leave feeling much better about my life but I do hope I haven’t loosened the tape worm lie to slither about in Sevenoaks. Mum is in the waiting room and we go home.

Meltdowns are not fun. It’s like being stuck on a rollercoaster for eternity…in the dark with flashing lights. Everything stops making sense.