The Therapist(88)

I can’t believe it’s happening again. Just when I think I’ve got them, they slip away. I don’t understand; I’ve always taken such care in choosing my victims, watching them for months, waiting for the right moment to insinuate myself into their lives. Because of the circumstances I found myself in, this one was always going to be more problematic. But I can’t believe I’ve got her wrong too.

‘May I ask why?’

‘Because you’re not a therapist,’ she says. ‘You may have studied psychology, but you’re not a psychotherapist.’

I sit back in my chair. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘You ask too many questions.’

‘If I’ve asked questions, it’s because I’m trying to get to the bottom of your dissatisfaction with life.’

‘That’s the other thing that gave you away – your insistence that I’m unhappy. At first, I thought it was part of our therapist-client training, but I’ve come to realise that you’re working to your own agenda. Which is dangerous.’ She leans forward, fixing me with her eyes. ‘It’s also intriguing. In fact, I think what we should be exploring is why you want me to think I’m unhappily married.’

‘I’ve observed you, Nina. For months.’

‘I think, if you look back on our sessions, I’ve never given the slightest indication that I have anything but a happy life.’

‘Before that,’ I say. ‘Before our sessions even started, I observed you.’

She frowns. ‘What do you mean, observed me? When?’

‘If you’re so happy with your life and your husband,’ I say, ignoring her question. ‘How do you explain the string of men that come to your house when he’s away?’

She bursts out laughing. ‘I hope you also observed the string of women who come to the house. Really, is that the best you can do?’ She gives me an amused smile. ‘Shall I let you into a secret? I’ve known from our third session that you’re not what you say you are and the only reason I continued to see you is because you make a great case-study. If I’m stopping these sessions now, it’s because I’ve come to the conclusion that you have a personality disorder that I don’t have the expertise, or the wish, to explore any further. At best, you’re manipulative, at worst – well, I’d say you have psychopathic tendencies. It’s why I never gave Tamsin your number, because you could have done her untold damage and she has enough problems as it is.’ She stands up. ‘I’d like you to leave. But you should know I’ll be reporting you to the relevant bodies so that you’ll be banned from working as a therapist, if you ever decide to set up a practice somewhere.’

Another one who thinks she can reject me, who wastes my time, who leads me on, fiddling with her hair during our sessions, teasing me.

I get to my feet and leave without a fuss.

‘Don’t come back,’ she says.

‘I won’t.’

But, of course, I do go back. I go back that evening and ask her for the book that I lent her, which I know she keeps in the bedroom, because I’ve seen it there during my night-time visits.

She goes to get it and I follow her silently up the stairs.

The book is Walden, the author Henry David Thoreau.

One way or another, Thoreau always works.





Forty-Four


Thomas smiles at me. I put my cup down, smile back at him.

‘I’m just going to get a jumper,’ I say, pushing my chair back. ‘It’s turned a bit chilly.’

‘Can I get it for you?’

‘No, it’s fine, there’s one in my case. It’s in the hall.’

I go out to the hall and open my case, tugging the zips hard so he’ll be able to hear. Then I crouch down, find my house keys in my bag and slip them into my pocket.

‘Do you need help?’

I look up and see him filling the doorway.

‘No, thank you.’ I put my hand into the case and tug out a pale blue sweater. ‘This will do.’

My heart is thumping as I stand up. I shouldn’t have bothered taking my keys, I should have got out of the house while I could. But I had wanted to lock the door behind me, lock him in so that he couldn’t come after me. With him standing there, it’s too late. If I make for the front door, he’ll know that I’ve guessed and will be on me before I’ve even opened it. I have no choice but to go back to the kitchen.

He sits down but I stay standing. I want to take my phone from where I left it on the table but it’s too far away for me to reach. I pull the jumper over my head but it snags on the clip holding my hair up. I undo the clip and tug the jumper down. My hair gets stuck so I reach up and pull it free. Something flickers in his eyes.

‘You have beautiful hair,’ he murmurs.

I force the words out. ‘Thank you.’

‘By the way, you got a message from Leo.’

I freeze. How does he know it’s from Leo?

‘It’s alright,’ I say. ‘I’ll look at it later.’

‘Aren’t you going to sit down?’

‘Yes, of course.’ I pull my chair further out.

‘I can tell you what it says, if you like.’ The hairs on the back of my neck, and then on my arms, prickle with fear. I stay as I am, halfway between sitting and standing.