The Therapist(30)

Tamsin’s face softens. ‘She had lots of happy times here.’

‘Shall we chat over lunch?’ Eve says. ‘It’s just that we need to leave here by twenty to two for our yoga class.’

‘Yes, I know,’ I say. ‘I’ve made a salmon quiche and salad, and there’s strawberries for dessert. I hope that’s OK?’

Maria smiles. ‘Sounds perfect to me!’

It’s one of those beautiful mid-September days, with the sun warming the garden. A gentle breeze carries the heavenly scent of brightly coloured phlox to where we’re eating on the terrace, adding to the impression that we’re still in summer. There’s so much I want to ask them about Nina but I curb my impatience and ask instead about Maria’s children, and Tamsin’s two little daughters, Amber and Pearl.

‘I love their names,’ I tell her.

She smiles. ‘Thanks. You’ll have to join us on a Wednesday afternoon, then you can meet them in person.’

‘I’d like that,’ I say, pleased that the invite has come from her. ‘I’ve only ever seen them from afar.’

I wait until they sit back, their empty plates in front of them. ‘I know Nina was thirty-eight and Eve told me that she was a therapist, but that’s all I really know about her,’ I say.

Tamsin brushes a couple of crumbs off her immaculate white T-shirt. ‘She loved her job, she loved helping people. She had time for everyone, you could always go and see her if you had a problem. She helped me so much.’

‘And Oliver? What did he do?

‘He worked for a shipping company,’ Maria says. ‘I’m not sure what his actual job was but he travelled abroad quite a bit.’

‘And they were happy together?’

‘Yes, very.’

‘Except—’ I hesitate. ‘He killed her.’

Tamsin glares at me from across the table. ‘Who have you been talking to?’

‘No-one,’ I say hastily. ‘I only know what I read in news articles.’

‘Isn’t that enough?’

I flush, embarrassed at the sudden change in atmosphere, as if the temperature has suddenly dropped ten degrees.

‘I’m just trying to understand the sort of person she was,’ I say, trying to get things back to how they were. ‘Eve mentioned that she was quite spiritual and that she started your yoga group. Did she have any hobbies?’

It doesn’t work. ‘Why does it matter?’ Tamsin says coldly. ‘It’s hardly important now.’

I hate playing the sister card but I can’t think of any other way to get her on my side. I push back my chair. Eve turns worried eyes on me.

‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘I’m just going to get the strawberries. I’ll take the plates through at the same time.’

In the kitchen, I deal with the plates, take the strawberries from the fridge, and the photo of Nina from the door.

‘Did Eve tell you about my sister?’ I ask Tamsin, putting the strawberries down in front of her and going back to my seat.

She shifts awkwardly. ‘Yes, she did. I’m sorry.’

‘This is a photograph of her,’ I say, holding it out.

Maria reaches over and takes it. ‘She was beautiful.’

‘Can I see?’ Eve asks. She looks at the photo then looks up at me. ‘She has the same eyes as you.’

‘Yes,’ I say. I turn to Tamsin and Maria. ‘Eve probably told you that my sister was called Nina. I know it’s stupid, but since she died, I have this need to know about other Ninas.’

‘It’s not stupid,’ Maria says. She smiles. ‘I don’t know about your Nina but our Nina loved taking impromptu photographs. It could be quite annoying sometimes because she would get you at your worst moment, when you were eating, so your mouth was open, or full of food.’

‘Or when you’d had a bit too much to drink, so you’d have that glazed look in your eyes and a red nose,’ Eve says, miming the pose and making me laugh.

‘But she also took some beautiful photos.’ Maria looks across the table at Tamsin. ‘I have some lovely ones of the children, you do too, don’t you, Tamsin?’

‘Yes.’ To my dismay, Tamsin’s eyes fill with tears. ‘I still miss her.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say guiltily. ‘I shouldn’t be asking you about her. It’s just that I want – I don’t know – to make her real, to have a sense of who she was, I suppose. It might help me decide whether to stay or not.’

Tamsin fishes for a tissue and blows her nose. ‘I hope you do. It’s nice to have the house lived in again instead of it being like a mausoleum.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, because it had sounded genuine.

‘Eve said you found out about the murder from a reporter?’ Tamsin adds.

‘Yes, that’s right.’

She picks up her bag and rummages inside, drawing out a new packet of tissues. ‘What did she say, exactly?’

‘She asked me how it felt to be living at the scene of a brutal murder,’ I say, remembering what I told Eve, because I don’t want my lie to come back to bite me.

‘And that’s all she said?’

‘Yes. I told her that I didn’t know what she was talking about and she advised me to google the Nina Maxwell murder.’