The Therapist by B.A. Paris

Eleven

‘Here.’ Eve holds out a mug of tea. ‘Drink this, and then we’ll open a bottle of wine.’

‘Sorry. I don’t know why I made so much fuss about being in the bedroom.’ Curled up on the pale leather sofa in her sitting room, my feet tucked under me, I realise she deserves the truth. ‘Actually, I do. My sister’s name was Nina, so anything to do with anyone called Nina always affects me more.’

She gives me a hug. ‘Oh, Alice, I’m so sorry.’

‘If my sister had lived, she would have been the same age as Nina Maxwell. I know it sounds horribly dramatic but it makes me feel as if my sister has been killed twice over.’

‘That, coupled with Leo not telling you about the murder, would be enough to make anyone freak out,’ she says. ‘It’s a lot for you to cope with.’

A glass of Chablis later, I’m beginning to feel better. ‘What was she like?’ I ask.

‘Nina?’ Eve takes a sip of wine. ‘I didn’t get the chance to know her well because we only moved here five months before she died. She was lovely, quite spiritual. As well as being a therapist, she was also a qualified yoga instructor.’ She smiles. ‘She started our yoga group and after she died, we carried on with it, in her memory.’

I like that Nina Maxwell enjoyed yoga, because my sister had too. She had tried several times to get me to go to her class with her, but I’d always had something to do. After, I wished so much that I’d gone, even once. I also like that Nina Maxwell was a therapist; it seems she was a caring person.

‘And her husband?’

‘The nicest man you could hope to meet. From what I knew of him, anyway. But you never really know, do you?’

‘You must have been shocked when he was arrested for her murder.’

Eve reaches towards the low glass table that is neither round nor square but an indeterminate shape, and picks up her glass. ‘Everyone was.’ She takes a sip of wine. ‘We couldn’t believe it, we thought it was a case of “it’s always the husband until they find the real culprit”. But then we heard he’d committed suicide.’

I remember what the investigator said about a miscarriage of justice. ‘And that made you think he must have killed her?’

‘Yes.’

‘But why?’ Eve looks suddenly uncomfortable. ‘I’m sorry to ask all these questions,’ I say. ‘I’m just trying to understand. But if you prefer me not to ask, that’s fine.’

‘No, it’s OK. It’s actually a relief to be able to talk about it to someone who wasn’t here at the time. It’s sort of become a taboo subject.’ She pauses, thinking about my question. ‘Apart from there being no signs of a break-in, there were several reasons why we believed Oliver must have killed her. First, the fact that he committed suicide made us think that he couldn’t come to terms with what he’d done, because he truly loved Nina – that’s what’s so tragic. And other things came to light which made us think it was not just possible, but probable.’

‘What things?’

‘The first was that he lied about the time he got home that night.’ She frowns, catching herself, then looks at me apologetically. ‘Actually, it doesn’t feel good to be repeating things I only heard second or third hand. As I said, I didn’t know Nina that well. Tamsin knew her better than I did. And Lorna was the one who witnessed everything.’ Putting her glass back down, she reaches for the bottle of wine. ‘Here, let me top up your glass for you.’

Although I’m curious, I’m happy not to talk about the murder. I also respect her for not wanting to gossip.

‘Shall we watch a film?’ Eve suggests. ‘Something light to take your mind off things for a while?’

‘Good idea,’ I say.

‘I don’t suppose you want to watch When Harry Met Sally, do you? I’ve only ever seen it once.’

I laugh. ‘Why not? I could do with something light-hearted.’

Although my mind keeps wandering back to the murder, the film keeps us occupied until Will comes home.

‘Please tell me you’re not hungry,’ Eve says, jumping to her feet and giving him a kiss. ‘Alice and I have been chatting. She’s going to stay the night, isn’t that nice?’

I can see her signalling to Will with her eyes to make him understand that there’s been a bit of a crisis.

Will shrugs off his backpack and puts it down on the floor ‘Very,’ he says, smiling at me. ‘And yes, I’m hungry, I always am after rehearsing all day. Have you two eaten?’

‘No,’ Eve says mournfully. ‘Not even a bag of crisps.’

‘Then how about I make a big bowl of pasta?’

She flings her arms around him. ‘I was hoping you’d say that.’ She turns to me. ‘Will makes the best pasta in the world. His great-grandmother passed down her recipe for the most delicious sauce. You’re going to love it!’

‘Except that if I make it from scratch, it will take two hours,’ Will points out.

‘Oh yes, I forgot about that.’ Eve looks so crestfallen that I laugh. ‘All that simmering to reduce down the tomatoes.’

‘Exactly. So, I’ll make a carbonara, if we have bacon.’

Eve beams at him. ‘We do. Would you like a glass of wine to drink while you’re cooking?’

‘No, don’t worry, I’ll get myself a beer.’ He heads to the kitchen. ‘See you in about twenty minutes.’

The sound of my mobile ringing sends me into a panic.

‘It’s Leo. I can’t speak to him, not yet.’

‘Then don’t,’ Eve says. ‘Send him a text and tell him you’re having dinner with us and that you’ll speak to him later. That will give you time to work out what you’re going to say.’

‘Good idea,’ I say, immediately feeling calmer.

Eve gets to her feet. ‘I’ll lay the table while you do that,’ she says, giving me space. ‘Come when you’re ready.’

I message Leo and when he sends back a cheery OK, have fun! I immediately feel guilty that he has no idea of what I’m going to be saying to him when we speak. I remind myself that it’s not my fault, that he’s the one who hasn’t been upfront but it only makes me feel slightly better.

The good thing about the houses in The Circle being built to the same model is that I know exactly where Eve and Will’s kitchen is. As I walk down the hall towards it, I can hear them talking quietly together and guess that Eve is telling Will why I’m there.

‘Can I help?’ I ask, pushing the door open.

‘Only by joining me in another glass of wine,’ Eve says, taking a fresh bottle from the fridge.

They’ve made a breakfast bar where we have our table. I heave myself onto a steel bistro-style bar-stool, watching as they move around the kitchen together, Will nudging Eve every now and then, pretending that she’s getting in his way. I smile, thinking how good they are together, and then think about me and Leo. Are we good together? I used to think so. Now, I’m not so sure.

We move to the table and while we eat steaming bowls of delicious pasta, I wait for Will to say something about what has happened, and I wouldn’t mind, because maybe he’d have some insight into Leo’s psyche, come up with an explanation as to why he decided to keep something so major from me. But although I’ve relaxed a bit, because Will is brilliant at making me laugh, he doesn’t mention Leo or the murder at all.

Later, as I lie in their pretty guest room, I remember, not long ago, talking to Leo about one of my friends, who had just found out that her husband had gambled all their money away.

‘You should have seen her, Leo, she’s so broken. She doesn’t know what to do, whether to stay with him or leave him. She says all the trust has gone.’

‘What would you do if you were in her place?’

‘If I couldn’t trust you, I couldn’t be with you. And if I couldn’t be with you, life wouldn’t be worth living.’ I had stared deep into his eyes. ‘Do you see how much I love you?’

Back then, I never imagined those words would come back to haunt me. But they have, and worried about the conversation I’m going to have to have with Leo, I’m unable to sleep. He must have thought it strange that I hadn’t called him back but maybe he fell asleep before he realised. Remembering that Ginny called several times, I scrabble on the floor for my phone and send her a holding message:

Leo knew about the murder, Ben told him. I’m with Eve and Will next door. I’ll call you tomorrow xx

I manage to chase Leo from my mind but he’s replaced by Nina Maxwell. It’s hard to stop myself from thinking about what she must have endured but I eventually manage to force my thoughts away from her death, towards her life, and fall asleep wondering what sort of person she was.