The Therapist(11)

‘But not the Tim who came to the house on Saturday.’ I turn to Maria. ‘Well, that explains it, it was another Tim.’

‘I didn’t think he’d have sneaked out without telling me.’

‘Sneaked out where?’ Tim asks.

‘To Alice and Leo’s, on Saturday.’

‘I didn’t.’

‘I know you didn’t. But there was someone called Tim, and Alice assumed it was you.’

I look at this Tim, registering the differences. He’s not quite as tall, not quite as slim and not quite as dark-haired as the man I saw. Or quite as good-looking. And he’s wearing a striped rugby shirt, which I can’t imagine the other Tim wearing.

‘Is there another Tim living in The Circle?’ I ask. ‘With a wife called Maria?’

‘Not that I know of,’ Maria says. ‘Unless someone new moved in over the summer. Wow, imagine having our name doubles living here!’

‘She might be known as Mary rather than Maria. Maybe there’s a Tim and Mary?’

Tim shakes his head. ‘Are you sure he introduced himself as Tim?’

‘Yes.’ I laugh to hide my uneasiness, because it’s just occurred to me that the man never actually said his name was Tim. I’d said ‘you must be Tim’ and had let him in without waiting for him to say whether he was or not. And what about him calling his wife Mary rather than Maria? Was that because he’d misunderstood what I’d said and had looked for something to cover the slip he’d made?

‘How old was he?’ Maria asks.

‘It’s difficult to say – early forties, maybe?’

I tell them as much as I can about the other Tim but they can’t come up with anyone who fits his description.

There’s a crash from inside the house. ‘Better get back to the boys,’ Tim says hastily.

‘It’ll be someone’s brother, or someone who just happened to walk in off the road and slip through the gate behind someone,’ Maria says. ‘Since Will was in that television series, there’ve been a couple of instances where fans have got in.’

‘He didn’t look like a fan.’

Realising I’m being boring, I decide to stop talking about the man who gate-crashed the party. But I can’t get him out of my mind so during my fifty-yard walk home, past numbers 8 and 7, I call Leo.

‘Did you speak to someone called Tim on Saturday evening?’ I say, after I’ve asked him about his day.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Could you try and remember whether you did or not? It’s important.’

There’s a pause. ‘I don’t remember a Tim. Why?’

I see Geoff coming across the square with two bags of heavy shopping and give him a wave. ‘Because a man called Tim came along and I thought it was Maria’s husband from—’

‘It couldn’t have been,’ Leo interrupts. ‘I saw him this morning as I was leaving and he apologised for not being able to come.’

‘I know, I was just talking to him.’ I stop at the bottom of our drive and dig in my pocket for my keys. ‘The thing is, there doesn’t seem to be another Tim living here.’ Tucking my phone under my chin to unlock the front door, I launch in to an explanation of the conversation I’d had with the stranger.

‘Wait a minute,’ Leo says when I get to the end. ‘He didn’t actually say his name was Tim? You said “you must be Tim” and that was it? He never actually said that he was?’

‘He didn’t say that he wasn’t,’ I say defensively, stepping into the hall and kicking off my trainers.

‘And the thing about his wife – you said Maria and he said Mary?’

‘Yes.’

‘What did he look like?’

‘Tall, dark hair, grey eyes, smartly dressed,’ I recite, padding to the kitchen in my bare feet, the wooden floor deliciously cool beneath my feet. ‘Does it ring any bells?’

‘None at all. Maybe you should ask around. He must have spoken to someone at the party. How long did he stay?’

I take a carton of juice from the fridge, pausing a moment to acknowledge the photo of my sister and parents. ‘I don’t know. I left him to get a drink while I closed the front door. I saw him in the kitchen but I didn’t see him after that. Are you sure you didn’t see him in the garden?’

‘Yes, I’m sure. I hope he didn’t go upstairs. There’s a lot of confidential stuff in my office.’

I want to lie but I can’t. ‘Not by himself, no.’

‘What do you mean?’

I reach into the cupboard for a glass and pour juice into it. ‘Just that I showed a few people around.’

‘What! Why?’

‘Because they were curious to see the work we’d had done.’

‘For God’s sake, Alice, I can’t believe that you showed a bunch of strangers around our house!’ He can’t hide his exasperation and I can picture him running a hand through his hair, almost as if he wants to tear it out in frustration at my na?vety. ‘How do you know that this man didn’t go snooping around once he was on his own?’

‘He didn’t,’ I protest.

‘You said you didn’t see him again. Maybe that’s because he was upstairs, having a good look through everything.’