I press ‘send’ and get up from my desk. I take my delicious Kusmi tea, which I don’t offer to clients, from the cupboard and flick the switch on the kettle. While I wait for the water to boil, I draw the scent of the blend deep into my lungs and watch people milling around on the street two floors down. There’s a long line at Kaffebrenneriet, snaking all the way outside onto the pavement. A jam-packed blue tram inches past, sandwiched by slow-moving cars heading toward Solli Plass. A blonde woman emerges from the café and dashes across the road. She’s wearing wide-leg trousers and impressively high heels, clutching a tall coffee, shielding her bouncy hair from the rain with a document folder.

I hear a ping from my computer, and instantly my thoughts return to Leah – I hope it’s her, responding straight away. I realize how worried I am for her by the way I feel a dull ache in my stomach at the thought of her. There was something about the look in her eyes. The way she begged.

The email isn’t from Leah but from a woman called Tess who is looking for a therapist to help her ‘navigate the worst divorce ever’. I make a mental note to respond to her later, saying I have plenty of experience with divorce, and schedule her in for next week. I open a new email draft and write to Leah’s GP, a competent and kindly man called Dr Albert who refers many clients to me and my colleagues for psychotherapy.

I believe there is reason for concern for Leah Iverson’s well-being, I write. She has made repeat mentions of self-harm and suicidal ideation, and while I haven’t considered her high-risk previously due to her encouraging response to psychotherapy, I feel concerned that may have changed.

I have emailed Leah this morning to offer extra support, and I will suggest that she also makes an appointment to see you with a view to discussing more intensive support, and/or further intervention.

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