The Therapist by B.A. Paris

Thirty-Six

Thomas turns up at two-thirty, wearing a dark blue suit and light blue shirt, and looking paler than usual.

‘I’ve just come from Helen’s,’ he says.

‘How is she?’

‘Not good. It’s hard sometimes, remembering how she was.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, wondering again if he and Helen were more than friends.

We go to sit in the kitchen.

‘We went out together once or twice when we were at university,’ he says, uncannily reading my mind. ‘But we realised we were better friends than girlfriend and boyfriend.’ He dips his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and draws out his wallet. ‘This is us in better days,’ he says, taking out a photo. ‘I took it with me this morning, to show Helen.’

I study it a moment. The younger version of him has longer hair, and his arm is around the shoulders of a girl with a pretty face and laughing blue eyes. They look so carefree that I wonder how hard it was for Helen to see the photo.

‘She said she was glad she didn’t know then that her life would be cut short at the age of forty-three,’ Thomas says. ‘Sometimes I wonder if Nina had the same thought, when she knew she was about to die.’

I hand the photo back to him. ‘Don’t.’

‘Sorry,’ he says, chastened. ‘I always feel down after I’ve visited Helen but it’s unprofessional to bring my low mood to work with me.’ I feel a momentary disappointment that he thinks of me as work. ‘Also, I didn’t have time for lunch so I probably need sugar. I’m diabetic.’

I jump to my feet. ‘You should have said, I thought you looked pale. Let me give you something to eat – what can I get you?’

‘A biscuit or banana will be fine, if you have either of those.’

‘I do, but I haven’t had lunch yet and I was going to make myself an omelette. Cheese and mushroom – will that do?’

‘It sounds amazing, but I don’t want to put you to any trouble.’

‘It’s not a problem.’

He takes out his phone and lays it on the table. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have any news about the murder in France. I should hear back before the end of the week, though.’

‘I couldn’t find anything about anyone being arrested for it,’ I say.

‘I couldn’t either. Which makes me think it’s an ongoing case. That said, I still think it’s a long shot that the two murders are connected, given that they occurred in different countries.’

While I peel the mushrooms, I tell him about the conversation I overheard between Eve and Tamsin when I went to Tamsin’s for coffee. I feel bad for telling him, but I want his take on it.

‘Does Leo know about the gaps in the fence between your house and your neighbours?’ he asks.

‘Yes, I told him. He thought it was a good idea.’

‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, but how are things between you?’

‘He isn’t living here at the moment.’

‘I’m sorry.’

I turn away, not wanting to think about Leo. I tip the whisked eggs into two frying pans and begin cooking them slowly. The simple act of pulling the cooked edges into the centre and letting raw egg run into the space left behind is strangely soothing.

‘Have you met Tamsin’s husband?’ Thomas asks.

‘Yes.’

‘What do you think of him?’

‘I don’t think he’s a murderer, if that’s what you mean.’

‘I know I’m not telling you anything that you don’t already know, but appearances can be deceptive.’

‘You’re right, I do already know that,’ I say feelingly, adding the mushrooms and a sprinkling of cheese to the eggs.

He gives a sympathetic smile. ‘But if Tamsin thinks he had an affair with Nina,’ he begins.

‘He didn’t,’ I say quickly, and launch into an account of my conversation with Tamsin in the café. ‘The thing is,’ I say when I finish, ‘I’m not sure how much of it was genuine.’

‘Oh?’

I fold the omelettes in half, pressing down on them lightly with the spatula to melt the cheese inside. ‘Just that a part of me wonders if I’m not being set up by Tamsin. When people asked how I found out about the murder, I told them that a reporter called me. And ever since, Tamsin has been worried that the reason the reporter contacted me is because the police are actively looking into the murder again. Even though I’ve denied it, I’m sure she thinks that I’m still in contact with the reporter. What if she’s feeding me misinformation on purpose? Those two back-to-back conversations – the one I overheard, and the one I had the next day with her in the café – there’s something off about them.’

‘It does sound as if Tamsin is doing everything to let you know that her husband didn’t kill Nina. On the other hand, she also told you that he didn’t take rejection easily.’

‘I know exactly how Eve and Tamsin must have felt when they heard that Nina had had an affair,’ I say, sliding the omelettes onto plates and carrying them over to the table. ‘Those few seconds last week, when there was the possibility of Leo having known Nina, were hard. Even Maria must have wondered about Tim, if only for a few seconds. And he’s the least likely candidate.’

Thomas looks appreciatively at the omelette. ‘This looks wonderful, thank you.’ He picks up his knife and fork. ‘I’m curious as to why you think Tim is the least likely candidate. He and Nina could very easily have bonded over their interest in psychology.’

‘Maybe, but he and Maria are a really solid couple. So are Eve and Will, which is why my money would have been on Connor.’

I sit down opposite him and watch him surreptitiously from under my eyelashes while we eat. It feels right, him sitting here at the table with me.

‘You know when you said that Nina having her hair cut off could have been some sort of judgement?’ I say. ‘If someone was judging her, isn’t it more likely to have been a woman?’

I regret my words immediately.

‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ Thomas asks, reading my face.

‘I don’t know.’ But I am, it’s just that I feel terrible for thinking it.

‘Tamsin definitely had a motive,’ he says. ‘Not only had Nina turned her back on her, she also suspected that her husband was having an affair with her—’

‘But she’s always believed that Oliver didn’t murder Nina,’ I interrupt. ‘She’s thought all along that he’s innocent. Why draw attention to the fact that someone else killed her, if she was the one who did it?’

‘Because, as we’ve already worked out, she could be playing a very clever game. And didn’t you overhear her say that everyone is capable of murder?’

Suddenly, it becomes too much. ‘No. No. I’m a hundred per cent sure it wasn’t Tamsin. I can’t believe the thought even crossed my mind.’ I sit back in my chair, needing to physically distance myself from him, from everything that we’re doing. But it’s not far enough so I stand and start gathering up our plates. ‘I’m sorry, but this isn’t right. Can’t we just accept that Oliver murdered Nina?’

‘Like everyone here was happy to do,’ he says softly.

‘Maybe it was him,’ I say.

He stands and takes the plates from me. ‘Maybe it was,’ he says. ‘But until I know for sure, I can’t rest, for Helen’s sake and for Oliver’s sake. Believe me, if I thought he was guilty, I wouldn’t be investigating the murder. But there’s too much that doesn’t add up. Also, Oliver swore to Helen that it wasn’t him. She says he wouldn’t have lied to her and I believe her.’ He carries the plates over to the sink, then turns to face me. ‘I’m feeling more and more uncomfortable about having dragged you into this. I’m not sure – maybe it would be better if I leave?’

‘No, please don’t. But perhaps we could talk about something else.’

‘Yes,’ he says, relieved. ‘Good idea.’

I don’t know if it was the simple act of cooking for him that allows us to move to the point where we feel comfortable sharing information about ourselves. Thomas tells me he and his wife divorced three years ago and that he now lives in South London. I feel for him when he explains that he and his wife wanted to share childcare for their six-year-old son but because they didn’t want to disrupt his daily routine, they agreed that his wife would be the main carer for the moment.

‘All that will change when he moves school next September,’ Thomas explains. I’ve made coffee and we’re back at the table. ‘His new school is nearer to where I live, so he’ll be staying at mine every second week. I can’t wait. I miss him so much.’

He also tells me that he grew up reading Sherlock Holmes and, after studying Psychology and Criminology at university, he decided to become a private investigator instead of joining the police force, as he’d intended to do. In return, I tell him about me and Leo, how the move to London was meant to be our new start, how I feel guilty that I can’t forgive him for lying to me and how bemused I feel for not realising that he could.

‘When you think about it, it’s not surprising you found living together hard if you only used to see each other at weekends,’ Thomas remarks. ‘Two days a week over what – twenty months? – only amounts to around three to four months in real time.’

‘I never thought of that,’ I say, feeling slightly less guilty.

I also tell him about losing my parents and sister and admit that I’m worried my sister is the reason I’ve become invested in Nina’s murder.

‘I think, if it wasn’t for Nina – my sister Nina – I wouldn’t be here, talking to you, trying to help you get to the truth. I’m confused about my motives, I’m worried they’re not pure. I didn’t know Nina, I shouldn’t be this involved. But sometimes, when I think about my sister, or about Nina, they become intertwined. It’s like they’re the same person.’

His eyes are full of compassion. ‘Do you think you and Leo are going to be able to work things out?’

‘No, because there isn’t any me and Leo, not anymore. Hiding his past from me is a lie too far. I can’t be with him.’

He nods slowly. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘This is his house, not mine, so I’ll be going back to Harlestone. He’s agreed that I can stay here until next weekend. I think he felt it was the least he could do.’

‘Then – Helen was asking if she could meet you. I wasn’t going to mention it yet because I didn’t know if it was something you’d feel comfortable doing. But if you’re only here for another week or so—’ His voice tails off.

‘I’d love to meet her,’ I say.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’

For the first time since I’ve known him, he looks slightly awkward. ‘What about next Wednesday? Perhaps I could take you to lunch, and then we could go to Helen’s together?’

I feel a rush of pleasure. ‘That would be lovely.’

‘And while we’re having lunch, maybe you could explain to me how to get to Harlestone. Just so that I can let you know if there are any developments,’ he adds with a smile.

‘I’m sure I could,’ I say, smiling back at him.

‘Good.’ He looks curiously at me. ‘How did Leo take it when you told him it was over?’

‘Resigned, I think. It’s not just his lies, it’s also the stupid thing with the hair.’

‘What stupid thing?’

‘It’s actually really embarrassing, which is why I didn’t mention it before.’

‘What happened?’

Reluctantly, because it shows Leo in such a bad light, I tell him about the hair scattered around the house and how I found a blond ponytail in the wardrobe.

‘The funny thing is, he was probably trying to scare me into thinking it was Nina’s hair that I kept finding,’ I say. ‘Except that it didn’t occur to me that it was. I presumed it was mine, because I lost a lot of it after my parents and sister died and I thought it was happening again, because of the stress of the murder.’

‘Is that why you always wear it up?’

I raise my hand and touch my hair self-consciously. ‘Yes, it’s become a habit now. I also think Leo has been prowling around the house at night, another tactic to scare me. I can’t be with a man who thinks it’s alright to psychologically manipulate someone.’

Thomas frowns. ‘What do you mean, prowling around the house? I thought you said he wasn’t living here.’

I give a dry laugh. ‘Exactly.’

‘I’m not sure I understand.’

‘Just that there have been a few nights when I’ve thought there was someone in the room, watching me. It was pretty terrifying the first couple of times but as nothing ever happened, I managed to convince myself that there wasn’t anyone there, that it was Nina’s spirit I could sense.’ My cheeks grow hot. ‘I know that sounds stupid but after my sister died, I used to sense her presence, especially at night, so it was easy to convince myself I was experiencing the same sort of thing. As I said, nothing ever happened and there was never any trace of anyone having been here, so I was fine with it. But then, the other day, Eve told me that before Nina died, there were a couple of occasions when she’d also thought there was someone in the house. Which kind of smashes my spirit theory.’

‘But why would Leo do that?’

‘To scare me into leaving the house.’

‘But, as it’s his house, he would have been entitled to ask you to leave.’

‘Yes – but maybe he wanted it to come from me, so that people in The Circle would think I was leaving because I was too scared to stay in the house, not because he was kicking me out. Everyone knows he didn’t tell me about Nina. He needs to redeem himself if he’s going to carry on living here.’

‘But if Nina experienced the same thing, it must be someone else doing the prowling.’ Thomas sounds perplexed. ‘Who else has keys to your house?’

‘No-one, as far as I know.’

‘Are you sure about that? It’s quite usual to give keys to neighbours, in case of emergencies. My neighbour has a set.’

‘Leo never said that he’d given anyone keys but I can always ask him.’

‘Did you ask him about the prowling?’

‘No, I forgot, probably because it didn’t seem important compared to his other lie. But I asked him about the hair. I told him it was pathetic and he said he didn’t do it so that I would like it. It makes me wonder if I ever really knew him.’ I give him a rueful smile. ‘Can we change the subject?’

By the time he leaves an hour later, I feel we’re finally friends. I know he feels it too. As we stand at the door, saying goodbye, I don’t think either of us wants the afternoon to end.

‘Are you sure you still want to be involved in all this?’ he asks, locking me with his eyes so that I can’t look away.

‘If Oliver didn’t kill Nina, I want her killer brought to justice.’

‘No matter who it is?’ he says softly.

I think of the people here in The Circle, some of who I consider friends. But then I think of Nina, of how she died and how she must have suffered. And of my sister, who didn’t get justice for her death.

‘No matter who it is,’ I reply firmly.