"So things haven't been good." Dr. Gobber sounds as unruffled as ever. "They're OK. But everyone's stressy. I've been in bed a lot. It's like, I'm so tired all the time." "When you're tired, just rest. Don't fight it. Your body's mending itself." "I know." I sigh, my legs hunched up on the chair. "But I don't want to be tired. I don't want to be overwhelmed. I want to kick this." The words come out before I've thought them, and I feel a sudden little jab of adrenaline. When I say things to Dr. Gobber, it's as if I'm hearing them for the first time and suddenly they become real. He's a bit magic, I think. He's like a fortune-teller—only in the present, not the future. Things change in his room. I don't know how, they just do. "Good!" he says. "That's good. But, Henry, what you don't seem to realize is, you are kicking it." "No I'm not." I look at him resentfully. How can he say that?
"You are." "I've been in bed for, like, the last three days." "No-one said getting better would be a straightforward journey. Remember our graph?" He gets up and heads for his whiteboard. He draws two axes and a jagged red line heading up.
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"You'll go up and you'll go down. But your progress will be in the right direction. It is in the right direction. You've come a long way, Henry. Remember our first meeting?" I shrug. Some of our sessions are a bit of a blur, to be honest. "Well, I do. And believe me, I'm pleased with what I see before me today." "Oh." I feel a tiny glow of pride, which is pathetic. I mean, I didn't do anything. "How's the film going?" "It's OK." I nod. "Have you interviewed anyone from out of the house?" "Well." I hesitate. "Not yet. Not exactly."
Dr. Gobber waits. This is what he does, like a cop waiting to catch out a criminal. And every time I say I won't crack first, but I always do. "OK, there's this girl, Ally," I hear myself saying. "Yes, you've mentioned her." He nods. "She used to come round to see Heather and I was going to interview her. Only now she doesn't come round anymore. So I thought...I mean..." I trail off, not sure what I do mean. "Maybe you should ask her," says Dr. Gobber, like it's no big deal. "I can't," I say automatically. "Why not?" "Because..." I lapse into silence. He knows why not. It doesn't need saying. "Let's visualize the worst that can happen," says Dr. Gobber cheerfully. "You ask Ally to come over and she says no. How does that make you feel?" Trickles of anxiety are running down my back. I don't like this conversation anymore. I should never have mentioned Astrid. "How does that make you feel?" persists Dr. Gobber. "Henry, work with me. Ally has just said, 'No, I won't come over.' What are you feeling?" "I'm totally embarrassed," I say miserably. "I'm dying. I'm like, oh my God. Like, I'm so stupid..." I screw up my face in agony. "Why stupid?" "Because— Because!" I look at him almost angrily. Sometimes Dr. Gobber is deliberately obtuse. "Ally won't come over." He gets up and writes it on the board:
ᗩᒪᒪY ᗯOᑎ'T ᑕOᗰE OᐯEᖇ
Then he draws an arrow from it and writes Ally's thoughts in a circle.
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"Why should these thoughts"—he taps the board—"make you feel stupid?" "Because..." I struggle with my own thought process. "Because I shouldn't have asked her." "Why not?" he counters. "So she says no. All that means is, she didn't feel like being interviewed, or she was busy, or she's intending to say yes another time. Or any number of things. It doesn't mean anything about you." "Of course it does!" I say before I can stop myself. "Of course?" He instantly picks me up on it. "Of course?" OK, I fell into that one. Of course is the kind of phrase that makes Dr. Gobber's nose twitch like a shark scenting blood. That and I have to. "Henry, do you know what Ally is thinking?" "No," I say reluctantly. "You don't sound sure about that. Henry, can you see into people's heads?" "No." "Are you gifted with superpowers? Is this something I should know about you?"
"No." I hold up my hands. "OK. I get it. I was mind-reading." "You were mind-reading." He nods. "You have no idea what Ally is thinking. It could be good, it could be bad. Most likely, it's nothing at all. She's a girl. You'd better get used to that." His face crinkles in humour. "Right." I know he's trying to make me smile, but I'm too confused. "So...I should ask her?" "I think you should." He picks up the whiteboard cloth and rubs out Ally won't come over. In its place, he writes:
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"OK?" he says, when I've had a chance to read it. "OK." "Good. Then ask her. Let's make that your homework. Asking Ally."