2003

There was nothing about the weak sunlight of the September morning to suggest that it would be any different than any other day. I woke up, reluctantly rolled out of my comfortable bed to face the bathroom mirror.

Pushing a tangle of curls out of my eyes, I rubbed my face to wake myself up, even adding a little slap to get me to jolt out of my sleepy state. I brushed my teeth, and wandered back into the bedroom to pick some clothes at random from the wardrobe and throw them on. As I was pulling on one of my favourite T-shirts, I halted before I’d even pulled it over my bra. After a few moments’ pause, I took the thing off, threw it an angry look before taking out a long-sleeved stripy shirt and putting it on. I shivered slightly as the crisp fabric moved over the white scars on my wrist, though I felt nothing.

I left for work feeling slightly more thoughtful than usual, and as a result I missed the bus. I saw it pull away as I reached the end of the road where I caught the bus, and despite my arm-waving, it rounded the corner and went on its way, leaving me behind.

Sighing, I prepared myself for a long trek to work, and even worse, would have to explain why I was late. And not to my superiors, but to the patient who was sitting waiting for me to arrive.

I was a counsellor-in-training at the youth complex in the centre of town – it was a chaotic, intense place to work, as you never really knew who was going to walk in and ask to see someone. One day it might be a girl who was pregnant and didn’t know how to cope with it, another it might be the truant looking for a place to hide while school was in session, and more often than not it was your garden variety teenage angst, the kind I loved the best because all they really wanted was someone to actually hear them.

There were only two other counsellors at the Darlington Complex, Greg and Catherine, and I knew as soon as I had gone for my pre-placement interview there and met them that it was the place I wanted to be. Greg was a little awkward and faltering, but his heart was definitely in the right place, and Catherine was one of those shiny happy people that didn’t ever let anything drag her down – the right kind of person for the kind of job we did.

It was Catherine who greeted me as I burst through the doors, disgruntled and cursing every bus in the city.

"Oh Marie, you’re here, thank goodness!" Catherine beamed at me, belying the fact that I knew she had been fretting like a mother hen every minute I hadn’t been there.

"I know, I know, I missed the bus and I’m very sorry, could you please tell Lynsey to wait a few ticks while I sort myself out?" I removed my coat and hung it on a hook and ran a hand through my hair which had become even wilder due to over-exposure to the elements.

"No no, Lynsey never showed up!"

I rolled my eyes. Lynsey was a girl who defined herself as a rebel, and to ensure I kept thinking of her as such, she skipped sessions irregularly, to keep me on my toes. "Right… okay then. But… what did you need me for then?"

"There’s someone waiting."

"But…" I frowned, confused. "You’re free all morning, couldn’t you have seen them?"

"Well yes, that’s what I said! But he said no! He said he definitely wanted to talk to you." Catherine’s eyes were wide, looking at me as though I could shed some light on why some kid wanted me and not her.

"Oh… right. Okay. He asked for me?"

"Not exactly. He asked for the trainee. Which is you. But here’s the thing, Marie…" Catherine grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me in closer, so I could smell her flowery perfume. "This kid isn’t just anybody. I ask for his name, right, so I can put it in the book, and he says it’s Daniel Darlington. As in, Darlington of the Darlingtons of Manchester! He’s the grandson of the guy who built this place! Can you believe that?"

I shook my head, still hung up on why this boy would be so keen to see me if he knew that, given his connections, he could have the best of the best, which was without a doubt Catherine. Despite her exuberance, Catherine was thirty nine and had a good PhD in Psychology. She always claimed she found working amongst the less fortunate as more rewarding than charging people hundreds of pounds for an hour of her time.

"So… is he in my room?"

"Ready and waiting." Catherine nodded. "And look, Marie… you’ve got the makings of a great counsellor, seriously, but… you know… don’t fuck this up."

"Thank for that, Cath, seriously. Much appreciated."

I rolled my eyes and walked through the bead curtain that led to the counselling department of the complex. Despite my confident attitude, Catherine’s words had shaken me a little bit. If this Daniel Darlington was as important as Catherine had made him seem to be, than I really had better be careful. A series of what ifs started to run in my head at high speed; what if he decides I’m not good enough to be a counsellor and they have me leave here? What if he thinks the centre itself is no good and closes it down? What if…?

The thoughts cut off as soon as I touched the brass doorknob, turned it, and entered my small workspace. I had the smallest room of all the counsellor’s offices, and naturally had the ugliest furniture in it too; a desk that was so ugly it just had to be from Ikea, an uncomfortable chair that I sat in that looked remarkably like the ones they try to pass off as ‘comfortable’ in schools, and an extremely comfortable but entirely hideous armchair that my patients sat it. Sat in this beast of an armchair, was Daniel Darlington.

"Hello Daniel, I’m Marie. Sorry I’m a bit late." I smiled at him and walked over to my chair.

"Twenty two minutes."

I paused, only slightly, before lowering myself into my chair and inter-linking my fingers, looking at him with a kind of quiet observation that only a therapist can achieve. I couldn’t tell whether Daniel’s words were a reprimand, or a kind of misplaced helpful observation. Surveying him, I tried to deduce him on appearance. Technically speaking, no counsellor is supposed to make snap judgements of their patients, but it was a guilty game in my own head to try and work out their problems before they’d even opened their mouths, and I’d treat myself to a chinese if I was correct. And let’s just say I eat a lot of chinese food.

At first glance, Daniel appeared to be everything I’d expected, well-dressed, quietly spoken, and the way he sat told of a very strict upbringing. Exactly what anyone would expect of the grandson of a man who had so much money he could afford to build an entire non-profit centre for Manchester’s youth. But his brown hair was unruly, and fell over a pair of eyes that struck me as the most ‘off’ thing about him. They were blue, the bluest eyes I’d ever seen, and had a look of perpetual sadness about them that would’ve made even the steeliest heart ache to see.

I smiled, still not sure whether he had been rude to me or not. "Yes, sorry about that. I’m glad you waited, though." A part of me was dying to ask why he hadn’t wanted to see Catherine, but I kept it in.

"Well, Daniel, firstly I’d like to ask you if it’s okay if I record this session – see, as I’m training for my counselling qualification, I need to compile some case studies to back up…"

"No."

I broke off mid-sentence, totally thrown off. "No?"

"No."

"Er… right, okay, that’s totally fine."

In truth, I was shocked. I had been doing my placement here for seven months already, and not once had a patient refused to let me tape our conversations. Most of them just waved it off, eager to get on with the session, and some were just too afraid to say no, maybe because they thought I’d ask them why they didn’t want to be taped. Whatever the reasons, I had never had a patient outright telling me I couldn’t make a record of what went on between us, and in that moment, I knew that Daniel Darlington was not going to be like any of my other patients. The problem was, he knew it too.