The Split

by Sharon Bolton

  ‘True enough.’ Joe clinks glasses, sips his lager, and pushes his chair an inch back from the table.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ he asks.

  She waves a hand as though to dismiss the subject. ‘Fine,’ she says. ‘Never better.’

  ‘Are you ready to order?’ A waiter has appeared at their side.

  ‘I quite fancy the rib eye,’ Felicity says. ‘Can you do a peppercorn sauce?’

  ‘How would you like that cooked?’ the waiter is scribbling notes in his book. Felicity catches Joe’s eye and her cheeks turn pink.

  ‘Kidding.’ She grabs the menu, opening it again, flicking quickly through the pages. Her face is glowing. ‘I’ll have the gnocchi with field mushrooms.’

  Joe orders a burger topped with crispy bacon and doesn’t miss the flicker of annoyance on Felicity’s face.

  ‘Not that it isn’t nice to see you,’ he says, as the waiter is walking away, ‘but we do have an appointment on Tuesday.’

  ‘So why are you dressed for a date?’ she rejoins.

  He doesn’t respond but is annoyed with himself for sending the wrong signals. Jeans and an old sweatshirt would have worked far better.

  ‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,’ she says. ‘I’m not coming back to therapy.’

  He waits a second before replying. ‘You’re not?’

  She shakes her head. ‘I know what you’re going to say. That was some serious shit I came out with last night, and I’m not denying that, but it’s less than a month before I leave Cambridge and even you can’t sort me out in that time.’

  Again, Joe says nothing. He waits for her to fill the silence and doesn’t have to wait long. She leans forward and lowers her voice, forcing him to move closer too.

  ‘If I go back into therapy, it’ll be like opening Pandora’s box,’ she tells him. ‘Last night I found out that I was probably abused as a child, and that my father could have been part of that. Fuck knows what else I have in my closet just waiting for me to come digging.’

  Still he doesn’t respond, but he registers the uncharacteristic profanity.

  ‘And I know how many metaphors I just mixed,’ she says.

  He allows himself a smile. ‘You seem different,’ he says.

  ‘Different to what?’

  ‘Different to how you normally are. There’s an edge to you I haven’t seen before.’

  She reaches out and touches him lightly on the arm. ‘I know how messed up I am,’ she says. ‘I think on some level I’ve known for a long time. After last night, I know there’s probably a good reason for that, and weirdly, that helps. Thank you. You really have done me good.’

  ‘Felicity, you have symptoms that I haven’t even begun to properly explore, let alone diagnose. Think about what you told me last night. You can’t sweep that under the carpet.’

  She smiles. ‘One day, maybe, I’ll want to get to the bottom of it, find out what really happened when I was, what age did I say?’

  ‘Three years and seven months,’ he reminds her.

  ‘And if I do, you’re the one I’ll come to. But for now, I can’t do it. I can’t cope with what I might find.’

  The waiter arrives with cutlery and they wait for him to lay the table. As he is walking away Joe says, ‘Felicity, has it occurred to you that all the problems you’ve been having recently, the fugue states, the memory losses at home, the voices, this sense you’re being watched and followed, not to mention completely forgetting about the fact that you’re married, they’re all caused by hidden and traumatic memories starting to re-emerge. These symptoms won’t go away. They’ll get worse.’

  She pushes her hair back away from her face. ‘You can’t know that for sure.’

  ‘We didn’t find out what happened to you last night. You said you saw your husband in town and that you ran away from him. I can’t begin to count the number of questions that throws up.’

  Her eyes drop.

  ‘You nearly got into serious trouble with the police last night. They’re still far from satisfied. They think you had blood on your dress. They’re going to want to check it.’

  She looks up then, and this time there is defiance in her eyes.

  ‘You could have been hurt last night,’ Joe says. ‘You could have hurt someone else.’

  Her eyes harden. In an instant, she has become a woman he would be wary of. ‘I’m going to South Georgia,’ she says. ‘There is no one there who can hurt me. There is no one I can hurt.’

  The waiter comes back with their food. He makes a big deal about offering them sauces, condiments, a twist of black pepper. At last they’re alone again.

  ‘You really think the new job is a good idea?’ he asks her.

  ‘I had a private medical examination and the results have been sent through to my employers.’ She forks up some pasta and makes him wait while she eats it. ‘My new GP has a copy and has seen no reason to question it. My notes haven’t been sent to her yet, but even if they do arrive in the next few days, it won’t be a problem. I’m no longer in therapy.’

  She carries on eating. Joe has yet to pick up his knife and fork.

  ‘I know you can cause me problems if you really put your mind to it,’ she says. ‘My question is, why would you?’

  * * *

  Confused and in need of a break, Joe allows her to change tack while they are eating, and the conversation veers away from therapy. Giving them both some breathing space, he tells her about his kids, about how Jake loves sport of all kinds and how diligent Ellie is at her lessons. He takes out his wallet and shows her photographs. He tells her what it was like growing up with a police officer mother and why he thinks his marriage went wrong.

  In her turn, she tells him about the vast, white emptiness that is Antarctica, where the colours of the sky and the ocean take on a brilliance that the human brain can neither name nor describe, and about the heartbreaking beauty of the stars at night.

  She is not the Felicity he has come to know and the unsettling edge is still there, floating like toxic weed beneath the surface, but she is fun and animated and there is a pleasure in her company. He wonders if perhaps this is the Felicity he would have known before her troubles began. As their coffee arrives, the streaks of gold on the horizon fade and the sky turns a deep turquoise. Joe catches a glimpse of a friendship that could have grown and become so much more, and he feels something that, were he to give way to it, could turn into a crippling sadness.

  After the bill is paid he excuses himself to go to the bathroom and when he returns she is looking out towards the river, as though lost in thought.

  ‘You ready, Felicity?’ he asks her.

  She doesn’t respond, although he is almost close enough to touch. He takes a step closer.

  ‘Felicity?’

  Still nothing. He reaches out and touches her shoulder. She jumps like a burned cat and he steps back.

  ‘Just me.’ He holds both hands up in mock surrender, but the look on her face when she turned has unsettled him. For a second there, she really did look like someone else.

  He walks her home because not to do so would feel rude and when she brushes her hand against his, twice, he does not move further from her. The scent of roses, stronger now that night has fallen, seems to follow them. It isn’t far to Midsummer Common and it isn’t particularly late when they arrive. The sky is still the indigo of a summer evening and they can hear shouts and laughter nearby. As they approach the row of cottages Joe has a sense of standing at a fork in the road.

  ‘I should get back,’ he says when she opens her front door.

  She turns and faces him. ‘I won’t see you again. Ten more minutes? I want to ask you something.’

  He knows that she has had all evening to ask him anything she wants, but he doesn’t argue. The brandy bottle and glasses are ready on her kitchen island. He says nothing as she pours, nothing as she kicks off her shoes and climbs onto the stool facing him.

  ‘What did you want to ask me?’r />
  She glances down to the place on his abdomen where his scar is. ‘Will you tell me what happened to you?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I think you’re damaged,’ she says. ‘And yet you cope so well. I want to know how you do it.’

  Since they’ve been inside her house, she has changed again, reverted back to the Felicity he feels more comfortable with, and this gives him enough reassurance. He lifts his glass and swirls the cognac around, brings it to his nose but still doesn’t drink. He catches her watching him warily and wonders if she is playing him, again.

  ‘There was a girl,’ he says at last. ‘She lived on the streets. I was never very sure how old she was, late teens at most. She looked young. She looked like someone who would always be the victim, someone easy to bully and pick on. She was tiny, and very thin. The sort of girl who wouldn’t stand up to a strong breeze.’

  He is drinking now. He takes a large sip, then another.

  ‘How did you come across her?’ Felicity asks.

  ‘I think I mentioned that I work with the homeless,’ he says. ‘It’s supposed to be therapy, but most of them either won’t or can’t commit to regular sessions. I’m just someone to talk to. Anyway, she approached me on the common one night and we talked. She told me about how her mother had remarried a man who was abusive. She’d left home, in fear of her life. To be honest, I don’t know to this day whether that was true or not.’

  Felicity lets the brandy moisten her lips and waits.

  ‘Her name was Ezzy Sheeran,’ he says. ‘That part is true. Mum tracked her family down later. Her mother said she’d always been a difficult child. Her stepfather seemed like a decent bloke. As I say, who knows?’

  Felicity does not take her eyes off him.

  ‘She became fixated on me.’ Joe is struggling to look at her now. ‘She started turning up at the house, ringing the doorbell, expecting to be let in. She waited for me to finish my pro bono sessions at the church hall and followed me home. When I told her it had to stop, she became angry. Accused me of dumping her for another woman. It was make-believe. I’d only recently separated from my wife and I wasn’t seeing anyone but she wouldn’t listen to reason.’

  Talking about Ezzy is always so hard. Sitting still suddenly feels impossible and he gets up. Once on his feet, he has no idea what to do so leans awkwardly against the worktop.

  ‘She filed complaints against me with the police, claiming I’d forced her into having sex with me, which was complete nonsense.’ He is no longer looking at Felicity. ‘The police took her seriously, although they were fair to me for Mum’s sake. Anyway, her stories didn’t add up. She’d name dates when I could prove I was somewhere else. She claimed she’d been inside my flat, but she couldn’t describe any of it.’

  ‘This couldn’t have helped you professionally,’ Felicity says.

  He shrugs. ‘It happens. The profession has protocols and I’d followed them. It wasn’t pleasant, either for me or for Mum, but I thought it would blow over.’

  ‘I’m guessing it didn’t.’

  Leaning against the counter feels ridiculous. Joe sits down again.

  ‘She started hanging around the family house. When I was married, we lived on that new development at Trumpington Meadows and Sarah and the kids are still there. At that point, it got serious. A woman on her own, two young kids in the house. And Ezzy lurking outside, doing stunts, trying to lure the kids out.’

  ‘Stunts?’

  ‘She was an exceptionally good roller-skater. Professional standard. I don’t think I ever saw her walk around the city, she just used to speed around on – what’s up?’

  A shudder has gripped Felicity. ‘Nothing,’ she says. ‘I must have left a window open. Go on.’

  ‘Sarah called me one evening in April, seriously worried. Ezzy was skating up and down the drive, screaming abuse about me. I called Mum and headed round there myself.’

  His glass is empty. She tops it up from the bottle.

  ‘We had a confrontation in the street,’ he says. ‘I told her she had to leave my family alone, she told me I was a cheating bastard who would get what was coming to me.’

  ‘Did your kids see this?’

  ‘No, thank God. Sarah kept them at the back of the house. So, the police car pulled into the estate, Ezzy realised I’d shopped her and she came at me. She could move like lightning.’

  Joe finds he can no longer sit down.

  ‘I honestly didn’t know what had hit me. I just remember lying on the road, hearing her wheels speeding away, and knowing I was in a whole heap of trouble.’

  ‘Were you badly hurt?’

  ‘I lost a lot of blood and went into shock. Luckily, the police were on hand and paramedics arrived very quickly. There was some damage to my small intestine that was fixed by surgery. Could have been worse.’

  ‘What happened to Ezzy?’

  ‘She vanished. A couple of weeks later, while I was still in hospital, some of her belongings were pulled out of the Cam. We assumed she’d drowned, whether accidentally or by taking her own life, we had no idea. Officially, she’s missing, presumed dead.’

  ‘But she might not be? Dead, I mean.’

  ‘No confirmed sightings in nearly four months. She’s either dead, or long gone.’

  Joe’s breathing has spiralled, as it always does when he thinks about Ezzy Sheeran. He feels the need for fresh air and is about to go to the back door when Felicity puts down her drink and gets down off her stool. He watches her take the three steps that will bring her close enough to touch. Slowly, as though approaching a nervous animal she reaches out and takes hold of his shirt.

  ‘What are you doing?’ His breathing is quickening again.

  The buttons slip apart easily. ‘Checking on your progress,’ she says.

  ‘Felicity.’ He takes a step back, but she is holding on to his shirt. He can’t easily get away. She opens the fabric and her eyes drop to his stomach. The scar she has revealed is ugly and obvious. Before he can stop her, she drops to her knees and presses her lips against it.

  He gasps aloud.

  She runs her lips along the ridge of the scar, tilting her head to reach its upper edge. He puts his hands on her shoulders to pull her back to her feet and finds there is no strength left in his arms.

  ‘This is a really bad idea,’ he says, and his voice has the undercurrent of a moan.

  She stands, so that they are almost face to face. ‘I am not your patient any more,’ she reminds him.

  He sees her lean in and knows she is about to kiss him. He doesn’t give her chance. His hands grasp hold of her hair and he sees the snarl of triumph on her face. As his mouth finds hers, the dumbest thought occurs to him, and then he loses the ability to think. They kiss for long, long seconds, until he thinks that perhaps he has stopped breathing.

  He breaks away and gasps for breath. She pulls his shirt from his shoulders. Her hair falls around his hands as he pulls her top over her head. He clasps her around the waist, they are staggering backwards towards the island. A glass falls to the floor and shatters. They ignore it.

  A loud hammering sounds on her front door. They freeze and look at each other in shock.

  ‘It’s him,’ she whimpers. ‘He’s here. He’s found me.’

  The banging sounds again. ‘Open up, police!’ calls a voice.

  Joe bends to pick up his shirt. He pulls it on and hands Felicity her top. When they are both dressed again, a matter of only seconds, he steps to the kitchen door and looks down the hallway to the glass panel in the front door.

  ‘It’s my mother,’ he says.

  56

  Joe

  ‘Are you out of your mind?’

  Joe closes the door of Delilah’s car feeling as though he has gone back in time. He is twelve again and about to get the mother of all bollockings.

  Delilah looks a mess. There are mascara smudges under her eyes and her skin is dry and grey. Her pink hair needs combing and he can see an inch
of dark roots. She is wearing loose, pull-on trousers and a stained T-shirt.

  ‘Seriously, have you lost your fucking mind?’ she snaps at him. ‘She is your patient.’

  ‘Not any more.’ Joe clips his seat belt and realises there are still two buttons of his shirt unfastened. He will not touch them in front of his mother. ‘Seeing as how you’re here, Mum, you might as well drive me home.’ He glances up to the upper windows of Felicity’s house. If she is watching him he can’t see her.

  His mother bangs both hands down on the steering wheel in temper. ‘What the hell were you thinking? After Ezzy Sheeran? After Bella Barnes? Joe, you could be struck off.’

  ‘Nothing happened.’ As he speaks, he realises something major has happened. With Ezzy and Bella he, technically, stayed on the right side of professional conduct. With Felicity, he has crossed a line.

  Delilah starts the engine and pulls away at speed. She drives quickly and recklessly through the emptying streets. No, he hasn’t crossed a line, Felicity pulled him over it. And he let her. Remembering the random thought that sprang into his head as they kissed – This isn’t Felicity – he realises how little he knows of her.

  ‘Have you been following me?’ he asks, when they turn into his street.

  ‘No. But we are monitoring her. We picked her up on CCTV an hour ago and you were recognised. The team let me know as a favour.’

  ‘And you thought you’d save me from myself?’

  His anger is fading. His mother has probably done him a huge service. Had she arrived ten minutes sooner, his professional integrity might still be intact.

  ‘She’s leaving town,’ he says.

  ‘Good.’

  Silence in the car.

  ‘Soon?’ Delilah says hopefully.

  He shrugs. He doesn’t know. Felicity has no plans to see him again. Her attempt at seduction had been entirely manipulative. Now, if he raises concerns about her mental health with her new GP, she will claim, with some truth, that the two of them have an intimate relationship. On top of the accusations he faced over the Ezzy Sheeran case, not to mention the suspicion that Bella Barnes, as well, got too close, it could end his career.