“See you later, Glen,” I said. “I won’t be long.” She appeared blissfully untroubled by my imminent departure.
When I was ready to leave, I opened the door as quietly as I could and tiptoed into the living room to check if she was still asleep.
I found her on top of the giant catnip-stuffed mouse, both she and the rodent facing me, its glazed button eyes staring straight ahead.
She had her front paws thrown over its mousy shoulders and was lazily kneading them while she humped it energetically from behind.
I left them to it. Ever since the session, all I could think about was Marianne.
Marianne Marianne Marianne; I turned the name over and over in my mind like a coin between my fingers.
Dr. Temple had asked me to prepare myself to talk about her again in our next session.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Is knowing always better than not knowing? Discuss.
Raymond, untroubled by philosophical questions, was already there when I arrived at the Black Dog,
reading the Sunday Mail and sipping a pint. “Sorry I’m late,” I said.
His face was paler than usual, and when he stood up to hug me, I could smell old as well as new beer,
in addition to the usual reek of cigarettes. “How’s it going?” he said, his voice sounding scratchy.
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