Focus on Harry. Focus on Harry. Concentrate on my sweet boy.
“Would you like to take the stairs?”
His question shocks me. He’s never asked before. “Why would I want to do that?”
His little shoulders shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe you don’t like elevators today.”
I feel like a fool. My five-year-old boy is trying to help me. Have my days of hiding this god-awful fear finally come to an end? Has he figured me out? “We’ll take the elevator,” I affirm, reaching over and smacking the button for floor eight, probably harder than is necessary. I’m determined to beat this demon.
The doors close, and Harry’s little hand starts squeezing mine. I look down, finding him studying me carefully. “What are you thinking?” I ask, however much I really don’t want to know.
He smiles at me. “I’m thinking you look very dashing today, Daddy. Mummy will like this one.”
“Mummy prefers me in lazy clothes,” I remind him, laughing to myself when he tuts his disapproval. I dread to think how many suits I’ve bought over the years, all beautiful, yet she still takes a tatty pair of jeans any day of the week.
The elevator dings, and the doors open onto the reception area of the therapist’s office. “Here we are!” He darts out, pulling me with him. My heartbeat returns to normal quickly, and I soon find myself hauled across the room to the receptionist’s desk. “Hello!” Harry chirps.
My boy could bring a smile to the face of the world’s most miserable person, I’m sure. And the therapist’s receptionist is the world’s most miserable person. She’s formidable, yet she unleashes smiles to my boy like there’s no tomorrow. “Harry Hart! What a pleasure!”
“How are you, Anne?”
“All the better for seeing you. Would you like to take a seat?”
“Certainly. Come on, Dad.”
I’m led to two spare seats, but I’m not graced with an adoring smile from Anne as I nod my greeting. Her cheerful persona slips away the second her stare moves from Harry to me. “Mr. Hart,” she practically growls, leaving no room for further conversation when she focuses on her computer screen and starts tapping at the keyboard. I don’t like her.
Pulling the legs of my trousers up, I take a seat next to Harry and spend some time absorbing our surroundings. It’s relatively quiet, as it always is when we’re here at the end of the day. Our only company is a nervous lady, known as Wendy, who refuses to look anyone in the eye, not even Harry when he’s persistently tried to chat with her. He’s given up now, and refers to her as Weird Wendy.
“I’ll be back in a moment,” Harry tells me, wandering over to the kids’ corner, where Lego bricks are all packed neatly away. That will soon change. I relax back in my chair and watch him tip the box over and scatter them everywhere, passing a quick glance to Weird Wendy when Anne barks an order for her to proceed into the doctor’s office.
She scurries off quickly, leaving me and my boy the only occupants of the waiting area, Anne aside.
I close my eyes and see sapphires everywhere—bright, brilliant, beautiful sapphires and wild blond locks. It’s a beauty that’s so raw and pure, it defies me ever being blessed by it. But she is mine. And every fucked-up little piece of me belongs to her. I accept that wholeheartedly now. I smile, hearing the click of Lego bricks from across the room. And so is he.
“Mr. Hart?”
I jump in my chair at the sound of an impatient voice, my eyes flying open to find Anne towering above my seated form. I stand quickly, not liking feeling so vulnerable under her narrowed eyes. “Yes?”
“She’s ready for you.” She sniffs and stalks away, snatching her handbag up from behind her desk and disappearing into a waiting elevator.
I shudder, then seek out Harry, finding him at the door, his hand resting on the handle waiting to enter. “Hurry, Daddy! We’ll be late.”
I snap into action and follow Harry into the office, grimacing when the sense of a million people’s problems hit me like a wrecking ball. It’s lingering in the air, and a chill resonates through me as a result. I’m still befuddled as to why this happens every time. The room is plush, with soft furnishings at every turn. It’s warm and inviting, but I still feel uncomfortable. I hate coming here. There’s one problem, though. Harry loves it, and this woman here keeps inviting him. Personally, I think she simply gets a huge power trip out of sitting behind this huge plush desk and watching me squirm.
I groan to myself and drop my arse to the chair opposite her desk, and Harry does the same, but where I’m irritated and pouting, he is grinning madly. It penetrates my foul mood a little, and I find my lips twitching at the corners as a result.