“It’s because her father left, two years ago,” Jill Makepeace told the therapist, a sensible woman who wore tailored pantsuits and patent-leather ballet flats. “He just walked out on us, the unenlightened bastard.”
Jill Makepeace favoured creative New Age insults. Teenaged Melissa slouched beside her mother, carpet-kicking, puff-and-tucking, tooth-touching, scratching and sniffing.
“Thank you, Mrs. Makepeace. I’m going to ask your daughter some questions now.”
“Is it Tourette’s Syndrome? It is, isn’t it? What can you do for her? Is there something she can take, Valium or something?”
“I think if we stay calm, Mrs. Makepeace, and discuss the –”
“She’s getting bullied at school! Do you know what that’s like for her?”
In the end, mother and daughter had to have separate sessions, b
