I Know Your Secret - Ruth Heald Page 0,8

me. I want to love a baby the way Beth clearly loves her child. I know I’m intruding on an intimate moment, but I can’t seem to pull away from the scene in front of me. Her son looks so small and fragile beneath the duvet.

It took a while to control my tears in the bathroom, surrounded by the evidence of Beth’s happy life with her son; a little green boat and a purple toy octopus by the side of the bath, the tiny red toothbrush sitting next to the adult one by the sink. It all seemed so unfair. That she should have what I so desperately want. And then, on the way back, I’d seen the door to this room ajar and I couldn’t help peering in.

Beth turns suddenly, her eyes widening as she sees me. She draws her hands into her body defensively and jumps back. She hadn’t realised I was here.

‘He’s beautiful,’ I say quickly.

‘They grow up too fast.’ She reaches down to straighten a soft toy on his bed and then turns to me and smiles. ‘How are you feeling? Ready to continue?’

Ten minutes later we’re finishing up, and Beth gets up to let me out. She puts her hand on my arm and looks me in the eye. ‘Thanks for coming today, and for sharing so much. The first session is always the hardest.’

I nod and draw away from her, exhausted by my whirring emotions. I never normally talk about how I feel and it’s drained my energy. ‘Thanks.’

‘I hope to see you next week.’

‘I’ll get Peter to come along next time.’

‘That would be helpful. But if he can’t come, I think you’ll find the sessions useful on your own.’

I smile. ‘I think so.’ A part of me is sad to leave, despite everything. There’s so much left to say.

‘Some of my clients find it useful to keep a diary when they start counselling. Tracking the highs and lows of their emotions can help to get to the bottom of what’s bothering them.’

I nod. ‘I can do that.’

We say goodbye at the door, and I step outside into the cold air, wrapping my scarf around me. When I get out my phone to order an Uber, I see a message from Peter.

I’ve got out of work earlier than I thought. I’ll pick you up. I’ll be outside in the car at 9pm.

Headlights flash across the street and I see him sitting behind the wheel of our car, his phone lighting up his face.

I climb in the passenger side and Peter leans over to kiss me. I turn my head away, my thoughts still spinning.

‘How did it go?’ he asks, as he starts the engine and pulls into the street.

‘OK,’ I say, suddenly feeling guilty about everything I’ve said about him.

‘Do you think it will help?’ he asks.

I pull at the long sleeves of my cashmere cardigan, extending them out under my coat, appreciating the comfort of the soft material on my fingers. I don’t know the answer to that yet. ‘I hope so. Beth – the therapist – she was a good listener.’ I hadn’t been expecting to tell her so much, so soon. Now I’m worried; about saying the wrong thing, confiding too much.

‘That’s good. I want you to get better.’ He reaches across the gearstick, resting his hand on my leg for a moment.

‘There’s nothing wrong with me.’

He sighs. ‘That’s not what I meant… I love you, you know. I just want you to feel happier.’

‘I want to feel happier too,’ I say. I reach into my handbag, and my hand grips the bottle I’ve taken from Beth’s cabinet. Antidepressants. I hadn’t been planning to take them. I’d seen them in the cupboards when I’d been looking for more toilet roll. They’d been staring me in the face. Two full bottles of them. Both prescribed to Beth. I’d thought about how together Beth seemed, and I wondered if the drugs would help me too. I’d shoved them into my handbag on impulse.

Maybe they’ll help. Maybe they’ll improve my relationship with Peter. Maybe they’ll help me forget the past.

I remember when Peter and I first met. We were desperate for each other’s company, wanting to talk for hours, spending all day in bed. But now there’s a distance between us that seems almost impossible to bridge. It’s been this way for at least a year.

‘Dani?’

‘What?’

‘I said I love you.’

‘I love you too,’ I say automatically, turning my head to stare out the window