The Therapist(27)

‘A reporter? You mean, a journalist?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did they come here?’

‘No, it was a phone call.’

‘A man or a woman?’

‘A woman.’

He rakes his hair, a sign that he’s riled. ‘Did she say which newspaper she was with?’

I turn to the coffee machine and start pressing buttons. ‘No.’

‘Didn’t you ask?’

‘No, I was in too much shock to care.’

‘Did you get her name?’

‘No.’

‘What did she say, exactly?’

‘She wanted to know what it was like to live in a house where someone had been murdered.’ I stop abruptly, wondering if he’s noticed that I used almost the same phrase as he did when he told me about the woman who came to Harlestone – She wanted to know what it was like to live in the village. Which means we’re both lying.

‘Did she say anything else?’

‘No.’ I look at him curiously. ‘Why?’

‘No reason.’

He leaves and I sit down at the table. Something isn’t adding up. Leo seems paranoid about my fictitious reporter. And his behaviour yesterday when I first confronted him had been over the top. He’d looked as if he’d been about to pass out. But his reason for not telling me – that he wanted this house because it provided him with security – doesn’t stand up.

I go to my study, closing the door behind me. Since last night, it has become not just my workplace, but my haven. The bed is now a sofa again, the quilt folded neatly into the bottom of the cupboard, because I can’t work in a mess. I sit down at my desk. I need to phone Ginny, and a message has come in from Eve, checking that I’m alright. I text Eve back and tell her I’m fine, and that I’ll see her after the weekend. If you need me before then, just let me know xx she replies and I feel lucky to have made a friend so close to home. Home. Again, the word resonates in my brain. Can it ever be my home now?

I call Ginny.

‘How are you?’ she asks.

‘Not good.’

‘Did you speak to Leo?’

‘Yes, he said he didn’t tell me because he really wanted the house and he knew I wouldn’t want to live here once I knew about the murder. He was right about that.’ I pause. ‘It’s the reason he gave for wanting the house that doesn’t ring true. He told me it was because it’s in a gated residence and nobody can get in unless they are let in by a resident. He said he’d been harassed by some of his clients.’

‘Do you mean he’s received threats of some sort?’ Ginny asks.

‘I don’t know. He’s never mentioned being harassed to me. I know there were some phone calls that he didn’t answer, or where he hung up straightaway. And once he got annoyed with a woman who tried to speak to him outside the cottage in Harlestone. He said she wasn’t a client, but he was more annoyed about it than he should have been.’

‘How have you left it with him?’

‘Well, I slept on the sofa bed in the study and I’ll be sleeping there again tonight.’

‘I’m really sorry, Alice.’

‘Thank you, but it’s fine. Or it will be.’

I hang up, wondering if it will ever be fine between me and Leo. I know I’ll never be able to sleep in the bedroom again, not now that I know what happened there. That in itself isn’t a problem as we can move into the guest bedroom, and Leo can put his gym equipment in our bedroom instead of in the garage, where he usually works out. But for the moment, I can’t think about sharing a bed with him. And why is Thomas Grainger investigating the murder, anyway? He said he was working on behalf of his client, and then something about their brother being accused of a murder he didn’t commit. His client must be Oliver’s brother or sister, which makes me slightly dismissive about his miscarriage of justice claim. It’s normal for close family members not to believe their loved ones are capable of murder. It doesn’t mean they didn’t do it.

I search on my phone for the screenshot I took of Nina’s photo. Her long blond hair is gathered into a messy bun and thin gold hoops hang from her ears. She looks happy and carefree and I’m hit by a familiar wave of sadness.

‘Who killed you, Nina?’ I murmur. ‘Was it Oliver?’

She stares back at me, a smile at the corner of her mouth. That’s for you to find out, she seems to be saying.

I study her photograph, looking for a trace of my sister. There isn’t; my Nina was darker than this Nina, darker than me. My sister who wanted me to be called Nina like her. She was three when I was born and very insistent, so my parents told her she could choose my name. She chose it from her favourite book, Alice in Wonderland.

The rest of the weekend passes with me and Leo avoiding each other, moving to different areas of the kitchen if we happen to be there at the same time and being extra polite, like two almost-strangers. When he tells me that he’s off to play tennis with Paul, I have to hide my surprise. In his place, I’d be too embarrassed to show my face. But then I realise that apart from Eve and Will, no-one from The Circle knows that he didn’t tell me about the murder.

I use the time to catch up on the work I didn’t do on Thursday and Friday, and by the time Sunday evening comes around, I’ve finished the first read-through of the book.