The Therapist

by B. A. Paris

  My cell phone beeps, a message from Leo.

  You didn’t tell me if I should come home tonight. My heart sinks. I take a moment, then text him back I’m sorry, I need more time. I wait anxiously for his reply, feeling guilty that I don’t want him here. It comes—It’s fine, I understand. I’m here if you need me xx. Tears fill my eyes. We were good together, me and Leo.

  I find myself thinking about Thomas. I’ve already worked out that he must be around forty-four years old and I’m still wondering about his relationship with Helen. I’ve noticed a tenderness in his eyes whenever he mentions her name and I can’t imagine what it must be like—whether she’s a friend or something more—to know that time is running out for her. Leo thinks it’s only because my sister was called Nina that I’ve taken Nina Maxwell’s murder to heart, but he’s wrong. If my husband or brother was wrongly accused of murder, I’d want the truth to come out. And from the relatively little time I’ve spent in The Circle, I’m convinced there’s a truth to be found.

  I call Thomas.

  “I heard something,” I say.

  “Oh?”

  He listens while I repeat what Leo told me about Nina helping out people in The Circle, including the husbands of her close friends.

  “Thank you for being so open with me,” he says when I get to the end.

  “The only reason I’m telling you is because something strange happened. When I was leaving Lorna’s house the other day, after I’d asked her about Nina, I could have sworn she whispered ‘Don’t trust anyone’ in my ear.”

  “She’s probably right. The more I look into Nina’s murder, the more secrets I think there are.”

  “Yes, but that’s not the point. She told me her husband wasn’t there, so I thought it was strange that she felt the need to whisper. Then, not long afterward, when I got home, I saw him coming out of the garage. So I think she might have lied. Although he could have been in the garden, because he had his gardening shoes on.”

  “How did Lorna seem when you spoke to her?”

  “Not frightened exactly, but definitely uneasy. Maybe she was worried that Edward—if he was there—might not be happy that she was talking to me. Unless there was someone else there, someone who didn’t like Lorna speaking to me.” I pause. “I’m sorry, I need to go.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  But I’ve already hung up, my heart plummeting at what I’ve just realized. Tamsin had turned up on my doorstep two minutes after I’d left Lorna’s that day and had warned me against asking her questions. I thought she’d seen me come out of the house and had guessed my motive for going there. But what if she’d been there all the time? She might have gone to see Lorna to warn her against speaking to me and I had chosen that very moment to call round. Had she been listening to our conversation from somewhere close by, is that why Lorna had been so nervous? It would explain how Tamsin knew what I’d been talking to Lorna about.

  I sigh, uncomfortable with the position I’ve put myself in. Having a foot in each camp—wanting to help Helen get to the truth behind her sister-in-law’s murder, and wanting to make friends here—is becoming increasingly difficult.

  * * *

  Eve rings at the door.

  “Come in,” I say, happy to see her. Then, over her shoulder, I see Tamsin walking quickly across the square, toward her house, and my bubble of happiness bursts. Maybe Eve’s visit isn’t as innocent as I thought.

  “How are you?” she asks, following me to the kitchen.

  “I’m fine. What about you?”

  She pulls out a chair and sits down. “All good. I was going to come and see you on Tuesday, toward the end of the morning, but I saw you leaving the house.”

  “Yes, I went out to lunch.”

  She nods. “With a friend?”

  I laugh. “Of course with a friend. Who else would I go to lunch with?”

  She shifts in her chair. “I don’t know—the reporter maybe?”

  I pull out the chair opposite her, playing for time. Did she see Thomas when he came by yesterday?

  “The reporter?” I ask.

  “Yes, the woman who told you about Nina’s murder.”

  “Oh.” There’s a hair on the table and I surreptitiously sweep it onto the floor, my brain screaming ignore! ignore! because the more I stress about it, the more hair I’ll lose, a wretched vicious circle. “No, I went to lunch with my friend Ginny.”

  “Has she been back in contact with you? The reporter?” She catches my frown. “Sorry,” she says, embarrassed. “Asking for a friend.”

  “If Tamsin isn’t careful, I might think she has something to hide,” I say mildly.

  “It’s normal that she’s worried, Alice. We’ve only just begun to put the murder behind us and we don’t want it being dragged up again.” When I don’t say anything, she sighs. “Look, after Nina was murdered and before Oliver was arrested,” she says, choosing her words carefully, “when we’d only just found out that Nina had been having an affair, I think all her friends had a moment when they wondered if their husband could have been that person. It might only have been a moment, but it was there. And then, after we’d looked at our own husbands, we began looking at our friends’ husbands and wondering if it could have been one of them. It was horrible, Alice. We were all at it, secretly trying to work out if someone from the Circle had been having an affair with Nina.”

  “Why would you think that?” I say, disingenuously.

  She gives a little shrug. “Nina was very popular. She loved helping people and was very generous with her time. God knows how many hours she spent with Will, helping him rehearse his lines. She’d done some acting in the past, amateur dramatics, that kind of thing, and she was so happy when she discovered that Will was an actor. I’m not a jealous person and I never minded him going to see her, I was just glad that she could help him because, to be honest, I found listening to him repeating his lines a bit tedious. But, I admit, when I heard she’d been having an affair, there was that tiny moment of ‘Oh God.’ And although we’ve never discussed it, I think Maria and Tamsin probably had the same thought about their husbands.”

  “Why?”

  “Because when Tim decided that he wanted to specialize further, Nina helped him look at various options, and it’s down to her that he chose psychotherapy. And Connor was always bringing his whiskies for Nina to try because she was about the only person in The Circle who really knew about whiskey. Her parents owned a distillery before they retired and she used to joke that she was practically brought up on the stuff. She and Connor bonded over their Scottish roots, I guess.” She leans forward and looks at me earnestly. “But what you have to understand is that nobody minded, not Oliver, nor any of us wives. We all loved Nina and we were glad that she had the time, with Oliver being away a lot, to help our men with their various projects. And it wasn’t just men; she ran a yoga class for expectant mothers one evening a week at her house, which she started when Tamsin was pregnant with Pearl. She also ran a book club once a month. People were always in and out of her house. Sometimes Will would be there and Connor would show up with one of his whiskies so she’d call me over and the four of us would sit and chat for a couple of hours.”

  “You never suspected that she might have been having an affair?” I say, glad she has openly told me what Leo already had.

  “Never. That’s why it was such a shock.”

  “I can’t imagine what it must have been like, everyone suspecting everyone else.”

  “It was terrible, especially as our first thought was that the man, whoever he was, was also her murderer. It sounds awful, but it was a relief when Oliver was charged. A terrible shock—but also a relief. We knew who had killed her, we could get on with our lives. We had nothing more to fear. If Nina had been having an affair, it didn’t matter who the man was as he was no longer a suspect in her murder. It wasn’t important to know his name, especially as Nina was dead. What was important was knowing that the person responsible for
her murder wasn’t going to come back and kill anyone else.”

  “You still believe that Oliver was responsible, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because it’s convenient to believe it.” I make it a statement but I say it gently. “What if Nina’s murderer is still out there somewhere?”

  Eve looks uncomfortable. “I don’t think he is.” She takes out her phone and checks the screen. “Sorry, Alice, I’ve got to run,” she says, standing up. “Hair appointment. See you tomorrow for coffee at Tamsin’s.”

  Her relief at being able to get away is tangible. “Yes, see you there.”

  I shut the door behind her, mulling over what she told me, more convinced than ever that Nina’s murder isn’t as straightforward as Eve would like me to believe. Somebody is hiding something.

  But who?

  TWENTY-FIVE

  I’m expecting Eve and I to walk to Tamsin’s house together the next morning. But when I glance out of the window I see her hurrying down her drive, as if she needs to be somewhere fast. I check my watch; it’s just ten o’clock and we’ve been invited for ten-thirty so she must be going for a run first. Except that she isn’t wearing her running gear.

  I hurry upstairs to Leo’s study and watch Eve as she crosses the square. When she’s nearly at the end, instead of carrying on toward the main gate, she veers to the left, heading straight for Tamsin’s house. Realizing that I’ve got the time wrong—Tamsin must have said ten, not ten-thirty—I run downstairs, find my trainers and leave the house quickly, surprised that Eve hadn’t come to get me. But maybe she thought I was already there.

  By running, I arrive just a couple of minutes after her. Like some of the other residents, Tamsin and Connor have enclosed their porch and as I open the outer door, I can hear her and Eve talking in the hall, on the other side of the inner door. I’m just about to knock when I hear my name.

  “… Alice actually say that the reporter hadn’t contacted her again?” Tamsin is saying.

  “No, not exactly.”

  “Did you ask her where she went on Tuesday?”

  “She said she went to lunch with a friend.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  “Yes, why wouldn’t I?”

  “But she didn’t say that the reporter hadn’t been back in contact with her?”

  “No. She kind of evaded the question.”

  “I’m worried, Eve. What if she’s trying to find something out?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like who really killed Nina.”

  I freeze.

  “Oh Tam, you’re not going to start all that again, are you?” Eve sounds as if she’s stifling a sigh.

  “Oliver didn’t kill Nina, Eve.”

  My heart thuds.

  “You make it sound as if you have proof.” Now there’s an edge to Eve’s voice. “Do you, Tam, do you have proof that Oliver didn’t kill her? Because if you don’t, maybe you should just accept that he did.”

  “He used to go and sit in the square.”

  “Who?”

  “Oliver.” Tamsin sounds near to tears. “Nina mentioned it to me once, she said that sometimes, after a long day at work, he would park the car in the drive and go and sit in the square for a while, to clear his head. Sometimes, if she saw him go in, she would join him.”

  “But—did you tell the police?” Eve sounds scared and I take a step back, uneasy about what I might hear. I want to leave, I should leave, and come back later, once they’ve finished their private conversation. But I’m worried they’ll hear me walking back down the drive and I can’t really hear anything now that I’ve moved back, not clearly anyway. And then—I draw in my breath so sharply I think they must have heard me. My heart thuds again. Did Tamsin really say something about Connor having an affair with Nina? She can’t have—but she must have, because now Eve is telling her that she needs to speak to him. And then she’s saying something about Will, and I catch the words “see Nina” and “gap in the fence” and my mind reels even more.

  “I think everyone is capable of murder, if they feel threatened,” Tamsin says, her voice so shrill that I catch her words in their entirety.

  I don’t hear Eve’s reply but then I hear my name. Thinking I’m about to be discovered eavesdropping, my heart almost stops. But instead of the inner door being flung open, their footsteps disappear down the hall and I’m weak with relief until I realize that I still need to face them. I don’t how I’m going to do it, how I’m going to sit down and have coffee with them, not just because of what I overheard but because of the shame I feel at having listened in the first place. But I have to go through with it.

  I wait a moment, then wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans, take a deep breath and knock.

  Tamsin opens the door.

  “Sorry, I’m late,” I say, panting slightly to make it sound as if I’ve been running.

  She gives me a look, as if she knows I’ve been standing in the porch for the last five minutes.

  “You’re not late. I said ten-thirty.”

  “Oh, sorry.” My cheeks flush. “It’s just that I saw Eve leaving her house, and I thought I must have got the time wrong. Shall I come back later?”

  She opens the door wider. “Don’t be silly. Come in.”

  “Thanks.”

  I ease off my trainers slowly, playing for time, even more flustered now. I follow her down the hall to the kitchen. It’s beautifully minimalist, all neat lines and no clutter anywhere. Compared to my kitchen, with its stacks of cookbooks lying on the worktop and a fridge-door full of photographs, it’s pristine. And calming. I feel suddenly confident. I can do this.

  “Hi, Alice.” Eve gives me a wave. “Welcome to Tamsin’s supertidy house.”

  “It’s lovely,” I say, looking around. “And admirable, considering you have two young children.”

  “I need the house to be tidy. It’s the only thing I feel I can really control, the only thing where I’m in charge.” Tamsin gives a little laugh. “The only part of my life that is mine.”

  There it is again, that streak of vulnerability. She comes over with a pot of coffee and I give her a smile.

  “I think we all feel like that sometimes, that we’ve lost control. I know I did when I found out about the murder.”

  She stiffens, and I wish I could take the words back. I shouldn’t be bringing up the murder now, not after what I just heard.

  “In what way?” Eve asks, coming to the rescue.

  “Everything that I thought was true, wasn’t. The house wasn’t what I thought it was, Leo wasn’t who I thought he was. I could see the future that I’d built up in my head crumbling before my eyes. Things were happening that I had no control over. I know that sounds dramatic but it was horribly destabilizing.”

  “And now?” Tamsin asks. “Do you feel back in control?”

  “I’m getting there. I’ve managed to stay in the house on my own, although I can’t bring myself to sleep upstairs yet. And yesterday, I told Leo I needed space, so he’s staying in Birmingham this weekend.”

  Tamsin raises an eyebrow. “And he accepted it?”

  “Yes. For now.”

  She pushes a plate of homemade flapjacks toward me. “And wouldn’t you rather do that—leave?”

  “It’s not an option anymore,” I say, taking one.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Tam,” Eve warns gently.

  Tamsin shrugs. “Sorry. It’s not that I don’t want you to stay. I’m curious, that’s all. If you’re sleeping downstairs, you’re still not at ease in the house.”

  “You’re right, I’m not totally comfortable yet. But I’m working on it.”

  Eve exchanges a quick look with Tamsin. “If that reporter contacts you again, she’ll be surprised to know that you’re still living there,” she says.

  It’s clumsy, but Eve is only trying to find out what Tamsin wants to know. I decide to boot the elephant right out of the room.

  “Don’t worry, if I ever
hear from her again, the only thing I’ll tell her is to leave me alone,” I say.

  “So you haven’t heard from her since the day she told you about the murder?” Tamsin asks.

  “No.”

  Tension seeps out of her, relaxing her body, reminding me of a balloon deflating. She reaches for a flapjack, breaks a piece off, pops it into her mouth, then breaks another piece off, and puts that in her mouth, as if she’s famished. Tamsin starves her emotions, whereas I feed mine, something I hadn’t realized until now. When I think about it, there have been quite a few times when I’ve stood in front of the open fridge, feeding my anxiety, trying to appease it, make it go away.

  There’s a beautiful family photograph perched on top of a sleek gray dresser, of Tamsin, Connor and their two little daughters.

  “Amber is the image of you,” I say, studying it.

  “And Pearl is the image of Connor,” Eve says.

  “Yes, I can see that, she has his eyes.” I turn to Tamsin. “Your hair was much longer back then.”

  She reaches for another flapjack. “It used to be as long as yours but I cut it after Nina died.”

  “Gosh,” I say.

  “I’m not really sure why I did it, all I know it that it was stronger than me. Nina had had her hair cut off so maybe I instinctively thought that whoever killed her had a fetish about long hair and I was protecting myself, in case he came back and killed me. Or maybe it was just a subconscious desire to honor Nina in some way. Amber cried and cried when she saw it and I had to promise I’d grow it long again.” She gives a resigned smile. “I’ve still got quite a way to go.”

  “I used to have really long hair,” Eve says. “Ages ago, when I was about seventeen. I cut it because I wanted to look older. I’m too small to have long hair, it made me look like a doll. It was darker in those days too.”

  “Did you have it dyed white at the same time?”

  “Yes. I didn’t intend to but the hairdresser suggested it. Will went mad. He hated my short hair at first. Now he loves it, right down to the pink tips.”