Unbuttoned, thought Tara randomly. He’s unbuttoned. Literally and … she furrowed her brow. What was the word?

‘You’re funny,’ he said.

‘Thank you.’ The compliment felt nice. ‘You’re funny too.’

‘No, I’m not.’ David shook his head. ‘I am many things, but I’m not funny.’

‘But you were in a comedy group,’ said Tara, and he frowned just as she realized she didn’t want to bring that up. The last person she wanted joining them on the fire escape right now was the spectre of Justin Biggins. ‘You’re obviously an excellent counsellor,’ she added.

‘Oh, prrthhh.’ He wafted his hand modestly.

‘You are. You’ve got a waiting list. Chloe told me.’ She frowned. ‘She probably shouldn’t have, though. GDPR and whatnot.’

They were sitting close together on the step. Tara turned to look at him properly. David might be intimidatingly qualified and a creepy hypnotist in a past life, but out here they were just two escapees from the gong madness. An unexpected urge to be very honest swept over her.

‘How do you do it?’

David squinted back at her. ‘How do I do what?’

‘How do you manage to get results from people so quickly?’ She was vaguely aware of speaking but it sounded like someone else’s voice. ‘You’ve made breakthroughs with clients who’ve seen all of us over the years, and you’ve just …’ She tried to snap her fingers, but couldn’t make her fingers connect.

She tried again, then again, then sighed and gave up.

‘Just a new face,’ said David. ‘New person often gets results.’

‘No.’ Tara frowned. ‘No, it’s not that. It’s something you do. You’ve got a … thing.’ Might as well ask him. ‘Is it hypnotism? Is that what you’re doing?’

David waved a dismissive hand in front of his face again, and Tara felt weightless, as if she were falling from a great height. Maybe there was no secret, no magic trick: maybe David was just very good at what he did. Because he was qualified, a proper psychotherapist, unlike her. She listened, made accurate notes, and referred people to helplines. Not the same.

That’s what they’ll ask in the interview for Centre Director, she thought, with a flash of fear. Why don’t I have more qualifications? They’ll talk to Eric and find out I’m way behind with my supervisions, and that I haven’t had any grief therapy for Mum, and even Jacqueline will realize I’ve been busking it from the beginning. And they’d be right. I need more. I need qualifications.

‘Are you all right, Tara?’

‘What is it, David?’ she said, gripped with a need to know. ‘I’ve seen you with the clients as they leave and I’ve seen the expression on their faces. Like they suddenly understand themselves. You know how to help them. You fix them.’