But it was the look in his eyes that told her she’d understood.
17
“There are days when I think I’m just broken,” Luke said, glancing out of Neil’s small window into the tree-lined carpark behind the warehouse, as their session was heading to an end. “Not in a pathetic, woe-is-me kind of broken. But that something in my emotional construct just doesn’t function properly.”
Neil placed his tea down on the side table. “That’s an interesting observation. What made you think it?”
There was no way he was going to explain how he came to that conclusion as he lay sated in the bath, Willow draped on his chest, after they’d made love. “I went to see my mum in Brighton.”
“I see. And how did that go?”
“She apologised. She had reasons. I don’t think they are good enough ones to leave your kids. But they’re her reasons, and it’s not for me to debate their merit. That wasn’t the point. We each said our piece. She apologised. We drove home. And then . . . nothing.”
Neil templed his fingers. “What do you mean by nothing?”
Luke huffed. “What I said. Nothing. I wasn’t as angry at her anymore. But nothing replaced that feeling, either. I don’t suddenly love her or whatever it is I’m meant to feel for my mum.”
Neil made a note in his book.
“What did you write?” Luke asked.
“Pardon?”
Luke tipped his chin in the direction of the pages. “You only write in it when I say something that you have a lot of thoughts about and you don’t want to forget something.”
Neil smiled. “Observant. Fine. My thoughts were that I disagree with you. I think it’s because you loved your mum that her leaving hurt so much. The second thought was that it would be very strange for you to go from years of feeling anger toward a person to suddenly loving them and wanting them to be an active part of your life. And third, I was troubled by the notion you believe there’s a correct way to feel about any of this.”
Luke took in a deep breath. “That’s a lot.”
“Yes. And that’s why I write the notes, so we can explore one concept fully before we move on to the next. So it doesn’t overwhelm. But I also don’t want you to sit over there worrying about what I’m writing in here, instead of being fully present while we talk . . . so I answered your question.”
“Next time, tell me to mind my own fucking business.”
Neil chuckled. “I’m a therapist. I’m never going to tell you to keep something to yourself.”
“Fair point. So, are we going from the top? I already love Mum, that’s why it hurts, right?”
“Are you agreeing or confirming the comment?”
Luke eyed Neil. “Confirming the comment.”
“Then, yes.”
“Did I love her?” he muttered. He thought back to his childhood. Memories of superhero plasters on cuts. Making mince pies at Christmas. Of lying on the sofa, with his head on her lap while she ran her fingers through his hair. Comfort and warmth.
His mind suddenly went blank.
Nothing.
Couldn’t even remember the question.
He ran his hands over his face, feeling stupid.
“What’s going on, Luke?”
“I can’t . . . what were we talking about?”
“Tell me what’s happening.”
“Everything just . . . faded. Like I couldn’t even remember the question. What was it?”
Neil pursed his lips. “Do you believe you are loved, Luke?”
His mind immediately went to Willow. Did she love him? And then there was the realisation he’d had in the bathroom. “Everyone leaves eventually, though. Shit. I don’t know. Intellectually, yes. I said it to Matt the other day. But, honestly. No. I don’t think . . . fuck. This is stupid.”
Neil remained silent.
“What? You want me to go through each person I know to see if they love me. Or if I love them.”
“Why is this making you angry?”
Luke stood and paced to the window. “I’m not fucking angry.” He tapped the frame of the window with his fist, when what he felt like doing was punching his hand straight through the glass. “Fine. I’m angry.”
He turned and leaned his back against the window, the glass cool to the touch.
“I think I have a theory,” Luke continued. “And you can tell me if it’s bullshit. But I think, maybe, I shut my emotions down. Dad’s death would probably have been enough on its own. And, maybe, I’ve sort of shut people out, because if you don’t love anyone, you don’t get hurt. And then I have these other feelings. Abandonment. People leaving. Which I kind of cause by not being open to people. Which leaves me feeling embarrassed and guilty. They are all big, complex emotions. And left unprocessed, they’ve festered, and everything goes out of perspective.”
Neil nodded. “That’s a big realisation. When all those feelings get too much, it would be natural to want to bury them rather than process them. Like asking if you loved your mum. Like asking how you feel about Willow heading back to America. You want to feel love. You want to be loved. But the brain is an odd body part. It can’t differentiate feelings. So those feelings get buried until the emotions get too big and they burst. You’ve talked about how you’ve been an easy trigger for years. It’s all this. Bubbling. Festering. It’s time to let them all out. And I think we needed to start at the beginning with grief.”
“That’s a lot.”
“It is. Did you learn something about your dad when you saw your mum?”
“He wasn’t as perfect as I remembered. Things started to come back to me. You were right. I’d put him on a pedestal. How do I forgive myself?”
“That’s a great question. What are you forgiving yourself for?”
Luke returned to the chair. “For giving myself such a hard time for so long. For not realising that not only was I doing my best, but actually, I did a half-decent job. Shit, my hands are shaking.”
“That’s a big breakthrough. Unlocked energy, adrenaline. Take a deep breath.”
“I didn’t panic.”
“No. But if you do in the future, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“I feel like I need to go and talk to Izabel.”
“You do that. At our next appointment, we’ll tackle the other points in my notebook.”
“Yeah,” Luke said, his chest feeling lighter. “I look forward to it.”
He stepped out of the warehouse and walked over to the shelter.
“Luke,” Ibrahim, the shelter owner, said to him as he stepped through the door. “Izabel’s in the kitchen.”
The shelter was empty, most of the occupants taking advantage of the nicer weather to spend time outside. While Izabel was only part-time there, now, running her charitable events company for the rest of the time, it was still where her heart was since she’d first volunteered there all those years before.
He found her in the kitchen, standing on her tiptoes, trying to put bags of rice away on a high shelf in the pantry area.
“Here, Iz. Let me.”