The Therapist by B.A. Paris
Twenty-Two
Ginny is already at Neptune when I arrive. She’s beautifully dressed in a chocolate-brown leather skirt and jacket that I’ve never seen before.
‘Mark’s birthday present to me,’ she says, when I mention it.
‘That’s the problem with working from home,’ I say. ‘It doesn’t matter what I put on in the mornings. I’d love something like that but I’d never get any wear out of it.’
We have a quick catch-up while we study the menus but once we’ve ordered, I find myself confiding my worries to her.
‘I can’t work out if the reason I’m finding it hard to forgive Leo is because our relationship was already doomed before he lied to me,’ I say, turning my fork over and over on the white cloth. ‘When we only saw each other at weekends, we were on our best behaviour, not wanting to spoil the time we had together. We didn’t really know each other. It’s only now that we’re discovering each other’s faults and weaknesses.’
‘But you love him,’ Ginny says.
‘Yes. But I’m not sure that the love I feel for him is strong enough to overcome the negatives.’ I look guiltily at her. ‘That makes me sound horrible, I know.’
‘Not horrible, just honest.’
‘I don’t want to give up on our relationship so I need to find a way forward. It’s just that, for the moment, I seem unable to.’ I give her a smile. ‘Come on, let’s talk about something else.’
We’re interrupted by the waiter bringing our food over.
‘Something weird happened the other day,’ I say, when we’ve finished eating. ‘You know I told you that Nina admitted to Lorna, the lady who lives next door, that she’d been having an affair? When I mentioned it to Leo, he almost jumped out of his skin.’
‘Even I was surprised when you told me.’ Ginny sits back in her chair and places a hand on her stomach. ‘That was delicious.’
‘Yes, but it was more than surprise. He dropped his glass of wine, it went everywhere and – I don’t know – he just seemed overly flustered.’
‘Strange.’ She laughs. ‘Unless he was the one having an affair with her.’
‘What?’ I stare at her and she sits up quickly and reaches across the table for my hand, her two silver bangles jangling together.
‘Alice, I’m joking! Leo didn’t even know Nina.’
It’s too late, I can’t stop the thought from flying through my mind. ‘What if he did? What if he did know her?’
‘Stop it.’ She gives my hand a shake. ‘Don’t start imagining something that didn’t happen. How could he have known her?’
‘I don’t know. She was a therapist, maybe he was a client.’
Ginny groans. ‘I wish I hadn’t said anything. It was a joke, Alice, seriously.’ She picks up her menu. ‘Do you want dessert?’
‘Sorry. No, just a coffee.’ I close my menu and put it down on the table. ‘Tamsin has invited me to hers on Friday.’
‘Tamsin? Your arch-enemy? How come? Tell me, I want to know everything.’
I launch into an account of my latest conflict with Tamsin and her subsequent apology and by the time we leave the restaurant half-an-hour later, I can tell Ginny’s relieved that I’ve forgotten what she said about Leo having known Nina. But I haven’t, it’s lodged right there in the back of my mind.
It’s a direct tube ride from Covent Garden back to Finsbury Park. It’s the way I came, on the Piccadilly line, but I go to the map on the wall in the Underground station, wanting to see where else I could get to. My eyes fall on Leicester Square – theatreland – and Knightsbridge, where I know Harrods is. It’s also home to the Natural History Museum, another place I’m keen to visit. I follow the dark blue line past Earl’s Court right to the end, amazed that I can get all the way to Heathrow Airport from practically my front door. The Piccadilly line is certainly a good line to live on. And if I change at Earl’s Court, I could go to Kew Gardens and – I follow another branch of the line – to Wimbledon. Leo and I both love watching tennis and I wonder how difficult it is to get tickets for a match there. And then I wonder if Leo and I will even last until next summer.
I’m about to turn away when I remember that Thomas Grainger’s offices are in Wimbledon. I take my mobile from my bag and find the address – 26 William Street. I stand for a moment. A part of me wants to go and check out the address, just to make sure he is who he says he is, in case I ever need to call him. I don’t know why I’m thinking I might need to call him – except that if there was a miscarriage of justice and I do hear something which could put the real perpetrator away, wouldn’t it be my duty to tell him? There’s something off about the way everyone was so quick to accept that Oliver killed Nina. Maybe they’re protecting someone, someone from The Circle who they suspect of having had an affair with Nina. But who?
I go through the barriers and instead of heading north on the Piccadilly line, I head south towards Earl’s Court, then change to the District line. I’ve never travelled so far on the tube by myself and when I get off at Wimbledon, I’m so out of my comfort zone that I’m tempted to go straight back home. Everyone seems to know where they’re going except me.
I move to the side and use Citymapper to locate William Street. It’s quite a long walk and the further I go, the more I wonder what I’m doing here. William Street is a long road of smart townhouses, most of which seem to have been turned into offices. I approach number 26; there’s a discreet gold plaque on the wall and I have to go up the first two of four stone steps to read the words Thomas Grainger, Private Investigator. Behind the dark blue door, I can hear a murmur of voices and when they get steadily louder, I realise that someone is coming along the corridor. The thought of him discovering me on the doorstep sends me scooting back to the pavement. I just have time to hide myself in the doorway of a house two doors down when the sound of someone saying goodbye – a woman – and a man’s voice answering her, reaches my ears. I bend my head over my phone, pretending to search for something, praying that the door in front of me won’t suddenly open. My back is to the road and when I hear the light click of heels on the pavement, I breathe a sigh of relief. Turning my head slowly, I check number 26 to make sure Thomas Grainger isn’t still there. He isn’t, so I leave the doorway and see a woman, smartly dressed in a camel-coloured coat, walking down the road. I need to go back that way anyway, so I follow her to the tube station, wondering what business she had with a private investigator. The majority of his cases are probably people wanting to know what their partners are up to. Maybe I should get him to check out Leo for me, I think, and then feel guilty.
I get home and even as I’m dialling Thomas Grainger’s number, I’m wondering what I’m doing. What’s the point of phoning him when I have absolutely nothing to tell him? But it’s too late; my call connects before I can hang up.
‘It’s Alice Dawson,’ I say, instantly recognising his voice.
‘Ms Dawson, thank you for calling.’ He can’t quite hide his surprise, which is understandable after I told him that I wouldn’t help.
It sounds too formal. ‘Alice,’ I say. ‘You can call me Alice.’
‘And I’m Thomas.’
‘I’m sorry, I’m not really sure why I am – calling you, I mean.’ I hate that I sound flustered. ‘I don’t have any news. I did go and see my neighbour, but she didn’t tell me anything that I’m sure you don’t already know. She was the one who saw Oliver arrive home on the night of the murder and—’
‘I could come by tomorrow afternoon,’ he says, interrupting me.
My heart misses a beat. ‘But there’s nothing really to tell. I can go over it now, if you like.’
‘I prefer not to talk on the phone. I’m going to be in your area anyway, so it’s no trouble. Would 2 p.m. suit you?’
‘Yes, but I’m not sure—’
‘Thank you, Alice, I’ll see you tomorrow.’
I try to concentrate on my work for the rest of the day but the guilty feeling in the pit of my stomach has me constantly reaching for my phone, wanting to call Thomas Grainger and tell him not to bother coming over. Even though I’m not going to be telling him anything he doesn’t already know, it feels wrong to be speaking to him. I wish I could run it by someone but I already know what Debbie would say. And I can’t ask Ginny for advice, because I still haven’t told Leo that the man who gate-crashed our party is a private investigator. If Ginny knows, she might tell Mark, who would tell Leo. And I need to be the one to tell him. The reason I haven’t told him yet is that I know he’ll call the police, and Thomas will get into trouble if they find out he’s investigating Nina’s murder. And I don’t want that to happen.
I work late into the evening to make up for taking most of the afternoon off and when it gets dark, still traumatised by my experience last night, I read in the sitting room with the curtains open, getting up occasionally to check what the other residents of The Circle are doing. It’s comforting to see lights on, to know that even though it’s late, not everyone is in bed.
By the time one o’clock comes, most of the lights have gone out and I feel nervous standing at the window in full view. There could be someone waiting in the shadows, someone who can see me even if I can’t see them. Of the few lights that are still on, one comes from Tamsin’s house and I like to think that she might be awake too.
When I go to bed, I leave the light on in the stairwell so that the house isn’t in complete darkness. But I’m unable to relax and I know that I’ve been fooling myself in thinking that I can ever feel comfortable living here. Ginny had been appalled when I told her that I’d thought there was someone in the house the previous night, and had urged me to move in with her and Mark while I sort things out with Leo. I should have taken her up on her offer – and tomorrow I will. I don’t know what will happen between me and Leo, the only thing I know is that I can’t go on living in The Circle.