Over time, I watched as Leah grew stronger. In the therapy room she made great progress, too. It’s always incredible when a client comes to therapy at the right time, with the right therapist, and that is what I believe happened for us. Layers of conditioning and trauma and deeply buried pain and untruths peel away, revealing a vulnerable but very strong person underneath – it’s powerful to watch and become part of. Though she has significantly battled with writing a follow-up to Nobody over the past year, she hasn’t regressed to the chaotic, destructive state of when she first came to therapy. She’s a very grateful client, one who often makes a point of saying that it’s all because of me that things are getting better, but I like to say that I only hold the mirror – she’s the one that looks in it.

I boil the water for our tea and rearrange the tea bags fanning out in the dish on the low table. I make sure there are two of each flavor and that they are laid out by color. It’s interesting how some clients will choose a different tea each time, whereas some will always have the same one. Leah doesn’t always choose one at all, arriving with a takeaway coffee from Kaffebrenneriet across the road. Other times, she chooses a green tea with lemon.

It’s five past two, and still no Leah. Unusual – she is extremely punctual, and I actually can’t recall a time when she wasn’t sitting in the waiting room when I opened the door at two on the dot. I check again, though I would have heard the door open, and the room is still empty. Outside, heavy rain is falling, and slick orange leaves stick to the windowpanes. October always makes me feel both withdrawn and a little wistful, though I’ve never known why. Perhaps it has to do with the beauty of the decay, how intoxicating it is to observe all the death around us.

This year is worse than ever, so much has changed, so much loss.

All I want for this weekend is to shut myself away in the house with Eirik, lying across from him on the sofas, reading and sipping a rich, dark Malbec, occasionally looking up to meet his eyes and smiling. This weekend is going to be far removed from that gentle domestic dream, and I feel tired in advance just at the thought of it. Tonight I will be supporting my husband at a gala dinner at the prime minister’s residence. I feel a nervous ache in my stomach at the thought, but then, who wouldn’t? Then, tomorrow, we are visiting my sister and her young family in Drøbak for the rest of the weekend, which is lovely but hardly a relaxing time.