I go to the bathroom and reapply my mascara and undereye concealer, and return to the office to pour some fresh water into my glass before Leah arrives. Except she doesn’t. The clock strikes 2 p.m., then five past, ten past… I remember last week and how she arrived late, but the minutes tick by and still she doesn’t arrive. At two fifteen I call her, but her phone goes straight to voicemail. I try again with the same result. I also send her a text message asking her to please get in touch. Could it be that Leah has ghosted me? It has happened before, that a client has suddenly terminated a course of ongoing psychotherapy for whatever reason, and not bothered to tell me until weeks later, perhaps feeling guilty or awkward about explaining why. I wouldn’t have thought it of Leah – she has always been vocal about the profound effect therapy has had on her life. That said, she has been showing more resistance in recent months and has more aggressively pursued my personal opinion and advice than previously. It could be that she has chosen to go elsewhere if she hasn’t felt that she is getting what she needs from my methods. I need to know what your personal feelings are about this, I recall her saying to me relatively recently, referring to some situation with whomever she was dating, and I deflected by saying that I found it interesting that she places more weight on my opinion than on how she actually feels about the situation. Could she have grown frustrated with my methods and decided to just stop our sessions? But last week, she insisted she needed to speak to me about something outside this space even though she knows that isn’t possible.

I go through all my email folders to make sure I can’t possibly have missed a message from her, but there’s nothing. I check on 1881.no that her phone number or address haven’t changed, but they remain the same. I make a mental note to get back in touch with Dr Albert to see whether he has heard from her. I spend fifteen minutes talking to my colleague, Alice, in the communal kitchen, who is also between clients.

‘Sounds like ghosting,’ she says, frowning into her milky tea.

‘I just don’t think she would do that,’ I say.

‘I never did, either. But then it’s often the ones you expect more from who do.’

‘Hmmm. Should I call her next of kin or something?’

‘No. Kristina, it’s not part of your job description. You’re the receptacle, not the detective.’

‘I know, but—’

‘No buts. Okay, back to work, it’s almost three. Drinks later?’

‘Possibly.’

*