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Lifts There are three of theuing between the inside, like it’s the highlight of their miserable day The middle one wins The doors slide open and ears But I refuse to let my boy see it This part of me I never want to burden him with Never let your child see your fear Everyone knows that

Why the fuck does the therapist’s office have to be on the eighth floor? I can’t o won’t allow me to carry him So I’m stuck with the poxy lift, and I have been since Olivia insisted on us co inhim ‘You OK, Daddy?’ His navy eyes climb my body until they’re locked with mine They’re full of concern, and I i any worry from him

‘Fine and dandy, sweet boy’ I force ing words as we breach the threshold of the horror box

Focus on Harry Focus on Harry Concentrate on my sweet boy

‘Would you like to take the stairs?’

His question shocks me He’s never asked before ‘Why would I want to do that?’

His little shoulders shrug ‘I don’t know Maybe you don’t like lifts today’

I feel like a fool My five-year-old boy is trying to help od-awful fear finally couredover and sht, probably harder than is necessary I’m determined to beat this demon

The doors close and Harry’s little hand starts squeezing?’ I ask, however much I really don’t want to know

He s today, Daddy Mummy will like this one’

‘Mu to myself when he tuts his disapproval I dread to think how ht over the years, all beautiful, yet she still takes a tatty pair of jeans any day of the week

The lift dings and the doors open onto the reception area of the therapist’s office ‘Here we are!’ He darts out, pulling me with him My heartbeat returns to normal quickly and I soon find myself hauled across the room to the receptionist’s desk ‘Hello!’ Harry chirps

My boy could bring a smile to the face of the world’s most miserable person, I’m sure And the therapist’s receptionist is the world’s most miserable person She’s formidable, yet unleashes smiles to my boy like there’s no tomorrow ‘Harry Hart! What a pleasure!’