Nobody Wants To Know Him

XLIII - Getting Better

Tuesday 26th June 1973
Liverpool, England
5.13pm

The Friday that I suggested therapy to John, we didn't speak about it that afternoon, nor that evening. Nor did we talk again about it the day after.

However, on that Sunday, John came to me while I was putting the washing on the line, telling me he'd thought about it.

_______

"I thought about it," John said blankly, his voice sounding from somewhere further up the garden behind me.

I turned around, and at first I was confused, having been focused on hanging up the laundry. I'd mostly forgotten about the conversation we'd had earlier that week, having accepted that I'd have to do more convincing.

"The, uh... therapy. I mean."

"Really? And?"

John shifted on his feet, eyes darting around the garden as I hung up one of his shirts.

"Well, I dunno. I could, like, give it a try if ye say it'll actually help, y'know? But ye can't tell anyone, yeah? Not me mates, not Mimi." I nodded. That seemed like something quite important to John, and I was perfectly happy with adhering to it. "But! If it doesn't work and it turns out to be just as fucking stupid as I thought it was, I'm out. Okay?"

"Alright," I responded, my reply not doing justice to the adrenaline from my heart pumping fast within my chest at the prospect of John being able to recover. This was a big thing. "But ye can't just attend one session or something and expect it to work and quit as soon as ye realise it doesn't." He rolled his eyes, lips upturning in an almost-scowl. "How about this, five sessions, or whatever they happen to be, and we'll see."

"Five?! What about three?"

"Four?"

He huffed turning back around to head inside. "Fine. Four. But if I don't like it by four, I will be done. Alright?"

"Okay."

______

He'd found himself a private therapist who had a small office just on the outskirts of the other side of Liverpool. He didn't seen too bothered about who it was at first, practically saying yes to any which he had seen, but eventually he became more invested and actually wanted to find someone decent. This, I was thankful for.

That's where he was right now. Before he'd left, he was quite nervous.

______

John was pacing about the entrance hall, hands flailing wildly as he gesticulated to me as I leant against the doorframe.

"What if she's a prick? What if I don't wanna talk? What if I just sit there and can't say anythin'? What if I hate her?"

"John..."

"She might even force me to talk. Or she might laugh at me. What if she accuses me of lying? I don't think it's gonna work, y'know."

"John.

"Oh, God. What if she refers me to someone else? It might be all too much for her, or she might hate me because I'm just fucking difficult, and, and..."

"John!"

He stopped his pacing and stood perfectly still, head having snapped up to look at me.

"What?"

"It's gonna be fine," I soothed, stepping forwards to put both hands on his shoulders. "She wouldn't make ye say anything ye don't want to. That's not her job. Ye don't have to tell her everything ye told me, or ye can, or ye can tell her more. And she'll do everything she can to help, because that's what she's there for. I'm sure she won't be that bad."