The Stranger In My Home by Adele Parks

Author:Adele Parks [Parks, Adele]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2016-07-19T23:00:00+00:00

22

There was never any question that anyone other than I would take Katherine to her counselling sessions, at least not in my mind. I’m the one who takes her to all her lacrosse games and training, to her music lessons, to her French-conversation tutor, to sleepovers at her friends’. I’m the one who picks her up from all of those activities, too. It’s my job. Jeff offered to drive her to counselling once but I shot him down.

‘Why does it matter who takes me?’ asked Katherine. ‘I go into the sessions alone.’

‘I like being there in the waiting room to support you, Katherine. I want you to know that I’m just the other side of the door.’ I also hope that the journeys might provide an opportunity to talk. They don’t. After every session I ask her how things went. She replies with an unconvincing, not especially revealing, ‘Fine.’

‘Well, I hope you don’t wear that expression the whole time you are there supporting her,’ mumbled Jeff when Katherine was out of earshot. He lay a particular emphasis on the word ‘supporting’, implying that he seriously doubted I was at all.

‘What expression?’

‘The one where you pull your face into a tight, sad look. That’s no sort of help – you’re more likely to make her want to run away.’

I checked in the mirror, but I couldn’t catch the particular expression he was talking about; there are a number of horrified and dismayed expressions to choose from. I made a mental note to smile more.

Anyway, today we are both accompanying her; Katherine has had nine weekly sessions now and this week we’ve been asked to attend a family conference and review. Jeff has advised me that, above all, it’s important to appear balanced and reasonable. He drives. It’s raining hard, the wipers swish left to right, squeaking and groaning. The traffic grinds practically to a standstill, two lines of steel and tyres – one going north, one going south – snaking as far as I can see.

‘We’re going to be late,’ I mutter. I twist a damp tissue in my hands. If anyone hears me, they don’t bother to respond. The stop-start nature of the journey is frustrating; each jerk and halt frays my nerves further. I think about all the toxic fumes that are being belched out into the atmosphere; I wonder what the impact on our health really is. The creeping cars give me plenty of opportunity for voyeurism. It’s funny that drivers forget they are surrounded by windows. They grab their phones and make calls, reply to emails and texts, even though they shouldn’t. They greedily stuff sandwiches into their mouths, chew gum, pick their teeth, fingernails and noses. I see one middle-aged woman suck her thumb. We’re all in the same boat but act as though we are quite independent from each other. Likely as not, we are listening to the same songs and news stories on the radio, we are all desperate to unfurl, to stretch, we are all worried that we are going to be late.

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