‘You were trying to protect your brother,’ Heather says. ‘Even if that’s not how you remember it.’
‘What I remember is wanting it and hating it. Spending nights locked in the toilet and hours and hours just staring at myself in the mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door and wondering who this sad little ghost was. I remember lying in the bath until the water got cold and holding my head under and when I talked to myself it was like this echo inside my head.’ He looks at Heather, a note of anger creeping in for the first time.
‘I remember all sorts of things.’
Tony has lowered his eyes to write something, and when he looks back, Chris is weeping. There had been nothing audible to indicate its onset; no gasp, no explosive sob.
Tony wonders if crying silently is something Chris had learned to do a long time ago.
Chris mutters, ‘Soft cunt…’
Robin clears his throat. ‘Do you mind me asking how old you were?’
Tony watches Chris bring his hands up to press tears away. Without thinking he drags fingers down his damaged cheek and winces at the pain. ‘Sorry,’ Tony says. ‘I’m not sure Chris should have to field questions at this point.’
‘It’s fine,’ Chris says, sitting back. ‘Bring it on. I’ve started, so I’ll finish.’ He looks at Robin. ‘Eight or nine, thanks for asking. My brother was a year and a bit younger.’
‘How did he deal with it?’
Chris blinks slowly. ‘He’s different from me. So he went off the rails in a very… different way. I haven’t seen him in a long time.’
‘Do you think your mum knew?’ Caroline asks.
‘No.’ Quick and definite. ‘There’s no way, because she would not have let that happen. She would have taken a knife to him, opened the old fucker up like a bag of crisps.’
‘Don’t you feel like she should have known, though? Don’t you blame her a bit?’
Chris looks away and down. His hand moves to his face again and now he pushes at it, as though he wants the pain; the distraction or the high. He says, ‘She didn’t know.’
After ten, fifteen seconds, when it’s clear that Chris has nothing else he wants to say, Tony raises a finger. He looks at his watch and says, ‘We’ve still got another ten minutes. So, is there anything anyone has wanted to say and not had the chance?’ He looks around. Nobody seems keen to say another word. ‘OK… I think this has been a hugely productive session, really. Everyone’s made enormous progress tonight, and I know you all enjoy getting together in the pub afterwards, but on this occasion I would suggest that it might not be such a good idea.’
Caroline says, ‘Oh.’ She sounds disappointed.
‘Sometimes a post-mortem’s no bad thing,’ Tony says, ‘and it’s always nice to wind down a bit. But the nature of the hot-seat process can lead to a fair bit of… accusation, afterwards. People demanding explanations for things that were said and getting upset. I’d rather that didn’t happen without me being there.’
‘So, come to the pub,’ Caroline says.
Tony smiles and closes his notebook. ‘I don’t think so.’
As Robin and Diana reach for their jackets, Heather gets up, steps across and kneels in front of Chris, who is still looking at the floor. She says, ‘You did brilliant, Chris. Really, that was amazing —’
Chris looks up fast; teeth bared suddenly, eyes narrowed.
He tells Heather to fuck off.
Chris leaves quickly, without saying another word to anyone, Tony’s front door slamming behind him before any of the others have even got their coats on. As soon as they are all outside, Robin heads off in the opposite direction, en route to another of his ‘appointments’, leaving Caroline, Heather and Diana to walk slowly up the hill together, towards the main road.
It’s a clear night, but cold suddenly.
They walk in silence, wary of venturing into the territory Tony has warned them about. Nothing is said, but smiles and sly glances are exchanged as they each begin to explore that dangerous terrain inside their heads.
Why doesn’t he trust her?
That’s the last time I get asked over for lunch.
I am not a doormat…
As soon as they reach the Broadway, Diana gestures towards her car. She mutters something about her dogs being alone and the hugs before she leaves are perfunctory.
Caroline nods in the direction of the Red Lion. ‘Just you and me, then.’
‘What about what Tony said?’
‘I’m sure it’s fine if it’s just two of us.’ Caroline shoves her hands into the pockets of her duffel coat. ‘Come on… I could murder a drink. A proper one, I mean. If that’s OK.’
Heather says, ‘Up to you.’
‘I don’t think I can remember needing a drink this much.’
‘Just half an hour then,’ Heather says. ‘And we should probably avoid talking about the session.’
They start walking.
‘Last thing I want to talk about,’ Caroline says.
… THEN
Group Session: March 15th
Extremely positive results from hot-seat session designed to illuminate H&N process. Group successfully drawn into self-reflective loop with only limited resistance. A few outbursts of temper and accusation but ultimately revelatory. Real progress.
Robin confronted issues with control and trust (surprising that Heather is person he trusts least). Diana admitted need for reassurance and validation after prompting from Heather. Drinking allied to self-worth. Caroline revealed desire for stability – view of Robin as father figure. Diana as mother substitute? Heather unhappy at being made to adopt peacekeeping role. Adamant that nobody in group knows her well, but Chris probably closest. Predictable dread of self-disclosure from Chris, eventually persuaded to participate in shame exercise.
Chris’s story confirmed long-held suspicions about sexual abuse, but survivor guilt/blame even more deep-seated than I had thought. Extremely unhappy at end of session. Anger aimed primarily at Heather.
As per standard protocol after hot-seat, group advised not to participate in usual post-session PM.
Key Line: ‘It’s never nice watching people tear each other to pieces.’
Tony closes the file on his computer, pulls on his jacket and walks quietly out of his office. He stops on the first floor landing and listens to the house. Emma is out, so it is quiet above him, and the sound of the television from the floor below tells him that Nina is in the living room.
He walks slowly down the final flight of stairs, still listening as the sound gets louder. Some American drama everyone is talking about. He suspects that Nina is watching, not because she loves it, but because she doesn’t want to get found out next time it comes up in conversation at a party or an awards ceremony.
He stops at the bottom of the stairs and stands in the hallway.
He is still buzzing.
His job is relatively unusual, he supposes, but it’s the same as any other in many ways. When it’s a slog, he can’t wait to put a day – or evening – behind him; to wind down and lose himself in music or a book. There are other times though, when things go the way they did tonight, when it’s hard to switch off. It was an incredible session. Electric. Sometimes it’s like wading through treacle, when he’s no better than a referee or merely there as a facilitator; laying down the rules, setting the agenda. Sessions like tonight’s, though, help Tony remember what he loves about the job. The rush that comes when he really feels he is helping. He hopes that the members of the group are feeling the same buzz as he is. They’ve certainly earned it.
Moving silently towards the living room door, he thinks about the notes he’s just typed up. Sometimes it’s impossible to curb a simple human curiosity at the revelations. Often things are said out of spite or a desire for revenge and he’s learned that they should be taken with more than a pinch of salt. Tonight though, it felt as though there was a good deal of honesty in what people were saying to each other, certainly more than he might normal
ly expect from a group of recovering addicts. Truth itself had been a major theme of the session. Why Chris isn’t telling it, why Robin is so obsessed by it. He can’t help but wonder what Heather has done to make Robin so mistrustful of her, what exactly is happening between Caroline and Diana…
He leans close to the living room door. A lot of swearing, something being broken. Nina will have plenty to talk about.
He steps away and moves quickly through to the back of the house. He quietly opens the door out into the garden and, without turning any lights on, he walks around the side of the conservatory to where there is a designer fire pit and seating area; an enormous cream umbrella and a table and chair set that cost an arm and a leg.
He sits down and takes out his phone.
‘It’s Tony,’ he says, when the phone is answered. He knows that she has his number programmed in, will know who is calling, but still it might have felt a little odd to say, ‘It’s me’.
Heather says, ‘Hi.’ Surprised but clearly pleased.
‘Everything OK?’
‘Yeah. Hang on, let me go somewhere a bit quieter.’
Tony can hear music and chatter. He can hear Heather clearing her throat as she walks.
‘That’s better.’
‘Didn’t listen to me about the pub, then?’
‘Caroline wanted to come,’ Heather says. ‘I’m just keeping her company really. We’re not talking about the session, I promise.’
‘I didn’t mean to get heavy about it.’
‘It’s fine. You know what’s best for us.’
‘Anyway…’ Tony glances back into the house through the conservatory windows. If Nina were to come out she wouldn’t see him from the kitchen. They haven’t really said a lot to each other since the scene in Emma’s bedroom. Just the necessary domestic dialogue. Shopping lists, school runs, bills. ‘I just called to see if you knew how Chris was doing. If you’d spoken to him.’
‘Oh. Did you not try calling him?’
‘It went straight to his answerphone.’ Tony is surprised and a little excited at how easily the lie comes. He smiles, imagining how outraged Robin would be. ‘I thought you might have talked to him.’
‘I was going to call him when I get home,’ Heather says.
‘OK, not to worry.’
‘Shall I tell him you were trying to get hold of him?’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll try him again tomorrow.’
‘I could always call you later,’ Heather says. ‘If I get to talk to him.’
‘No, it’s fine.’ Tony glances towards the kitchen again. He says, ‘You were great tonight.’
There’s a pause. Distant music and laughter. ‘Was I?’
‘What you said to Diana about neediness. That was very perceptive. Very helpful.’
‘It just seemed obvious.’
‘Not to everyone. She really opened up after that.’
‘Yeah, it was good, wasn’t it?’
‘It was better than good,’ Tony says. ‘You should be really proud of yourself.’
In the pause that follows, Tony imagines her leaning against the wall in some corner of the pub, one hand in the pocket of her suede jacket. He can picture that smile on her face.
‘You know that a fair few ex-addicts go on to make good therapists, don’t you?’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. Well… me, for a start.’
Heather laughs. ‘Yeah, obviously.’
‘I’ve always thought the best therapists need to have gone through this stuff themselves. If they want to have real empathy.’
‘It makes sense.’
‘You might want to think about it.’
‘You serious?’
‘Why not? You’d just need to do the training and I’d be happy to help… if it was something you fancied having a crack at. Like I said, have a think about it.’
‘I will, yeah. Definitely.’
‘You’ve certainly got the right instincts and that’s all you need to begin with.’
‘I’ve got a great teacher,’ Heather says.
Tony presses the phone harder against his ear. Now he can imagine that smile broadening, the tip of her tongue just visible. He casts one more look back into the house.
He says, ‘Maybe we could meet up during the week and talk about it…’
When Heather gets back to the table, Caroline is already into her second bag of crisps. Heather sits down. She lays her phone on the table in front of her; nudges it once, twice, until it is perfectly straight.
Caroline wipes salt from her fingers and reaches for her glass. She says, ‘Bloody hell, somebody looks pleased with herself.’
… NOW
‘Not got your partner in crime with you today?’ De Silva asked.
Tanner followed him into the kitchen, having gratefully accepted his offer of coffee. She put her handbag down on the central island and watched De Silva pop an espresso capsule into the gleaming machine. ‘We don’t always travel in pairs,’ she said.
‘No?’
‘You’re thinking of Mormons.’
‘Isn’t it a safety thing?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Presumably you don’t think I’m particularly dangerous.’
Tanner watched De Silva move the small cups across, empty the used pods into a small brown recycling bucket, take a plate down and lay out a few biscuits. His movements were precise yet oddly graceful. He was wearing jeans and a plain black T-shirt, loafers without socks.
‘I’ve got mace in my bag,’ she said.
They took their coffee through into the conservatory and sat down on chairs every bit as comfortable as Tanner remembered. She glanced out of the window, but today there were no squirrels scampering around the water feature. Just grey skies, and trees waving slowly through a curtain of drizzle.
‘It was my daughter playing the piano,’ De Silva said.
‘Sorry?’
‘Last time you were here. You asked.’
‘Oh.’ Tanner remembered the man’s knowing smile, but was no wiser as to the reason for it. ‘Not here today, then?’
‘She’s at school.’
Tanner looked towards the ceiling and summoned a knowing smile of her own. ‘But the smell’s still there. I mean… I presume she’s the smoker.’
De Silva nodded.
‘Smelled it the first time,’ Tanner said. ‘You can’t miss it, to be honest.’
‘You bothered?’
Tanner shrugged and shook her head. It was not something she would be concerned about anyway, least of all when she was investigating a murder, but it hadn’t hurt to mention it. To put the therapist on the back foot. ‘So, I’ve talked to everyone in the group,’ she said. ‘Managed to track them all down.’
No thanks to you.
‘Right.’
‘I had to talk to some of them more than once, in fact. Let’s just say there were a few things they decided not to tell us, for one reason or another.’
De Silva said nothing.
Tanner took out her notebook and began to leaf through it. ‘I’m not sure how much you’re aware of what’s been going on between them. Outside your sessions.’
‘Only what they’ve chosen to tell me,’ De Silva said.
‘Did you know Robin was being blackmailed by someone in the group?’
De Silva looked genuinely shocked. ‘No, I didn’t.’ He took a few seconds longer to process the information. ‘It explains one or two things that have happened in our sessions, though. Do you know… who?’
‘Robin still isn’t sure,’ Tanner said. ‘He thought it was Chris at first, but then he thought it was Heather.’
‘Really?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I’d be… surprised,’ De Silva said.
‘You know she was gambling again. Before she was killed.’
De Silva looked more disappointed than anything, though Tanner could not tell if it was simply professional pride that was wounded. ‘That’s
a shame.’
‘And it’s fair to say that Chris has been a little… unstable.’
De Silva nodded. ‘I’d been concerned for a while, but it became very obvious at that last session.’ He saw the look on Tanner’s face and smiled. ‘I’m only confirming something you already know, so I’m not betraying client confidentiality.’
‘Yes… that last session.’ Tanner looked at De Silva. ‘Heather’s last session. Nobody has been willing to go into any details about that.’
‘They wouldn’t.’
‘And you still won’t.’
‘Well, not unless I’m genuinely convinced that it has a bearing on what happened. If so, as I’ve said, I have an ethical obligation to reveal the details, but not until then.’
‘I have reason to believe that it does,’ Tanner said.
‘Reason to believe is not enough, I’m afraid. Have you got evidence?’ De Silva nodded, Tanner’s silence enough to confirm his suspicions. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t reveal confidential information about five clients based on a hunch.’
‘One of them is dead,’ Tanner said. ‘The one that was murdered, remember? I’m not sure she’d care a great deal.’
‘Even if it was just one client. I know you think I’m being difficult.’
‘You’re being professional,’ Tanner said. ‘I get that.’
‘Good.’
‘Do you keep notes of the sessions?’
‘Of course.’
‘Could I see them?’
‘How is that any different?’
‘I thought perhaps you might feel less ethically… compromised.’ Tanner watched De Silva shake his head and stifle a smile that looked somewhat patronising as he reached for his coffee. She said, ‘It’s easy enough to apply for a court order and seize the notes. It wouldn’t take long.’
Die of Shame Page 27
