The Therapist(16)

‘Or their will to live,’ I say quietly. I catch them exchanging uneasy glances and decide to get it out there. ‘It’s just that I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. My parents and sister were killed in a car accident when I was nineteen. I kind of lost the will to live for a while afterwards.’

‘Oh Alice, that’s awful,’ Eve says, reaching for my hand. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘My sister was only twenty-two. She’d been on holiday in Greece with her boyfriend, and my parents had gone to fetch her at the airport.’

‘I can’t imagine what it must have been like.’ Maria’s eyes are full of sympathy. ‘How did you cope?’

‘I had my grandparents to think about. I had to be strong for them, and they had to be strong for me. We pulled each other through.’

As I refill their mugs, I’m secretly glad Tamsin didn’t join us. It’s why, when Maria mentioned the yoga class, I didn’t say anything to make her think I was fishing for an invitation to join them, even though I’d like to. I don’t want to get Tamsin’s back up even more. Anyway, didn’t Leo warn me not to rush headlong into friendships?

‘Sorry, Alice, but I have to go,’ Maria says, bringing me back to the present. ‘Yoga is at two o’clock and I need to run home and grab my leggings. Eve, I’ll meet you outside.’

‘It’s our Wednesday ritual,’ Eve explains, once Maria has left. ‘We have our yoga class and then I go with Tamsin and Maria to fetch their children from school. If the weather’s nice, we stop in the square so that the kids can have a play. Then we go back to someone’s for tea.’

‘It sounds lovely,’ I say wistfully.

Eve opens her mouth and I think for a moment that she’s going to ask me to join them. ‘Have you ever done yoga before?’ she asks instead.

‘Never.’ I give her a tentative smile. ‘Maybe I’ll join you when the new term starts in January.’

Eve leaves, and I watch from Leo’s study as she and Maria walk across the square to meet Tamsin. It was a lovely break and I’m happy to get back to reading my book. I’m so engrossed in the story that when there’s a ring on the doorbell, I jump in alarm. I close my book quickly, hoping it’s Eve, asking me to join them in the square. I glance at the time on my mobile; it can’t be Eve, it’s just before three so they won’t have finished their yoga session yet. Maybe it’s Lorna, or Edward.

I push my phone into my back pocket and open the door.

He has his head turned away from me, looking towards the square, but there’s no mistaking him. Instinct has me quickly slamming the door, but not so quickly that I miss his look of surprise as he turns to face me. I back away, my heart racing. Why has he come back?

The doorbell rings again. I leap forward and latch the chain into place.

‘Ms Dawson?’ His voice comes through the door.

‘If you don’t go away, I’ll call the police,’ I say tersely.

‘I really hope you won’t. Ms Dawson, my name is Thomas Grainger and I’m a private investigator looking into a miscarriage of justice. My client’s brother was accused of a murder he didn’t commit.’

‘I don’t care, I’m still going to call the police. You entered my house illegally last Saturday!’

‘Actually, you invited me in.’

‘Only because I presumed you were someone I’d invited!’

‘You asked me if I was Tom, which I am, except nobody really calls me that.’

‘I said Tim!’

‘I’m not sure you’d be able to prove that in a court of law.’ There’s a smile in his voice and I feel my guard lowering a little. ‘Could I ask you to open the door? I really do need to speak to you and I can’t have a conversation through a block of wood.’

Reluctantly, I open the door but keep the chain in place. He peers at me through the gap, bending his knees slightly so that I can see his face. Behind him, the road is empty.

‘Thank you.’ He takes a card from the inside pocket of his jacket and holds it out to me. ‘As I said, I’m a private investigator and I’m looking into the murder of Nina Maxwell.’

I don’t take the card, I can’t. Just hearing the name sends my mind spinning. It might have happened over a year ago, but I’ll never forget the murder, because my sister was called Nina.

It’s always the same. If I meet someone called Nina, I automatically want to be their friend. If I read something about someone called Nina, I’ll take their story to my heart. That’s how the death of my big sister, who I idolised, affects me. She lives on in the lives of other women called Nina.

It takes me a moment to let go of the memories that crowd my brain.

‘Nina Maxwell?’ I say. ‘I don’t understand. What has her murder got to do with me?’

A slight frown crosses his face. ‘Nothing, other than this is where it happened.’

I stare at him through the gap. ‘What – here, in The Circle?’

His frown deepens. ‘No, here in this house.’

I shake my head. ‘No. There must be some mistake. She didn’t live here, not in this house. We would have known if she had, the estate agent would have told us.’

‘I’m not sure—’