Page 64 of The Night Before Christmas
‘Really not comfortable,’ said Bex. ‘Cross. He looked cross, to be honest, but then Adam does have that effect on people.’ An attempt at another giggle which Felicity ignored.
‘I have to see him.’
‘You don’t think… I mean, Adam wouldn’t say anything awful, would he? He wouldn’t do that would he?’
‘He would,’ said Felicity bitterly. She could feel the tears looming. ‘And by the way, if you love Adam so bloody much, have him. You’re welcome to him.’
She wrapped her coat around her and blundered out into the cold street.
Let’s try this again. Keep it light, remember.
Hey there, Mr Penguin Man, I’m back! How are you?
Just wondered if you fancied meeting for a drink or something? Missed you at Saviours this week.
x
James (two hours later – two hours!):
Hey there CCL, great to hear from you, hope you had a lovely time away. We missed you at Saviours too! Sorry I didn’t reply the other day.
No worries at all, I know you’re busy.
A drink sounds great, but I’m swamped at the moment I’m afraid.
Okay, maybe another time.
Ruined it.
But how about a quick coffee next Saturday? Could meet you at that little place in town you’re always going on about? 10.30?
Felicity (a little too hastily):
Sounds perfect, see you then.
Thank God.
But how was she going to wait another week? And why was he being so cagey? As if she didn’t know. Bloody Adam had a lot to answer for. Felicity lay awake for a long time that night. At 3am and really just for something to do that didn’t involve men, she emailed a local therapist to make an appointment.
At least I’ll have something to regret in the morning.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
‘Come in, Felicity. Have a seat.’
Felicity edged into the therapist’s room and looked around.
It looked normal. Just what she had expected, in some ways. Potted plant in the corner: check. Leather-topped desk in front of the window: check. Comfortable chairs with a coffee table between them: check. Man-sized box of Kleenex: check.
No chaise longue or couch though. Not like you’d see in aTimescartoon. But then her therapist wasn’t a cartoon dog, either.
‘Just sit wherever you feel most comfortable,’ said the therapist.
Her name was Hattie, of all things, and she had a friendly schoolteacher-ish look about her. She was wearing a mustard yellow cardigan over a long grey dress and a pair of kitten heels. Her dirty blonde-grey hair was piled on top of her head in a reassuringly messy bun, and she had a pair of glasses balanced in front of it. Felicity was dying to look to see if she had any pencils stuck in the bun, but she thought that might appear a tad rude. The room smelled vaguely exotic, like incense, but not too much, the scent was very faint and just wafted across the roomevery so often, conjuring up opulent images of faraway markets and peppermint tea.
Felicity sat – or rather, perched awkwardly – on the edge of one of the comfortable chairs, which was a lovely deep orange velvet and had upright wooden arms. After a few seconds, her hands began to cramp from gripping the arms rather too forcefully and with an effort she unclenched them, put them in her lap and tried to relax. Resisted the urge to march right out of the door again.Deep breaths.
Hattie sat opposite her in a matching chair and crossed her legs. She peered at Felicity as if already assessing her. Felicity concentrated on trying to look normal.
