The Ideal Man by T.J. Emerson

Author:T.J. Emerson [Emerson, T.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Boldwood Books

28

JANE

‘It has been a long time.’ Julia Martin adjusts her black-framed rectangular glasses and jots down words I cannot see on the notepad in front of her.

‘Which is a good thing.’ I smile, keen to demonstrate I am a different woman from the one she treated before. I am balanced. In control. A happily married woman and a doting mother who cannot wait to get pregnant again.

If that were true, I would not be here.

Michel suggested I see Julia. Jane, we need to talk. When he first confronted me in the kitchen, I thought he had somehow discovered the truth about Sandy. When he said I should try therapy again, I felt relieved, but anxiety soon followed. He thinks therapy will be good both for me and for our marriage, but if I truly open up and tell Julia what is on my mind, we might not have a marriage left.

All I need to do is get through this hour without giving myself away.

Julia looks no different than she did last time I was here. In her mid-fifties, with a wavy mane of bleached hair and thick, arched eyebrows, she dresses in a way that’s both youthful and stylish. Khaki silk blouse, black cargo pants and flat silver sandals. A black leather jacket hangs on the back of the consulting-room door, along with her red moped helmet.

‘One moment.’ She gets up and closes the tall windows that open on to the tree-lined courtyard at the back of the villa, shutting out the warm afternoon air. Her consulting room is in a converted villa just off Boulevard Marx Bormoy. A building she shares with two physiotherapists, a psychiatrist and an orthodontist. A vase of white lilies in the corner of the room fills it with a sweet, pungent scent.

‘Okay.’ She settles into the wing-backed armchair opposite mine. ‘Tell me how things are with you. What made you come now?’

We are speaking English. For now. I can always switch to French if I need to.

‘Michel and I want to try for another child,’ I say.

She nods. ‘Yes. Okay.’

To give her something to work with, I tell her what happened in Marseilles last week.

‘This is not so surprising,’ she says. ‘There were bad memories there for you and it is totally natural, no, that now you are thinking about becoming pregnant, these traumas are coming to the surface.’

‘Yes.’

‘You are worried about pregnancy affecting your mental health like before?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Do you feel ready for another child?’

‘I should be.’

‘But you are not?’

My heart thumps against my ribs. ‘I’m scared.’

This, at least, is not a lie.

‘Scared of what?’ Julia asks.

How would it feel to tell her everything? To say it aloud.

‘Jane?’

‘I don’t… I don’t want to lose myself like last time.’

‘Like with Theo?’

I nod, hating myself for this lie most of all. For hiding behind my son.

‘After Theo’s birth you had exhaustion and postnatal depression,’ Julia says. ‘It is natural, no, that you are feeling anxious about having another child?’

Perhaps I did have exhaustion and postnatal depression, but I abandoned my son in Marseilles that day because of Sandy.

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