Safe Distance

Thursday Evening (Upstairs Room, Community Centre)

They all sat round a rickety coffee table perched on plastic seats in varying degrees of discomfort like they were trying to prove something. At least, to themselves. On the counter squatted a kettle that never boiled properly, and biscuits nobody trusted enough to eat. Well, all except for Bert. But then Bert would munch his way through pretty much anything. Last week, the focus had been on him.

Tonight, it shifted.

Josh, the raven-haired, pony-tailed facilitator, scanned his notes and cleared his throat. He secretly enjoyed the authority the title gave him, though the sound grated on everyone else in the room. Especially Roger.

“Ahem. Right, folks. Let’s make a start.”

His eyes landed on the man huddled in the corner with the seat pulled back.

“I think we’ll start with you, Roger. How’s it going for you?”

“Er… I’m fine,” Roger said. He felt the familiar heat rising up from his neck.

Sarah unfolded her legs and gave that small, knowing laugh she always did. As an ex-nurse with a weakness for heavy 90s music and aromatherapy oils, she prided herself on missing very little. Not her first time in therapy, the secrets of the world appeared to rest on her shoulders.

The first time was when her marriage broke down.

Sarah transferred her position in the chair.

“You always say that, Roger.”

“Well, I am fine,” he protested, his mind flashing to his evening walks. “I mean, nothing obviously terrible has happened this week.”

Across the table, Zach leaned back and thrust out his pelvis. A reflex meant entirely for Ronnie’s benefit, he needn’t have bothered.

“Yeah, right,” Zach snorted. “We’ve been sitting here like zombies for weeks now. Waiting. What sort of answer is that?”

“It’s an answer.”

“More like avoidance dressed up as language.”

“Sounds more like a fancy salad,” Roger muttered under his breath.

This invited a titter from Bert, whose hearing was remarkably sharp, unlike the rest of him.

Ronnie regarded Roger benevolently over her floppy blonde fringe while her fingers formed an elegant steeple. Adept at playing the gentle therapist, any hint of frustration was hidden behind a mask of calm.

“Roger, we’re just trying to understand where you are emotionally.”

“I told you where I am.”

“You didn’t,” Sarah said, her posture stiffening. “At least, you didn’t say anything meaningful.”

Zach leaned forward, sensing weakness. “You do a lot of walking, don’t you? It’s not gone unnoticed.”

Roger’s stomach tightened. Beneath a top that suddenly felt like a hair shirt, his heart began to race. It was only the once, his brain screamed in denial. He wasn’t like that.

“What do you mean?” he asked carefully.

“I mean, you do a lot of walking. Along the riverbank.”

Roger squirmed.

“I like walking there. It’s picturesque. What’s your point?”

“Dawn used to go there too, didn’t she? And Lily. Bit of a coincidence, that.”

Roger tucked his fists beneath his legs, attempting to hide the telltale tremor in his hands. “I like the area.”

“Of course you do,” Zach said, a chilling drop of malice in his tone. “And so did they. That’s the point.”

Josh stepped in, sensing the air in the room turning sour. “No dramas today, folks. Let’s keep this grounded—”

But the control had already slipped. The room had become a pressure chamber of unspoken truths. Roger kept his arms uncrossed, knowing if he did otherwise it would be interpreted as a defensive gesture, even though nobody ever called Josh out when he did it.

That was different, of course.

“I don’t quite know what you’re implying,” Roger said tightly.

Zach tilted his head, his eyes tracking Roger's discomfort with a hyper-focused intensity. “Really? Hmm. I think you do.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sarah folded her own arms, her sympathy evaporating. “You say that a lot as well.”

A silence settled like the dust in the room. Roger searched Sarah’s face realising his supposed ally had now turned.

Then Ronnie’s voice came in, deceptively soft, probing the wound: “Do you think you might be drawn to people who are… not fully available, Roger?”

“No.” The answer came out way too fast.

Zach smiled menacingly. “That was a determined denial.”

“I’m really not doing anything wrong,” Roger said, ashamed of his burning face.

“No one said wrong,” Sarah replied. “Just… familiar.”

The word hung in the air. Familiar. To Roger, it felt like a condemnation. Whatever happened, he always ended up feeling alone and rejected.

Josh cleared his throat again, steering the interrogation. “Roger, I remember you mentioning Lily in previous sessions. I notice you don’t bring her up anymore.”

“She moved.”

“And stopped coming to the sessions,” Zach added, his voice dropping an octave. “But that didn’t stop you talking about her.”

“I didn’t talk about her like that.”

“Like what?” Ronnie asked. Her face was a mask of innocence, but the vice was tightening.

“Like she was something I’d lost.”

Zach leaned over the rickety table, discarding the therapeutic script. “Let’s stop dancing around it,” he said, at last. “You don’t go for women who are available to you.”

“I don’t really ‘go for’ anyone.”

“That’s the point,” Zach said. “You don’t go for people. You circle them. Hang round the edges.”

“That’s rubbish.”

“Is it?” Zach’s voice dropped. “Ive watched you for months. You treat rejection like it’s a hobby.”

The room went still. Josh shifted. “Zach—”

“No,” Zach cut in, his eyes locked onto his prey. “We’ve all been too careful with him.”

Josh hesitated, then yielded. “Okay. We’ll roll with this for a while. See where it… lands.”

Zach turned a triumphant gaze back to Roger. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Roger offered no answer, his silence filling the room like a confession.

Ronnie took a softer approach, though her eyes remained sharp behind her fringe. “Roger, we’ve been through this before. Sometimes people repeat emotional patterns without realising it.”

“I don’t think I have a pattern.”

Sarah exhaled. “Everyone does. You just can’t see it. You call it something else.”

“What?”

“Timing. Coincidence. Friendship.”

Zach laughed, a dry, humourless laugh. “Friendship,” he sneered. “That’s a good one. You keep telling yourself you just want friendship with women until you almost believe it. Don’t worry, man… I’ve been there too. I know what it’s like wanting someone who keeps you out of reach. Toys with your feelings. I’m not being mean to you. I’m just trying to help.”

The word help sat heavily with Roger.

He thought of Lily. She had tried to help him once, back when he was just getting to know her, and then…

And then the door opened.

It wasn't dramatic. It was just a normal door swinging on heavy hinges. But there was an instant shift in the room's pressure.

Lily stood on the threshold. A collective intake of breath rippled around the table. Her hair was slightly windblown, her coat half-unbuttoned, like she’d stepped into this room by mistake.

She paused, her eyes sweeping over the scrunched-up faces on the plastic chairs. Then she saw Roger, and smiled.

“Hi, Rog,” she said.

His brain stopped completely.

Sarah’s eyes darted between them, clinical interest sharpening. Zach sat forward, his gaze hyper-focused, tracking the vulnerability in the room.

Josh stood up in striped socks and sandals, trying to reclaim his role.

“Nice to see you again, Lily. Can we help you?”

Lily hesitated, a flicker of unease crossing her features. “I was just… I actually thought the group finished later tonight?” She paused, her eyes drifting back to Roger. “I texted you,” she said.

Roger stared at her, paralysed.

The slap of Zach’s knees broke the silence.

“So you’re Lily.” He had joined the group just as she had left.

She studied the stranger. “That’s me. Hello.”

“Right,” Zach nodded slowly. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet.

Sarah tilted her head. “We were just talking about you, Lily.”

Lily glanced at Roger, her expression clouding. “Oh?”

Roger opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Ronnie stepped in smoothly, her voice a soothing balm. “We were discussing relationships and patterns.”

Lily’s smile faded a fraction. “Oh.

“Patterns,” Zach jumped in, his smile turning distinctly predatory. “As in… emotional availability.”

Lily regarded him, her instincts finally flashing a warning. “Not sure I like the sound of all that.”

Sarah shrugged, entirely detached. “Nothing personal.”

“Everything here is personal,” Zach countered.

Lily’s eyes moved back to her old friend. “Roger?” she asked quietly. The name was a lifeline, a plea for protection.

“Hi there,” Roger finally managed. It sounded pathetic, even to his own ears.

Zach let out a low laugh under his breath. “There it is.”

Lily looked between the men, the atmosphere thickening with unspoken threat. “Am I interrupting something?”

Josh cleared his throat. “We were just having a discussion.”

“About me?” she asked.

The silence around the table gave her the answer.

Lily exhaled, squaring her shoulders. “I’m all ears,” she said.

The tension shifted, darkened. Zach leaned over the table, his posture entirely aggressive now.

“So,” he said, addressing Lily but keeping his eyes locked on Roger. “Do you think he’s been entirely honest with you?”

The room sharpened to a knife point.

Lily frowned. “Excuse me?”

Zach nodded towards Roger. “Roger tells this group he likes his privacy. He tells us he likes taking picturesque walks. But he never says what he’s actually looking for. Or who.”

“Zach,” Ronnie warned, her voice tightening.

But Zach was intent on unravelling it now. “I’m just curious, Lily. When you moved across town… did you actually give Roger your new address? Or did he just happen to ‘bump into you’ by the riverbank too?”

The air left the room.

Roger’s hands went dead cold under his thighs. It was really only once, his thoughts screamed. I’m not like that.

Am I?

Lily studied Zach. Then back at Roger.

He didn't deny it fast enough. Guilt was written all over him.

That was all it took.

The confusion in Lily’s eyes didn't turn into anger. It turned to recognition. She stared at Roger, and in an instant, her mind replayed every accidental encounter, every time she had looked up and found him standing there. Her worst fear was coming true.

Again.

She took a slow, deliberate step backward, toward the safety of the corridor.

“Oh, no.” The words landed with the finality of a gavel knocked twice.

And in that precise moment, the skin stripped away from the room, and the true geometry of the table was revealed. Josh looked perturbed. It had never been about Dawn. Or Lily. Or therapeutic boundaries.

It was about distance, and the terrifying realisation of who had been measuring it.

Seeing Zach’s triumphant, knowing smile, something shifted in Roger. The riverbank. The timings. The crossings.

A shadow trailing at the end of the same path.