The Christmas Secret

by Karen Swan

‘. . . But?’

  He was standing in front of her now. ‘But it’s like I told you. For as long as I hold the majority, he can’t touch me.’

  She could only imagine the pressure he would be under now, though. Alex looked away, feeling the quickening of her pulse rush to colour her cheeks. The game was still in play. She wasn’t dead in the water yet. ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘Alex—’

  She whipped her head round to face him, ignoring the look in his eyes. ‘So then we have work to do. I’m glad. I don’t want my heavy lifting to have been in vain.’

  She felt his eyes upon her as she readied the last details. His unexpected text, not an hour ago, had left her practically no time to prepare but she had managed to get all the tables and benches pushed back against the walls; and although the dinner ladies were still tidying up and cleaning the kitchen after the lunch rush, they had pulled down the metal shutters and Alex was satisfied they wouldn’t hear anything over the carols on the radio and their own chatter.

  He stepped back, receding from whatever it was he had wanted to say. ‘Okay. So talk me through the science of this then,’ he said, clearly feeling generous from his victory and playing ball. ‘I assume there is a science to it?’

  ‘You’re funny,’ she quipped, before forcing a smile on her lips. Because this was it. Phase one of everything she had come here to do. It was time for her to work at last.

  ‘In short, by creating a physical experience that you have to stand in and walk through, it makes the problem somatic, i.e. it brings it into your body and away from your rational mind,’ she explained. ‘It’s a brilliant technique for problems where there’s no apparent solution, when a pattern has become established and the mind is simply reinforcing the existing belief; but by making it a physical experience, it brings fresh perspective to the story. I’ve used it numerous times when I’ve felt there’s something in the client’s system that is affecting the way they manage or perform.’

  ‘I see.’ He came and stood beside her in the middle of the space. ‘So how do you want me?’

  She swallowed. It was best not to think about that. ‘Well, today, we’re not going to focus on the “We” – i.e. you and Sholto. In fact, I don’t want us even to mention his name after this point.’

  ‘Fine by me.’

  ‘We’re going to focus on the “I”. Come and sit with me here.’

  He groaned but she led him over to two chairs, where she had left a stack of paper and some pens. They sat down and she inhaled deeply, looking over at him with what she hoped was an innocuous, impersonal gaze. ‘We’ll start with the problem – as you see it. What’s the biggest problem that you feel is rooted in you?’

  He looked at her but his cocksure demeanour was already fading fast. Agreeing to do this with her – letting her be his wonderwall – might have seemed flippantly easy in principle but he was already challenged. And she hadn’t even started yet.

  He fell quiet, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he stared at a spot on the floor, and she knew he was trying to think of something he could say that sounded plausible without being the truth. ‘Uh . . .’

  After a minute or two of heavy silence, she said, ‘Would you like me to make a suggestion for you? The problem as I see it? You can of course correct me if you think I’m wrong.’

  He shrugged.

  ‘It’s as we discussed last week. Trust.’ The way she said it – such a little word; she saw him relax.

  He nodded. ‘Yeah . . . I guess I probably do have trust issues.’

  You think? she wanted to shriek. But they were off.

  ‘Okay, so you are Lochie, obviously,’ she said, writing his name on the topmost sheet of paper, and beside it an arrow. ‘And the problem is trust, or rather lack thereof – distrust,’ she said, writing ‘trust’ on another sheet, again with an arrow. ‘Great. Good start.’ She smiled at him encouragingly. ‘Honesty is good.’

  ‘I think so.’ His eyes were steady upon her, flipping her stomach over with ease.

  ‘And what would you want to be the goal of resolving your trust issues?’ she asked.

  ‘Um . . .’ He swallowed, his hands gripping his knees in a subconscious display of tension. He brought his fist to his mouth and coughed. ‘Better relationships?’

  ‘Okay, great. So you feel that if we can resolve the trust issues, you can move towards better relationships.’

  She bit her lip as she wrote the word on the paper, aware of his gaze on her as she worked.

  ‘And who or what do you think you could rely on, that could help you get from the problem to the solution?’ She arched her eyebrows. ‘And before you say it, don’t say the dog. You cannot put the dog.’

  He grinned. ‘Well, who would you recommend?’

  ‘What about Ambrose, for instance? You’re clearly very close friends.’

  ‘Yes, when it comes to banter and the rugby score. We don’t . . .’

  ‘Talk?’

  ‘Men don’t.’

  She sighed. ‘How many times do I hear that?’ she asked, shaking her head sadly. ‘How about Jess then? She’s very protective of you.’

  He shook his head. ‘Too much history. She can sometimes . . . blur the line.’

  His eyes held hers and she felt her neutrality colour into something stronger; she had detected Jess’s complicated feelings for him, herself. ‘I see.’

  ‘It’s best to keep it simple.’

  ‘Yes,’ Alex agreed, wondering if they were going to end up with Rona after all.

  ‘How about you?’ he asked.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Why not?’

  She blinked. ‘Because I drive you up the wall? Because I won’t be here much longer? Take your pick.’

  ‘Well, can’t I call you if there’s a problem? I thought you said you FaceTime clients when necessary?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s generally considered better to have someone who can be physically around for you, someone you feel genuinely at ease with.’

  He sat back in the chair and shrugged. ‘Well, there’s no one else. It’s literally you or the dog.’

  ‘Wow, that makes for a compelling argument,’ she quipped, trying to hide behind a breezy smile. ‘Okay, well then, for the sake of putting down something constructive, let’s put me as your ally.’ She scribbled her own name down before looking back at him. ‘Is there anything else you want to bring into the dynamic, any elements that aren’t covered with those bases?’

  She fanned out the sheets in her hands for him to read. ‘No. I think that covers it.’

  ‘Okay then,’ she said, rising and motioning for him to do the same. ‘Now as the first step, I want you to take these sheets and place them in the constellation that best represents how you feel right now about the issues we’re discussing here. Use the arrows to point which way you feel the energy of the dynamic is flowing. Or if it’s not, use the arrow turned away, like a blocking force.’

  Lochie stood in silence for a few moments, staring at the cards, before he went to the centre of the space and set down his name.

  Alex watched as he took a few paces forward and set down ‘trust’, with the arrow pointing back at his name. Three paces on from that, he set down ‘relationships’, the arrow pointing away from ‘trust’. Alex watched closely as he held the last sheet with her name on it, deliberating where to set it down. He finally settled on the space beside ‘trust’.

  Alex walked over, assessing the constellation in silence. Her pulse was up. She’d never seen her own name on the paper before.

  ‘Okay,’ she said finally, looking back at him. ‘You’re happy with that? You feel it represents the current state of affairs?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Good. Now come and stand by the paper with your name on it,’ she said. He came and stood by her. ‘I want you to breathe deeply, close your eyes and tell me exactly what you feel when you step on each element. You need to become that energy, talk to me in the first person, stream of consci
ousness, okay? Don’t overthink or try to analyse, just say the first thing that comes to you. Do you understand?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘In addition, whilst you’re talking, I want you to try to feel the energy in your body as you talk through each element. Try to focus on where you feel it – your throat, gut, stomach, heart? We all have energy centres or chakras, for the dispersal and flow of energy or prana or chi. It doesn’t matter what you choose to call it, it’s the same thing: our feelings are literally rooted in our bodies.’

  ‘Okay.’ He looked sceptical but she reasoned at least he wasn’t sneering or kicking chairs about.

  ‘So close your eyes and tell me what you feel when you’re Lochie?’

  ‘I feel . . . uh . . . strong. Confident.’ She watched as his eyes moved behind his eyelids. ‘Pretty powerful. Successful . . .’

  He opened one eye. ‘Should I say bad things too?’

  ‘Say whatever occurs to you.’

  He exhaled. ‘So then, angry too, I guess. And a bit . . . I don’t know, foggy?’

  ‘Interesting,’ she murmured. ‘And where are you feeling that when you acknowledge those emotions? Can you feel, like a heat, anywhere? Show me with your hands.’

  He waited for a moment, then raised his hands to his solar plexus.

  She nodded, touching him lightly on the arm so that he opened his eyes.

  ‘That was great,’ she said. ‘Now I want you to do the same here – on the problem spot. Close your eyes and go back into your body. What do feel when you think about trust? How does your body react?’

  He closed his eyes again. ‘I feel . . . empty. Blank.’ He sounded surprised. ‘I can’t feel anything . . . It’s like everything’s been taken. All my energy. I can’t move.’

  ‘And if you were to put your hands anywhere, to signify one place in your body—’

  His hands went straight to his heart.

  Alex looked at him, making the notes before she got him to open his eyes again.

  ‘Okay. Let’s go to the goal: relationships.’

  He inhaled sharply but followed her. She turned him so that he was facing in the direction of the arrow on the paper.

  ‘What do you feel here when you think of having a relationship?’

  He closed his eyes. ‘. . . Frustrated. Restless. Stuck.’ He raised his hands up. ‘It’s . . . sort of here,’ he said, touching his throat.

  ‘Okay, that’s good, that’s good,’ she said, making a note and getting him to take a step over to the final sheet.

  ‘And lastly your ally, the solution to your goal,’ she said, not wanting to say her own name out loud. ‘What’s happening here?’

  ‘Hot. Cold . . . Irritation. Jealousy.’ He opened his eyes. ‘Why would I feel jealous of you?’

  She put a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t think about it now. Close your eyes. What else? Just stream of consciousness.’

  ‘Powerful . . .’ He frowned. ‘Hel . . . helpless.’

  Alex bit her lip as she wrote down the notes. ‘And where are you feeling it?’

  He hesitated. ‘There.’ He pressed his hands to his navel.

  He opened his eyes and looked at her. ‘Don’t tell me any of that made sense to you?’

  ‘Actually, yes,’ she said quietly, trying to smile. ‘Shall we sit?’

  She cleared her throat. ‘Right, so that was a really interesting exercise. Basically, what we started off with was creating a spatial representation of your situation.’

  He was watching her with a studied concentration she hadn’t experienced before.

  ‘Now, if you look at the cards as you’ve placed them on the ground, you’ll see you’ve got the arrow for trust pointing back towards you – indicating you trust yourself, but no one else. The goal of better relationships is set behind that element, away from you, as though blocked by it. And then finally there’s your ally, me, the mechanism supposedly there to enable the pattern to come together. Now you’ve placed me next to trust, suggesting you trust me.’

  ‘Well, I do.’

  She drew a breath, wishing he’d look away, stare at the cards – something, anything other than her.

  ‘So that was your subconscious imaging of the pattern. Then we moved through it quickly and instinctually. Now your feelings about yourself – when you stood on your own name or identity – and when taken in isolation, were highly positive: you’re dynamic, energized, confident, but you recognize you’ve got anger too. You mentioned fog – as though you can’t see the path and when I asked you about where you felt that energy, you pointed to here,’ she said, showing him on herself. ‘Which completely corresponds to what you were saying, because the solar plexus is the root of energy from where we take our action – it’s our central vibration, if you like; it’s where we feel the ability to be confident and in control of our lives. But when energy is blocked, we feel it as heat.’

  ‘And why exactly does one get an energy blockage in the solar plexus?’ he asked. He was trying not to look sceptical but she could see it in his eyes.

  ‘That’s what we’re going to find out, but it can come from fear of rejection, for example. It’s actually the most common centre for suppressed desires and freedoms.’

  He stared at her with an expression that didn’t reveal whether he thought she was completely mad or the wisest person he’d ever met.

  ‘Don’t worry, this will make more sense when we’ve gone through it all.’ She glanced back at her notes. ‘Anyway, then we moved on to the problem in hand, namely trust – but I’d like to come back to that one at the end, so let’s go next to the proposed goal of better relationships. Here, when I asked you how it made you feel, you said frustrated, restless and stuck. Again, your body tallied with what your instinct was telling you because a blockage of the throat chakra – which was what you identified there – points to an inability to communicate, of literally the words being held back. So, in other words, the language of relationships is not something you can put voice to.’

  He crossed his arms and folded his legs. ‘Right.’

  She smiled and leaned over, unfolding his arms. ‘And your legs, please. You’re physically blocking what I’m saying to you. I need you to be open and receptive to what we’re learning here.’

  He did as he was told but he looked as uncomfortable as a teenage boy in a pole-dancing class.

  ‘Now with “ally”, you actually spoke in opposites: hot versus cold. Powerful versus helpless.’

  ‘Didn’t I say jealous too?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Well, what does that mean? I’m not jealous of you – although you do have a fabulous shoe collection,’ he drawled.

  She laughed. ‘It doesn’t mean you’re jealous of me. Again, these negative feelings point to a blockage in that energy centre. The sacral chakra which you pointed to relates to our fundamental sense of self and our relationships – connection with others, our ability to accept others. So when that’s blocked, it might manifest as jealousy or a need for control, power play, a fear of betrayal.’

  ‘So the fact that you’re my ally . . .’ he frowned.

  ‘It’s suggesting you’re not sure you can trust me. You want to but you have conflicting feelings about me.’

  He blinked but said nothing.

  ‘Let’s go back to trust.’

  ‘Oh, good.’

  ‘This was where you had the most dramatic reaction. It was almost as though you completely shut down – you said you felt empty, blank, that you had no energy, you couldn’t move.’ She bit her lip. ‘And when I asked where you felt the heat, you pointed to your heart.’

  ‘Am I actually dead?’ he deadpanned.

  She grinned. ‘The heart chakra, contrary to common perception, isn’t about love. It’s actually the source of empathy, self-love and forgiveness. You’ve heard the phrase “a heavy heart”?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘This is where it comes from. A blocked heart leads to guilt, anger, resentment.
’ She tipped her head to the side. ‘I’ve noticed you very often roll out your shoulders.’

  He shrugged. ‘It’s where I hold my tension, according to my masseuse.’ He gave a look that suggested the masseuse’s theories were as ‘alternative’ as hers.

  ‘Well, stiffness between the shoulders is another manifestation of blocked energy in the heart chakra. But what your body is telling you, loud and clear, is that your issues of trust stem from guilt and anger about something, seemingly something for which you have yet to forgive yourself.’ She dipped her head, trying to make eye contact with him. ‘Is there something that instinctively comes to you when I say that?’

  ‘Nope.’

  The answer came too sure, too fast.

  ‘Really?’ It was her turn to look sceptical. ‘Because according to what we’ve just walked through, I’ve got sitting in front of me a confident, empowered man who can’t trust people – even those he wants to – and who can’t put a voice to love, even though he wants that too. And his body is screaming out – when he listens to it – that he needs to let go of his guilt and forgive himself, but he doesn’t know what that could possibly be referring to?’

  He stared at her and she knew he knew it; she could see it in his eyes.

  ‘Lochie, you have to talk, tell me . . . There’s a saying that whatever you fight, you strengthen; whatever you resist, persists. Doesn’t that resonate in you? You’ll never move on if you don’t own up to this. Your mind already knows you can’t carry on – that’s why you said things feel foggy, you’re losing sight of the path. You are blocked mentally, emotionally and spiritually by it and it’s just going to keep coming back at you; it’ll destroy every relationship until you face it.’

  She knew her words had hit their mark – she knew he had thrown away his relationships with both Jess and Skye – but he said nothing.

  She tried again.

  ‘There’s a philosopher called Eckhart Tolle; perhaps you’ve heard of him. He said something once that really resonates with me: “What could be more futile, more insane, than to create inner resistance to what already is?” Do you know it?’ she asked.

  ‘I know you like your quotes.’

  ‘I believe in listening to people I think are wiser than me,’ she said lightly. ‘The point is, you are fighting something that is already present, that has already happened. You are tethered by your past, emotionally and physically. You are taking on total responsibility for preventing the company from being taken over and the distillery closed down; you feel that the security of all those people’s jobs is on you – but no one person can be expected to do that alone. It’s neither fair nor realistic. And it’s also not true. It’s just a protective measure that your brain has created to keep you here, in this place, in this company, where you’ve always been. By convincing yourself you can’t leave here for the distillery’s sake, it takes the problem – the threat – of moving on out of your hands.’