The Therapist(90)

He separates a length of my hair, about an inch thick, from the rest and, like before, holds it high above my head. Opening the blades of the scissors around it, he moves them downwards, stopping now and then as if deciding where to cut it.

‘Here, or here?’ he muses. Our eyes meet in the mirror. He waits for a reaction so I stare back, not giving him one. With a sudden movement, he moves the scissors down to within an inch of my skull and saws through the length of hair. I don’t move, I don’t flinch, not even when he drops it onto my lap. I’m too worried about Edward to think about what Thomas is doing. I can’t see him at all now, I can only see the top of Lorna’s head as she crouches beside him. It comes back to me then, how Lorna and Edward had wanted to move away after Nina’s murder but Edward had had a heart attack. Was it from the shock of knowing that his son was a murderer? Had Thomas been staying here at the time? Or maybe all the time. Maybe he has been living here, in this house, in secret. It would explain why I hadn’t seen him walking across the square earlier, why nobody has ever seen him walking across the square, not even on his visits to Nina. Because all that time, he had been living right next door.

‘Why did you kill Nina?’ I ask.

‘Why don’t you tell me what you think?’ he says. ‘I’d love to hear another of your theories.’

‘You killed her because you were having an affair with her and she wanted to break it off.’ He doesn’t say anything. ‘What about Justine and Marion? Did you have an affair with them too?’

He grins. ‘I saw what you did there. But you’re wrong. I didn’t have an affair with them. Or with Nina.’

‘But you killed them.’

‘Correct.’

‘Why?’

‘Because they didn’t know their own minds. Not like you, Alice.’

‘What do you mean?’

He smiles, lifts another length of hair. ‘Where shall I cut this one?’

‘Wherever you like.’ Again, he snips it near my skull and drops it onto my lap. I can’t pretend I’m not distraught at the sight of uneven clumps of hair sprouting from my scalp, but I keep it to myself. ‘Are you really a therapist?’

‘How can I be a therapist if I’m a private investigator? Oh, wait – maybe I’m not a private investigator.’ He waves the scissors around. ‘The trick is to be who people want me to be. A therapist worked well for the others. For you, I had to think of something else. You needed a saviour, a redeemer. Someone you could help, so that you could atone for your sins.’ He looks triumphantly at my reflection in the mirror. ‘I’m right, aren’t I, Alice? You were the one driving the car the night your parents and sister died.’

I stare at him, not letting my gaze waver, not letting him know that he’s right. He lifts another length of hair and I focus on the sound of the scissors sawing through it to stop the sounds that have haunted me for almost twenty years, that will haunt me for the rest of my life, the screech of brakes, the tearing of metal, the screams of pain and fear.

‘It’s a shame you decided to leave The Circle so abruptly,’ he continues. ‘It was fun listening to all your different theories about who killed Nina. I could barely keep up with your suspicions. A headless chicken came to mind. You suspected your friends, their husbands, the man you were meant to love, even the estate agent.’ The scissors slice through my hair again. ‘You’re not a very nice person, Alice. You do realise that, don’t you?’

‘Compared to you, I’m an angel,’ I say scathingly, to hide the shame I feel at his words. ‘You used your knowledge to manipulate me into thinking everyone had something to hide. I suppose it was you who told Lorna to tell me not to trust anyone.’

‘No, foolishly, she did that of her own accord. But I overheard her and made sure she paid for it.’

I give him a look of pure disgust. ‘Were you born evil or did you become evil?’

‘Why don’t you tell me what you think?’

I swivel my eyes to where Lorna is crouching. She looks terrified.

‘I’m guessing a normal family background so it must be rejection by a woman, or women, that made you hate us so much.’ I pause. ‘It was the woman in the photograph you showed me, wasn’t it, the one you told me was Helen? She had long hair – and I think she was blond.’ I curl my lips in a pitying smile. ‘Is that what happened – she rejected you and you couldn’t cope? Are you really that pathetic?’

He laughs, a harsh, detached laugh. Why had I never heard him laugh like that?

I’ve needled him. Ramming the scissors into my hair, he begins making furious cuts close to my scalp, nicking my skin so that I can’t help but flinch.

‘Where did you get the key to our French windows?’ I ask.

‘It was on the set of keys that Nina and Oliver gave to my parents. I kept them, hoping they would come in useful.’ He sighs in pretend despair. ‘Leo really should have changed all the locks, not just those on the front door.’ Then he grins. ‘I love that you thought I was Nina when I visited you at night.’

I hate that he heard me talking to her, hate that he has seen me in all my weaknesses.

‘How pathetic of you to hide in the wardrobe,’ I sneer.

‘John, I think he’s dead.’ Lorna’s trembling voice breaks through Thomas’s amusement. The scissors stop moving. ‘I think your father’s dead.’