The Therapist

by B. A. Paris

  “Don’t worry,” I say, leaning into her. “I’ll come back and see you.”

  “But you won’t be next door,” she says mournfully.

  “I’m going to miss you all. You’ve been so welcoming.” I pick up my glass. “Come on, let’s drink to our continuing friendship.”

  Maria passes me a menu and we choose our meals. Eve asks me if I’m going to be able to get my house back in Harlestone and I tell her that I’ll be staying with Debbie until I can sort something out.

  “Is there any chance of you and Leo getting back together?” Tamsin asks.

  “No,” I say, reaching for my glass. “I don’t think so.”

  “Because he didn’t tell you about the murder?”

  “It’s not always black and white,” I tell her. “Just like the murder.”

  She groans. “You’re not going to start going on about that again, are you?”

  “I just want to know one thing,” I say quickly, “and then I won’t ask you anything else.”

  “What?” she asks warily.

  “You said Nina saw a therapist. Male or female?”

  “Male.”

  “Did she ever mention his name?”

  She arches an eyebrow. “That’s two questions. No, I did ask her for it, but as I told you, she didn’t give it to me.”

  “Do you know where his practice was? Was it local?”

  “It doesn’t matter where it was because he came to her,” Eve intervenes before Tamsin can tell me I’ve run out of questions. “That’s why she stopped coming to yoga with us. It clashed with her therapy sessions.”

  “Yes, but she only arranged to have her sessions on a Wednesday afternoon so that she would have an excuse not to see me,” Tamsin points out.

  I frown, remembering that Nina had started avoiding her about four months before she died.

  “So the therapy sessions were a new thing?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he came to see her at the house? Is that usual?”

  “I know it’s not the same, because I’m a speech therapist,” Maria says. “But I wouldn’t normally go to a client’s house unless they can’t get to me for some medical reason.”

  “I don’t suppose Tim would know the name of Nina’s therapist,” I say, turning to her. “I know he decided to specialize in psychotherapy largely because of Nina. Maybe she mentioned a name to him?”

  “I can certainly ask him. But why do you want to know? If you’re leaving, wouldn’t you rather see a therapist nearer to where you’ll be living?”

  “It’s not for me,” I say. And then I stop, because I don’t know what reason I can give for wanting to know the name of Nina’s therapist.

  But it’s too late. “Don’t tell me—you think her therapist murdered her,” Tamsin drawls, an amused look on her face.

  “No, but I don’t believe Oliver did. And neither do you,” I add, infuriated that she’s laughing at me.

  “I’ve never said that.”

  “Yes, you did! The day you invited me for coffee, I overheard you talking to Eve and you said that you had never believed that Oliver killed Nina.”

  Her green eyes flash with annoyance. “I guessed you were there, listening in the porch, but it’s good to have it confirmed that as well as everything else, you’re also an eavesdropper.” She glares at me across the table. “I’m glad you’re going. We’ll be able to get on with our lives now.”

  “Tam.” Maria puts a hand on her arm.

  “So you don’t mind that Nina’s killer hasn’t been caught?” I say angrily. “You know it wasn’t Oliver but you prefer to sit there and do nothing, say nothing?”

  Tamsin flushes. “Well, you’ve certainly done plenty. We were all happy before you came along and decided to stick your nose into something that had absolutely nothing to do with you. You didn’t even know Nina, or Oliver, so why the hell did you get involved?” She looks appraisingly at me. “Shall I tell you what we all think?”

  “No, Tam,” Eve pleads. But Tamsin is too far gone to listen.

  “You’re a fantasist, Alice. You invent a whole load of crap and then you start to believe it. We knew it the moment you pretended that a man had turned up at your drinks evening, a man that nobody saw except you, a man that nobody spoke to except you. That’s why we didn’t care whether or not you found out who he was. We knew he was just something you made up to make you appear more interesting than you actually are.” She gives a snort of disgust. “You even admitted to Will that that’s what you do.”

  “I didn’t make him up!” I say furiously.

  She looks at me pityingly. “We know, Alice. We know that at one time or another you’ve suspected us or our husbands of killing Nina, we can see right through your invitations to lunch and dinner, right through the questions you ask, right through the lies you tell. You’re dangerous. You need to get a life, before you destroy everyone else’s.”

  I wait for Eve or Maria to come to my rescue. But Eve, who would normally do her best to smooth things over, doesn’t say anything.

  The silence becomes unbearable. Tamsin pushes her chair back. “I’ve just remembered I need to be somewhere,” she says, her voice tight.

  I push my chair back too. “No, you can stay, I’m going.” I grab my bag from under the table. “If you must know, the reason I got involved was for Oliver’s sister. I was doing it for her. But as nobody else seems to care—not even you, Nina’s best friends—well, why should I?” I start to move away and then stop. “And by the way, I didn’t make the man up, the one who came to the party. Lorna admitted to letting him in, remember?”

  * * *

  I manage to hold on to my tears until I get to the street outside. Then I dissolve. I walk quickly to Finsbury Park, my head down, my scarf pulled up around my ears, and crumple onto the first bench I find. Is that what I am, a fantasist? When I look at all the things I’ve allowed myself to believe over the last few weeks, I’m ashamed. Tamsin’s right, at one time or another I’ve suspected all of them of being involved in Nina’s murder.

  My cheeks burn when I think of them laughing at me behind my back. What Tamsin said about me getting a life—it hurt more than anything because she was right about that too. I haven’t really had a life since my parents and sister died. It’s why I launched myself so fervently into helping Thomas and Helen. I needed something in my life, something to make me feel alive, make me feel that I was doing some good because most of the time, I just exist. But I’ve taken it too far. When I think of Leo and Thomas, both of whom are trying, at this very moment, to find out if Ben had something to do with Nina’s murder, I’m scared. I need to tell them to stop.

  I get a grip by thinking about Nina—my sister, not Nina Maxwell. I can almost hear her telling me to stop feeling sorry for myself, to accept that I had a kind of brain-storm, and move on. She’s right, I need to move on. By the time I get home, it will be almost three o’clock. I’ll just have time to throw the rest of my stuff into a case before Thomas arrives. In a couple of hours, I’ll be on my way to Harlestone, and Nina Maxwell and my time in The Circle will just be a memory.

  FORTY-TWO

  I start walking back to the house, part of me wanting to blame Leo for what happened at the brasserie. If he had been upfront with me about the murder, I would never have come here. The only good thing to have come out of my time in The Circle is Thomas—if our friendship manages to survive when there isn’t the investigation to bind us together. It worries me that it might not.

  My phone rings. I take it from my bag, hoping it will be Thomas. It is. I stop walking and move to the side.

  “Alice. Am I disturbing your lunch?”

  “No, I’m on my way back to the house.” I press a finger to my other ear, shutting out the noise so that I can hear him better.

  “Good. Would you believe that one of your neighbors was in Paris at the time of Marion Cartaux’s murder?”

  My heart plummets. “I’m not sure I want to know who.”
r />   “Don’t worry too much, because her murderer is behind bars, awaiting trial. He gave himself up a few months ago.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”

  “Normally, I’d say yes. But not everyone thinks that he did it. He’s an SDF—a homeless person—who had been out of prison for a year at the time of the murder. Unfortunately, there are more cases than the judiciary would like of homeless people pleading guilty to just about anything so that they can get back inside. Being on the streets is far more frightening to them than being in prison.”

  “But he might have done it.”

  “We’ll only be sure after his trial, once his account of events has been verified.”

  “So, which of my neighbors was in Paris at the time of the murder?” I ask.

  “William Jackman.”

  I close my eyes. “I wish I hadn’t discovered that gap in the fence between our gardens.”

  “It doesn’t mean anything yet. I thought I’d let you know, that’s all. Did you manage to get the name of Nina’s therapist?”

  “No, but it was a man. And she didn’t go to him, he came to see her. That’s not very usual, is it?”

  “No, it isn’t. But without a name, there’s not much we can do.” There’s a pause. “Are you all right? You sound a bit down.”

  “Let’s just say lunch didn’t go according to plan. I’m glad I’m leaving today. It’s the right decision.”

  “Would you rather I didn’t come over? You must have a lot to do before you leave.”

  “I just need to throw some clothes into a case. I’ll come and get the rest of my stuff another time. So please do come over. It will be nice to see you.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “I am.”

  “I’ll see you in around an hour, then.”

  I’ve barely hung up when my phone starts ringing again. It’s Tamsin. I give an angry laugh and let it ring out. It’s taken Eve and Maria thirty minutes to persuade her to call and apologize, because I’m sure that’s why she called. The phone starts ringing again, another call from Tamsin. I let it ring out again and a minute or so later, I get a message telling me I have a voicemail. I’m in no mood to listen to it, nor to the next voicemail she leaves me.

  Five minutes later, it’s Eve who calls. I’m still sore that she didn’t say a word to defend me so I don’t answer her either. I know I’m being unfair; she and Tamsin have been friends for years, it’s normal she would take Tamsin’s side. But I don’t want to speak to her, especially now that I know Will was in Paris at the time of Marion Cartaux’s murder. Thomas said it probably doesn’t mean anything. But still.

  I reach The Circle and trudge across the square to the house. School has finished for the day, so there are quite a few people heading toward the play area. Although there’s a chill in the air, the sun is out and despite everything, I smile to see children clambering over the wooden climbing frames. The rest of the square is deserted. As I go through the gate opposite the house, I see Edward going into his garage and give him a wave. My eyes are drawn involuntarily to Maria and Tim’s house; once again, Tim is standing at the upstairs window. He gives me a wave and I wave back. It’s funny that he doesn’t try and hide the fact that he’s watching the square. Most people, even though they’re doing nothing wrong, would jump back guiltily, or at least turn away once they’ve waved. But he just carries on watching.

  I gather my things together and put my case and handbag by the front door, ready to leave once I’ve seen Thomas. There’s a ring on the doorbell. I look up sharply; it’s too early for it to be him. What if it’s Eve? If it is, I won’t let her in. I can’t, not with Thomas due to arrive.

  I latch the chain before opening the door.

  “Oh, hi,” I say, unsettled to see Tim standing there. He’s dressed in his usual jeans and rugby shirt and I find myself wondering if he’s ever played rugby.

  “Hi, Alice, I thought I’d come over and see you myself,” he says, giving me a smile. “Maria called to ask if I knew the name of Nina’s therapist, she said you were asking about him?”

  “Yes, but it doesn’t really matter.”

  He looks relieved. “Oh good, because Nina never mentioned it to me.” He pauses. “Maria said you’re leaving?”

  “That’s right, I am. Which is why I don’t have time to invite you in,” I add, in case he’s wondering why I’ve speaking to him through the chain on the door. “I need to finish packing.”

  He takes a step away from the door. “No worries, I need to get on myself. I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Alice. Hopefully we’ll see each other again.”

  “Thanks, Tim,” I say. “I’m sure we will.”

  * * *

  I close the door behind him and go to the kitchen. I lean against the worktop, thinking about Nina helping Tim with his psychotherapy studies. I had presumed she helped him study for exams, looked over his essays, that sort of thing. But what if it was more hands-on? What if the help she gave him was based on role-play, where she took the role of a client and Tim took the role of the therapist?

  I push away from the worktop, feeling as if I’m on the brink of something. Could it be Tim who Nina saw on Wednesday afternoons, when Maria went to yoga with Eve and Tamsin, then on to pick up the children up from school? It would explain why she wouldn’t give Tamsin the name of her therapist, if it was Tim she was seeing.

  I stop, disgusted with myself. Tamsin is right, I am a fantasist. But not a total one. I know, one hundred percent, that someone has been getting into the house.

  I go to the fridge to get some juice. As I close the door, my eyes, already looking toward my glass, swivel back to the fridge, caught by something that shouldn’t be there. They come to rest on a small, passport-sized photo stuck in the middle of all the other photos, and my heart doesn’t just miss a beat, it stops. For a moment, I can’t breathe. I know who it is in the photo, I just don’t want to believe it.

  I run into the hall and take my cell phone from my bag.

  “Thomas, are you on your way?” I try to keep my voice calm but I can’t.

  “Yes, I’m not far. Why, what’s happened?”

  “I just found a photo of Nina on the fridge.”

  “Nina?”

  “Yes, Nina Maxwell. I knew this morning that someone had been in the kitchen but I couldn’t see anything different, I could sense it but I couldn’t see it, I was too far away,” I say, my voice high with panic. “But just now, I was right up close to the fridge and there it was, stuck among the other photos. I don’t know what to do,” I add breathlessly.

  “Have you touched it?”

  “No.”

  “Then don’t. I was just speaking to my contact in the police about Ben Forbes. You’re not going to believe what we discovered. We were right, there is a conspiracy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It seems that not only did Ben Forbes sell the Maxwells their house, he’s also a friend of Tim Conway.”

  I freeze. “He just came here,” I say.

  “What? Tim Conway did? Why?”

  “Because I asked Maria to ask Tim if knew the name of Nina’s therapist and he came to tell me that he didn’t. But I’ve been thinking—what if he was the therapist that she was seeing? Her sessions were on Wednesday afternoons, Maria is at yoga on Wednesday afternoons. And Nina used to go to yoga, but she stopped four months before she died.” I can hardly catch my breath.

  Thomas’s voice is calm but urgent. “Alice, I’m going to hang up now. The police might arrive before me but I’ll be there as soon as I can. Until then, if anyone comes to the door, don’t let them in.”

  FORTY-THREE

  My mind spinning, I lock the front door from the inside, check that the chain is in place and hurry upstairs to Leo’s study to wait for Thomas. I’m trembling, shaken by the knowledge that Tim has been the one coming to the house at night. Everything points to it, including the way he was so at home in my kitchen the day he came to supper. H
e must have got a key to the French windows from Ben, then used the gap in the fence between ours and Edward’s to get into our garden—maybe there’s even a gap in the fence between his garden and Geoff’s to make things even easier.

  The questions keep coming. Was Ben also involved? If Tim murdered Nina, was Ben his accomplice? And how much does Maria know? Is she completely innocent, or is she part of a conspiracy that includes Eve and Tamsin, even Will and Connor? Unless Ben murdered Nina. Maybe he became obsessed with her when he sold her and Oliver the house, and they had an affair. Did he kill Nina and then tell Tim what he had done? Is that when the cover-up started? Or has everyone been in it together from the start, wanting Nina killed for reasons of their own and setting up Oliver to take the blame?

  The thought that I might have been manipulated left, right, and center by the people I thought were my friends is overwhelming. Lorna tried to warn me, she had told me not to trust anyone. But I had plowed ahead, unwilling to believe that people would lie to me. I should have listened to Edward too; instead of telling nobody I was leaving, I ended up telling everyone.

  The sense of impending danger is incredible. I keep my eyes on the gate at the other end of the square, knowing I’ll only be able to relax when I can actually see Thomas. I feel a momentary anxiety. Maria will have gone back to work but what if Eve and Tamsin see Thomas as they walk back across the square from the restaurant? I imagine the two of them nudging each other when they see the tall, good-looking stranger striding along. Will they watch to see where he goes? What if they see him come to the house?

  It doesn’t matter if they do, I realize. I don’t have to explain anything to them, I’m not even going to be here. I won’t have to admit that he’s the man who turned up at the party, I won’t have to tell them that I kept him a secret because I’ve been helping him investigate Nina’s murder—a murder which has now been solved. I think of Helen, how thrilled she’s going to be that at last, she’ll have justice for her brother.