The Therapist(39)

‘But even if there was a miscarriage of justice,’ Debbie points out, ‘it’s not your place to go around asking questions, especially on the basis of a rumour.’

‘It’s not just a rumour. I had a visit from a private investigator. He’s looking into the case for Nina’s sister-in-law, who is convinced that her brother was innocent.’

‘Well, of course she is.’

‘But my neighbour told me that Nina admitted to her that she was having an affair with someone. So why couldn’t it have been him who killed her?’

‘Didn’t the police investigate him?’

‘I don’t know.’ I hesitate. ‘The private investigator asked me to keep my eyes and ears open, let him know if I heard anything.’

Debbie’s mouth drops open. ‘He asked you to spy on your neighbours?’

‘I refused,’ I say quickly.

‘I hope so. If you decide to stay in The Circle, and want to be accepted – to belong – you need to keep your head down. And really, you should be focusing on you and Leo, not on the murder of someone you didn’t even know,’ she adds gently.

We spend the rest of the weekend catching up with friends from the village, our plans for a long walk scuppered by a blast of rain and cold air that comes in from the east. It matches my mood as I drive back to London on Sunday afternoon but as I get nearer, I give myself a mental shake. Being in Harlestone, away from The Circle, has allowed me to get some perspective. If Leo and I are to get over what he did, I need to make the first move.

I park the car on the drive and go into the house. I thought Leo might have come to the door when he heard me arrive but he’s nowhere in sight. I find him in the kitchen, sitting at the table, a glass of wine in his hand, his phone open on one of his news apps.

I clear my throat. ‘Hello.’

He looks up. ‘Hi. Did you have a nice time with Debbie?’

‘Yes, thanks. What about you, did you have a good weekend?’

‘Yes, great.’ He raises his hands above his head, stretching, then links them behind his neck. ‘I played tennis with Paul and then I spent the rest of the time watching stuff on Netflix.’

He looks carefree and relaxed, and a wave of jealousy hits. I swallow it down.

‘Shall I make dinner?’ I ask.

‘I’ve been snacking all day so I’m not hungry. But go ahead if you want something.’

He goes back to the news, oblivious of my eyes on him, oblivious to the frustration building inside me. I’d been about to ask if I could have a glass of wine with him but suddenly, I’m furious. How dare he sit there as if he doesn’t have a care in the world when he screwed up so badly?

‘I’m going to my study,’ I say.

‘Don’t you want a glass of wine?’

‘No thanks.’

‘OK.’

He returns to his screen, seemingly unconcerned. I watch him dispassionately for a moment.

‘You can stay in Birmingham this week,’ I say.

His head jerks up. I’ve got his attention now. ‘Sorry?’

‘You don’t need to come home each evening, you can stay in Birmingham.’

‘But – where are you going?’

‘Nowhere.’

‘What, you’re going to stay here by yourself?’

‘Yes.’

He stares at me like he doesn’t know me. ‘What about Thursday? Do I come home?’

‘I’ll let you know on Wednesday.’

In my study, I go over everything I’ve learned about Nina’s murder. Lorna and Edward heard Nina and Oliver arguing; the next day, Nina admitted to Lorna that she had been having an affair. That evening, according to Lorna, Oliver had come home at 9 p.m. and had gone straight into the house. Twenty minutes later, Nina was dead. That evening, according to Oliver, he had arrived at the house at 9 p.m., had gone to sit in the square for a while and only then had gone into the house. And had found Nina dead. Which was it? Lorna was adamant about what she’d seen. So why had Oliver said he’d gone to sit in the square when he so obviously hadn’t? Had he panicked and said the first thing that had come into his head? Or had he planned it out beforehand, hoping that nobody would be able to say that he hadn’t been in the square, because nobody would be watching from their window at that time of night?





Twenty


Leo takes a while getting ready for work the next morning, giving me time to change my mind about staying on my own. His footsteps are heavier than usual as he moves around upstairs. He’s making his presence felt, showing me how empty the house is going to be without him.

He comes downstairs and drops his bag in the hall with an exaggerated thud. It’s irritating, this over-the-top reminder that he’s leaving for several days. It was how we were meant to be living until his Birmingham contract finished, him leaving on Monday mornings and not coming back until Thursday. Now he’s perceiving it as a punishment.

I stay in bed long after he’s left for work, overwhelmed by a lethargy I can’t shake. The uncertainty of our situation has hit me hard. I’d been so full of hope coming here; a little nervous as to how I was going to adapt to living in London, but looking forward to being with Leo on a more regular basis. Now our relationship seems to be falling apart. Even in the aftermath of my parents’ and sister’s deaths, I hadn’t felt this alone.