“Now that we’ve discussed your situation, your preference to avoid medication, and your treatment goals, I think the best approach is cognitive behavioural therapy. Are you familiar with CBT, Alex?”
She met the therapist’s eyes and nodded. “I’ve read a bit online…doesn’t it involve coping strategies?”
“You’re right, it does,” Catriona agreed in her Scottish burr. “The premise of CBT is that it helps you identify negative thoughts that can trigger anxiety or panic attacks. Once they’re identified, we work to replace them with positive or more realistic thoughts, so you’ll be able to deal with anxiety-causing situations.”
Alex’s heart began to pound. What have I put myself in for? “It sounds hard.”
“Well, it takes practice. Negative thought patterns can be a tough habit to break, but CBT is very effective at treating these underlying habits.” Catriona leaned on her notepad. “We’ll work together during our weekly sessions, and I’ll give you homework to do on your own.”
“How many sessions do you think I’ll need?”
“Everyone’s different. Some people come in for ten sessions, others, twenty or more. There’s no quick fix, Alex, and you’ll have to keep practicing what you’ve learned, even after you’re finished therapy. CBT might not cure your anxiety or completely eliminate attacks, but it can give you the tools needed to deal with negative thinking patterns in a healthy way. If you look at CBT as a lifestyle change, the benefits can be long-lasting.”
Alex broke eye contact, drifting back to the papers in her hands. “So…” She swallowed heavily. “…part of me will always be an unsolvable riddle?”
“I wouldn’t say that you’re unsolvable…or a riddle.” Catriona grinned. “But as long as you’re committed to our sessions and practice what you’ve learned, you should feel better.”
Alex nodded, exhaling a tense breath. “Well, I can’t feel any worse.”
“It takes courage to ask for help,” said Catriona. “Just the fact that you’re sitting across from me says that you want to make a change for the better. We’ll take this one step at a time…together. Ready to start?”
“I think so.” Alex’s hand drifted to her neck. No Vespa charm, no Mark. No. She knew who she had to believe in—herself. “No…I am.” She smiled and sat up straight, ready to move forward.
Thirty
Two weeks later
“Holy shit, she LIVES!” Lucy huffed.
Alex cringed and pulled her phone away from her ear. She tightened her scarf against the grey March morning and speed-walked down her dad’s street. She’d known this was coming.
“So you call to say you’ve arrived, said you might be offline for a bit, and then…you ghost me—for three weeks? Thanks a bunch!”
“Come on, Lucy. You know I wasn’t ghosting you. I was trying to settle in here without… I needed to focus and not think about—”
“I haven’t even seen he-who-shall-not-be-named. Don’t punish me and Harry. We’re on your side, remember?”
“I’m not punishing anyone. I’m busy with my therapy sessions and writing. My phone kept buzzing, and I stuck it in a drawer so I could concentrate. I got used to being without it.”
“I just wish you had told me! My mind was all over the bloody shop. Were you pissed at me? Were you ill? I was freaking, so I put Harry on standby…” Her words drifted away from the speaker. “Didn’t I, Haribo?”
“I just do what I’m told. Hi, Lex!”
Alex’s laughed at Harry’s—a.k.a. Haribo’s—barely audible response in the background. She pictured him sat in his robe, thumbing through the paper, sugary tea at the ready, but wait…it was Monday morning. Why was Harry home with Lucy at twenty past nine?
“Why’s he on standby?”
“To drive me to your dad’s. I made him take the day off, that’s how much I was bricking it, Lex.”
“Crap. Sorry. I’m just working through things. Didn’t Dad tell you—”
“Yeah, when I finally reached him, but I didn’t know if he was telling the truth. I can’t read parents.”
“Well, you can trust him—he’s a terrible liar, even on the phone.” Alex waited for a car to pass before crossing the street. “So, what’s new with you guys? How’s work? How’s the drawing coming along?”
“Nice try, Lex—you’re not ducking and diving around my questions. How’s life in the sleepy suburbs? Have you had a chance to visit Manchester city centre?”
“Just once, two weeks ago. Like I said, it’s been therapy and writing—nothing thrilling.”
“Want your new passwords, then?”
“Not yet. It’s too tempting. I deleted the apps off my phone and everything. I’m determined to stick with this break. I’m only dipping in for work emails.”
“God, I’d shrivel up and die—and be jobless—without social media. How’s the withdrawal? Sweats, shakes, dizziness?”
The sky began to darken, so Alex upped her pace. “All of the above. I even had the beginnings of a panic attack after the first few days. Despite that, going cold turkey has been good for me.”
“Ah, Lex. I’m so shit! I didn’t mean to make light of your attacks.”
“You didn’t,” she answered breathlessly. “Hey, if we can’t joke about it—”
“Wait, you’re not having—”
“No, I’m not having one now. I’m rushing to meet Joan.”
“Thank fuck. I thought I—never mind.”
“Joan’s worse than a drill sergeant. Here’s my typical day: Zumba together first thing, then her two-hour computer class, either pottery studio in the afternoon or a therapy sesh, and then a couple of hours writing.”
“Why are you in her computer class?”
“I’m not in her class. I just go along and write while she teaches.”
“Least your evenings are free.”
“Nope. I help Helen make dinner, we all eat together, and then I do therapy homework and that corporate writing gig before bed. I’m splitting the cost of therapy with Dad and paying for my food and necessities, so I need the cash.”
“Joan scheduled all this?”
“To the minute. She won’t let me sleep in, eat sugar, or surf the web—and she nicked my phone from the drawer in my bedside table and hid it. I had no clue until this morning. I was looking for an old CD to make a workout playlist and there it was, wedged behind her Guns N’ Roses collection.”
“Joan for the win!” Lucy snickered. “Best hiding spot ever. God, I love her.”
“I’m just relieved that when she took my phone from my drawer, there was nothing else battery-operated lurking in there!”
Lucy laughed even harder.
“Luckily, she’s open to bribery. I can skip Zumba if I go for a jog. I also had to agree to help her tutor a difficult computer student.”
“Yeah, you gotta watch those dodgy pensioners.”
“This one you do! He booty-calls Joan. Has a prescription for blue pills and everything.”
“Ewwww!” Lucy wailed. “I don’t know what bothers me more, that image or you becoming a Zumba-ing jogger. I want my couch potato bezzie mate back!”
“It’s part of my therapy. My psychologist says exercise releases endorphins, helps with anxiety symptoms.”
“Lex, you’re not becoming one of them, are you?”
“One of what?”
“Those boring workout people like Simon—tracking your steps, eating kale, and blending your meals into disgusting green drinks. Mind you, Harry’s mum would love you…”
“No, she wouldn’t. I’m not you.” Alex smiled as she dodged two teens on skateboards. “Anyway, just because I’m doing it, doesn’t mean I like it. I can barely jog two blocks without collapsing, but I like how it lets my mind wander. I’ve come up with a bunch of play ideas while doing it.”
“I’d rather Zumba.”
“Yeah, but I’ve been craving alone time. Joan, Helen, and Dad have been amazing, and they mean well, but they’re suffo
cating me. Helen just wants to mother me—”
“Aw, bless her!”
“It’s sweet, but she won’t let me do anything, even washing my own clothes. Everything comes out with a stinky flowery fragrance—I can’t stop sneezing. And I swear Dad asks me ten times a day how I’m feeling but never mentions Mark. None of them do, but I want to talk about the split. Thank God for my psychologist. She isn’t always Team Alex—which is good—but she’s never judgmental.”
“Unlike me?”
“Yeah, but I still love ya, Lucy.” Alex laughed and waited at a red traffic light.
“So how is therapy going?’
“Good. I’ve ugly cried too many times to count, but I think it’s helping. It’s got to help. Fainting at the theatre was an all-time low. I can’t be that girl again.”
“You won’t be, Lex.”
“It’s going to take time, training my brain to react differently, but I’m committed to it. I need to own my anxiety, manage it, and not feel embarrassed by it. That’s the only way I’ll feel better, and I WILL feel better.”
“I’m really proud of you, Lex. We both are.”
Alex switched the phone to her other ear. “I’ve realized that a lot of my anxiety comes from worrying over the future, and I need to live in the here and now, focus on what I’m dealing with in this moment instead of what might never happen down the road. Take it one step, one minute, one hour at a time.”
“Um, hello? Didn’t a certain someone say that to you…I don’t know, at a certain wedding?”
“Maybe? Okay…you did, but sometimes—” Alex’s eyes followed a red Vespa zooming past.
“You need to hear it from someone else, I get it.”
Vespa rules. The memory made Alex pause.
“Lex…where’d ya go?”
“Sorry…traffic…” The light changed to green and she ran across the street. “You missed your calling. Maybe you should’ve been a comic-drawing psychologist.”
“I’m a woman of many talents.” Lucy’s voice trailed away from the speaker. “Button it, Manville!”
“When are you coming home—” Harry’s voice rose from the background. “We miss you!”
Alex smiled at a hint of sunshine breaking through the clouds. “I miss you, too, Harry, and Freddie and Si…everyone. Please tell them.”
“I’m not talking to Freddie.” Lucy took over the phone again. “The cheater is staying at his place…well, until his allergy to Moriarty’s hair makes him cough up a lung. When are you coming back?”
“A few weeks, once I feel confident enough to manage my anxiety on my own.”
“Can’t wait. It’s not the same, hanging with Naomi.”
“Lucy! Come on. She’s fun.”
“She thinks Superman and Wonder Woman are married…”
“Aww, but at least she’s trying!”
“Yeah, I find her trying. She came with me to the con this weekend, the one at Earl’s Court?”
“It was this weekend? Oh my God, how’d it go? Did you take your drawings?”
“Lex, I don’t mean to rub it in, but it was freakin’ awesome! I showed my drawings to an editor and he really liked them! He said my sketch work was ‘original and raw’, and he loved the story outline, her superpower of persuasion, all that. I think we might be onto something.”
“LUCY! That’s incredible. I knew they’d love your stuff. God, I wish I had been there.”
“He gave me pointers for improvement and invited me to send more samples, so get your writing cap on. We’ve got work to do.”
“The cap’s already on. I’ve been fussing over copy for it the past two weeks. I’ll email it to you from the community centre.”
“She’s got copy!” Lucy relayed the news to Harry.
Alex shook her head. “Just put your phone on speaker…”
“What?” Lucy’s muffled voice distorted through the phone. “Sorry. Harry reminded me that you might want to tread carefully when you’re back.”
“Why?”
“Remember those Mail photos? Tom on set with Mark? Well, apparently some old one-night stand saw the story and tracked him down. Lex, he’s been hit with a paternity suit.”
Alex stopped in her tracks. “Who? Mark—”
“No. Tom!”
Alex clutched her chest. Phew.
“I know your plan was to rent a room from Tom and Naomi when you get back but—”
“Jeez! Naomi must be freaking out!”
“She hasn’t slept with Tom since he was served.”
“It was recent, then?” asked Alex.
“Being served, yeah, not the kid. The boy’s two years old! Tom’s doing a genetics test.”
“Tom got around. That kid could be one of many!”
“Lex?” Harry’s loud and clear voice made her jump. “Greedy Lucy wanted you all to herself, but I’ve put you on speakerphone. Thanks for my birthday present.”
“Glad it got there. I hope it arrived on time.” Alex walked across the community centre’s parking lot.
“Yours always do. As lovely as it was receiving post from up north, would you please get your arse back down here? We all miss you. Hell, London misses you! When you’re ready, please come home.”
“Well, give London a hug from me and tell her I’ll be home soon.” Alex smiled and pulled open the door.
Thirty-One
Three and a half weeks later
“Are you sure you only need one more session?” Michael leaned forward in his chair, the comfy basement dining room of Annie’s restaurant still bustling with its Saturday lunchtime crowd at five minutes to two.
“Yeah.” Alex nodded. “Catriona and I agreed—I’m ready. I mean, this is the longest spell I’ve gone without an attack in a year: five weeks.”
“No, six.” Joan smiled. “I logged it in my phone. There was no way I was letting this milestone pass.” She waved her debit card at the server, who returned with the handheld payment machine. “My shout.”
“Thanks, Joan.” Alex swirled her spoon in a pool of chocolate ice cream. “I’m definitely coming back here for that cheese and onion pie.”
“I’m surprised you wanted to come into town.” Joan inserted her card into the debit machine. “You’ve been eyeing up that Italian place near the pottery studio for weeks.”
“We can go there any time. I’ve missed Manchester city centre.”
“Ooh, does this mean you might stay?” Helen scooped up the last spoonful of the jam roly-poly she was sharing with her husband. A hopeful smile raised her chubby cheeks.
Alex glanced from Helen to her dad, her eyes resting on Joan beside her. “I love being here, but…”
“It’s not home.” Joan winked, punching in her PIN.
“Lucy and Freddie will be happy to hear that,” said Michael.
“I’ll have to tell Freddie myself—Lucy’s still not speaking to him.”
“She’ll come around. God love her, that girl has a big heart. She won’t be cross with Freddie for long.” Joan raised her eyebrows. “Mark, though…”
Helen looked at Michael, who became suddenly interested in the framed Grand Theatre poster that hung beside their table.
Alex breathed deeply. “Joan, it’s okay. Just say it.”
“I promised I wouldn’t.” The server handed Joan her receipt, which she slid into her wallet a little too carefully, buying time before she had to say another word.
Michael’s eyes bore into his mum.
“Promised who? Dad?” Alex’s stare travelled from Joan to Michael. “I know you guys made a pact. So obvious.”
Michael blew out his cheeks. “We didn’t make a pact—”
“Dad, I’ve seen the looks you’ve shared. I’ve been here almost two months, and you haven’t mentioned Mark once. That takes a scripted effort.”
Joan wrapped her arm around her granddaughter. “When we saw you blocking social media, love, we realized you were doing everything you could to move on and feel better. We
just followed your lead. Us having a bloody great whinge about how terrible he behaved—well, it wasn’t going to help you, was it?”
“Believe me, whatever you were thinking would have paled in comparison to what I’ve already thought or said to Lucy. I don’t need to be protected in bubble wrap. What I do need is for you to be honest. I won’t shatter if you tell me the truth.”
“It’s just with the panic attacks…” Helen looked at Michael. “We would do anything to make them go away…”
“We didn’t want to undo the good Catriona was doing, that’s all.” Michael patted Helen’s arm.
“Mark was a lovely lad,” Joan blurted out, staring at the fairy lights strung across the ceiling. “But he’s made me so angry. I just want to deck him.”
“Join the club,” said Alex. “I think Lucy has first dibs.”
“I’m not naïve.” Joan tilted her head. “Every actress has seen affairs begin behind the scenes. Back in ’56, my best friend fell for the lead in our musical. They both had sweethearts at home, but maybe sneaking around was exciting? I don’t know. I don’t understand why people do it. And Mark, he had you, a pretty, talented girl, and a family here who loved him like our very own…I feel like he cheated on us, too.”
Helen nodded.
Joan leaned in. “I’ve been so close to telling you exactly how I felt, but I bit my tongue because, well, like those Cosmo articles say, if you two got back together, I’d regret everything I said—”
“We are never ever getting back together.”
“Ha! Taylor Swift!” Joan elbowed Alex. Helen and Michael just looked confused.
“No, I’m done with actors. Two was two too many.”
“You’ll find someone who deserves you, pet.” Helen set a reassuring hand over Alex’s.
“Maybe one day. Right now, the only company I’m keeping is my laptop.”
Michael stood up, holding his wife’s coat. “Alex, did you hear back?”
“I did! Late yesterday. One of the theatres is interested in Suffragettes. Three years on, and it might finally see the light of day. And for the heck of it, I applied to the TV development scheme with Channel Four…” Alex’s phone buzzed on the table. Tugging on her coat, she squinted at a new text. “…so I’ve got a few things in the pipeline. I can’t wait to get back.”
London, Can You Wait? Page 24