He takes a deep breath and sinks into the sofa as he begins to relax. I sometimes wish I had a time-lapse camera set up, so that I and, more importantly, my clients, could see how far they’ve come. So many of them beat themselves up because they don’t think they’ve moved on, or that it’s taking too long to feel better about themselves. But they’d only have to compare their first visit, when they would undoubtedly be perched on the very edge of the sofa, straight-backed and furtively looking around, nervous and distrusting, to a few weeks later, when their body language would tell a completely different story. With every session, they sit further back, their shoulders come down from their ears, and they allow the sofa to take their weight.

‘My relationship took away my sense of self,’ he says. ‘I don’t know how to change it. I don’t know what it takes to be me – does that make sense?’

I nod. ‘I think it’s about being comfortable in your own skin. Just being who you want to be.’

He looks at me cynically, as if I’m trying to convince him of something that’s just not possible.

‘I don’t think I even know who I am any more.’

‘Because that’s how you’ve been conditioned to feel.’

‘But I can do no right,’ he goes on.

‘Being in the wrong is your default position now, and we just have to keep working to de-program the way your brain has been re-wired and take it back to factory settings.’

He shakes his head solemnly. ‘I don’t think even you can do that.’

‘I’m prepared to die trying,’ I say with a smile.

‘You’re a very special person,’ he says, the edges of his mouth curling upwards. ‘I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you in my life.’

His words catch on my conscience, making me feel uncomfortable. He makes it sound as if we’re more than we are; more than we should be. I shift in my chair, sitting up straighter in a futile attempt to make me feel more professional. Though it only serves to shine a light on the line that I’ve crossed.

Jacob looks at me, his eyes soft. ‘Why are you helping me like this?’ he asks.

‘I help a lot of people,’ I say, careful to strike a balance between making him feel special and not singling him out too much.

‘So do you put them all up in flats you happen to own?’ he says, smiling.

‘Not all of them,’ I say. ‘Just my star pupils.’ I instantly regret it.

‘It makes a nice change for me to be the teacher’s pet. Normally I’m being accused of having my own.’

‘How’s the new teaching job going?’ I ask, eager to get the conversation back on more of an even keel.