‘How’s it been going?’ Alistair said, when I got into his room.

‘Not bad,’ I said. I handed over the sheet of paper I’d been diligently filling out all week.

On the left, a list of my checking compulsions in order of importance, followed by a list of my avoidance compulsions, similarly ordered. We were starting with the easy ones. I’d scored each one by how much I imagined not performing each ritual would distress me, out of 100. The worst one, not checking the flat door, scored 95. The lowest, not checking the bathroom window, scored 40. The avoidance compulsions – crowded places scored 65, the police scored 50 and the colour red, of course, after the incident the other day, was the worst – 80. Below that, my ordering compulsions – not shopping on particular days, eating on certain days, neither of which seemed to be as bad as they had been in the past, and scored just 20 each. The main ordering compulsion, having cups of tea at set times – I’d given that one a 75.

I’d been set the task of challenging myself with exposures to my lowest fears, as often as possible. Next to the original scores, I’d written in how much distress I’d felt after performing these exposures, once the anxiety had lessened.

Alistair was reading my list and nodding, occasionally raising his eyebrows. I felt like a pupil showing my homework to the head teacher. ‘Good, very good,’ he said.

‘It reminds me of that bit in Harry Potter, you know, where they confront the thing that most scares them by magicking it into something funny.’

‘Absolutely. Or, indeed, Hamlet.’

‘Hamlet?’

‘“For there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” Anyway, tell me about some of the things you tried.’

I took a deep breath in. ‘Well, I managed to watch some police programmes on the television. I started off with a drama, then I managed to watch one of those true life shows where they film from the back of a police car.’

‘And?’

‘It was okay. I wanted to turn it off, but I didn’t. I kept up the deep breathing while I was doing it, and in the end it was quite interesting. I kept telling myself it wasn’t real. I thought I was going to have nightmares after it, but I didn’t.’

‘That sounds excellent. You need to be careful about telling yourself it isn’t real, though, or telling yourself anything at all, for that matter. Internal dialogue can be just another safety behaviour. Try it again but see if you can just watch it, and enjoy it. Just accept it as a television programme like any other.’

‘Alright.’

‘And the checking?’

‘I left the bathroom alone. I skipped it out of the checking ritual when I got home.’

‘And how was that?’

‘Surprisingly easy.’

‘You’ve got the distress levels here as just five – excellent.’

It was true. I’d gone straight past the bathroom. I’d had to tell myself that there was no way on earth it could be unsafe – after all, the stupid window doesn’t even open – but even so, I did it. It wasn’t very nice at first. When I’d finished checking everything else it still felt odd, and for a long time afterwards I was sitting staring at the bathroom door, thinking all the time about the window being fine, not open, picturing it. Eventually it subsided and I didn’t feel so bad.

Seeing progress with it already was a real motivator. I wanted to go home and try some more, try some harder things.

Our hour together was nearly up when Alistair picked up my list again. ‘I think you should consider that there are a few elements missing from the list,’ he said.

‘Such as?’

‘Have a think. What’s your biggest fear? The real biggie.’

I thought, not knowing what he meant at first, and then suddenly knowing and not wanting to say. I felt the anxiety responses we’d just been discussing – my heart rate speeding up, my hands starting to tremble.

‘You’re quite safe here. Just try and say it.’

My voice came from a long way off. ‘Lee.’

‘That’s right. And you’re going to need to tackle that fear too, otherwise tackling all the others is going to be a bit pointless. I think the sooner we deal with that one, the better. All the other fears have their source in that main one, don’t they? So if we tackle how you feel about Lee, then the others should all come toppling down too. Does that make sense?’

‘Yes,’ I said. Of course it made sense. If I wasn’t scared of Lee any more, there was no point checking the door or doing any of the other stupid pointless tasks I filled my whole day with, was there? It all sounded so bloody obvious. ‘It’s not a meaningless fear, though, is it? I mean, I can just about comprehend that checking the cutlery drawer six times is silly, it’s a waste of time. But being afraid of Lee is about self-preservation.’

Alistair was nodding. ‘Yes, but you need to consider that we’re talking at cross purposes. There is Lee himself, and then there is the thought of Lee. Lee himself is presumably pottering about his daily life up in the north somewhere. The thought of Lee is disturbing your daily life. You think you see him when you’re out and about. You imagine that he’s going to try and break into your house. So it’s the thought of him, this picture you’ve created in your mind of this omnipresent figure, this source of all bad things, which we need to deal with.’

I was starting to get a headache.

‘So I’m not saying you need to go and find the real Lee and confront him and wait for your anxiety to subside. I think you need to tackle your perception of him, and do it in the same way that you’re tackling your compulsions, with exposure and response prevention.’

‘How? How can I do that?’

‘By just letting the thoughts come, and letting them go. Let yourself remember. Let the anxiety come, wait for it to subside, and then, before it’s gone completely, think about him again. When you’re at home, imagine him coming into the room. Picture him. Think about standing in front of him, facing him. And then wait for the anxiety to subside. These are just thoughts, Cathy. Let them come, and let them go.’

He made it sound so easy.

‘Will you give it a try?’

‘What – now?’

‘We can try now. But especially when you’re at home. At first you can get Stuart to sit with you, if you like. But don’t use him for reassurance. You need to be able to do this by yourself.’

‘I’m not sure I can do it.’

‘It’s up to you, of course. But think about the implications of being unafraid of Lee. It’s worth a try, isn’t it? And if we try now, it might be easier to give it a go than when you’re at home. At least here you won’t be tempted to go and start checking the door. What do you think?’

I didn’t answer.

‘Have a think about how much thinking about Lee would distress you first. Let’s use our scoring system. On a score of zero to one hundred, how bad do you think it would be?’

‘Just to think about him? Ninety.’

‘Alright. Let’s try – yes?’

I closed my eyes, not sure what I was doing and if it was all going to go horribly wrong. Lee wasn’t hard to imagine. He was in my thoughts all the time anyway, even if I did fight against it. This time, I let it come. I pictured my flat. I was sitting on the sofa, looking back towards the door. Waiting. I pictured the door opening, and Lee standing there.

I felt the fear coming like a wave, my heart racing, tears starting in my eyes.

‘That’s it,’ said Alistair. ‘Just let it come, don’t try to stop it.’

I pictured him walking towards me. Lee, as he always was, handsome, short blond hair, complexion that always seemed to be slightly tanned even in midwinter. Those eyes, bluer than the summer sky. And the size of him, too, the bulk, the muscles in his arms and across his chest. He came and stood next to the sofa and looked down at me. He even smiled.

I waited. Already I could feel the anxiety was less than when I’d started thinking. I’d expected this to end in a full-blown panic attack, but it wasn’t that bad at all.

‘Tell me about what you’re imagining,’ Alistair said.

‘Lee in my flat,’ I said. ‘Just standing there.’

‘Alright, good. Now I want you to picture him leaving again. Put him into a car and have him drive off.’

I did it. He turned, gave me a wink – where that came from I had no idea – and shut the door behind him. I went to the front windows, saw him getting into a car, a silver car, shutting the door and driving away. I pictured myself going back to the sofa and turning on the TV.

I opened my eyes.

‘How was that?’

‘I did it,’ I said.

‘And think about your anxiety. How bad is it now, thinking about him?’

‘About – about seventy. Eighty maybe.’

‘Good. See? You can do it. It’s a good start.’