The Therapist(92)

‘Lorna!’ I cry. She stops in mid-scream and stares, seemingly paralysed, at Thomas and me on the floor. He grapples with the chair, trying to throw the weight of it off him. But I force my body downwards, pinning him underneath me.

‘Lorna!’ I call again. ‘Get help!’

With a roar of anger, Thomas gets his arms around the chair and throws it off him, slamming me to the floor. The air is expelled from my lungs and as I lie helpless, he throws himself across my chest, compressing it. His hands move to my neck, his face contorted with fury. As the pressure builds in my throat, I realise that even if Lorna does get help, it will be too late for me.

I hear him grunt and the weight of him on my chest increases. But his hands lose some of their grip and I twist my head to the side, gasping desperately for air. His hands slacken more, then fall from my neck and, at the same time as his head crashes onto mine, I become aware of a dull rhythmic thud, repeating itself over and over again.





Six Months Later


There’s a knock at the door, so timid that it barely registers.

I place my book on the scrubbed pine table, and wipe suddenly clammy hands on my jeans. Even though I’ve been expecting Eve, I’m still horribly nervous about seeing her. What if she knows?

It’s alright, I remind myself, as I walk to the door. She doesn’t know. Thanks to Lorna, nobody will never know.

I thought I would die that day, crushed by the weight of Thomas’s body across my chest. Although I’d managed to twist my head to the side, I couldn’t get air into my lungs. Lorna had gone into shock, paralysed by what she had done. My strangled gasp pulled her back. She tried to lift Thomas off me but he was too heavy for her.

‘Pull me out!’

Understanding, she got her hands under my arms and freed me just enough to release the pressure on my chest. The rest is a blur; the police arriving, the gentle questions, the walk to the ambulance, the shocked faces of the people huddled outside, brought by the sight of an ambulance and a police car screeching into The Circle. And Eve and Tamsin, staring at me in stunned disbelief as I followed Lorna to the ambulance, realising there was more to what they were witnessing than Edward having died.

It dawned on me then, how everyone – not only the police but also Leo, Ginny, Debbie and all who lived in The Circle – would know how I’d been taken in by the stranger who had come to our house six weeks before.

‘They’ll all know,’ I wept in anguish to Lorna as we sat in the ambulance, waiting for it to leave. ‘They will know how stupid I’ve been. I can’t bear it.’

And Lorna had reached for my hand under the blankets that had been wrapped tight around us. ‘All anyone needs to know is that you came to see me and Edward to say goodbye, and were taken captive by a man, who you recognised as the man who turned up at your drinks evening,’ she whispered. ‘When the police ask, that’s what you tell them. They don’t need to know anything else, nobody does.’ I stared at her, not daring to believe it could be so simple. ‘It will be alright,’ she promised, giving my hand a squeeze.

I took it, this lifeline she had thrown me, and clung on to it. I made the end of my story the beginning, and never mentioned the name Thomas Grainger. He had existed only for me; nobody needed to know how stupidly gullible I’d been. As far as the police and everyone else was concerned, it was as Lorna had said; I had gone round to say goodbye to her and Edward, and had found a man there, who I recognised as the man who had gate-crashed our drinks evening. He had Edward by the throat and before I could react, he attacked me. When I regained consciousness, I found myself tied to a chair and while he hacked at my hair, he told me that he was Edward and Lorna’s son, that he had killed Nina Maxwell and that I would suffer the same fate. And I’d thought I would die, until Lorna saved me.

This small part of the truth is all anyone knows.



Eve looks different. The pink tips have gone from her hair and her face is fuller.

‘Thank you for agreeing to see me,’ she says awkwardly.

We stare at each other for a moment. Then my emotions take over and I pull her into a hug.

‘It’s so good to see you,’ I say, and she sinks against me.

‘Really?’ There’s a catch in her voice.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I’ve missed you.’

‘I’ve missed you too.’ She moves back, searches my face. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m good,’ I say. ‘Getting there.’

She nods, then grasps my hand. ‘I need so much to apologise,’ she says, her voice anguished.

I frown. ‘Apologise?’

‘Yes. I feel awful about everything. We all do.’ She gives an awkward smile. ‘I don’t suppose I could sit down, could I? I’m pregnant and it’s been a long drive.’

‘Oh, Eve, that’s wonderful, congratulations!’ Spurred into action by her lovely news, I lead her to the kitchen and pull out a chair. ‘Here, have a rest while I make some tea.’

She looks around, captivated.

‘This is lovely, Alice. I love that plate rack, and your amazing Aga – and is that a bread oven?’

I can’t help laughing at her enthusiasm. ‘Yes,’ I say, turning to fill the kettle.

‘Your cottage is gorgeous, I’m not surprised you found leaving it hard. When did you move back in?’