The Therapist by B.A. Paris

Forty-One

On the way to the brasserie, my mobile rings. It’s Ginny.

‘What did you say to Leo?’

‘About what?’

‘The murder.’

‘Um—’ I don’t know what to say in case Leo told her what I said about Ben. And she and Mark both really like Ben.

‘I’m only asking because he’s spent the whole morning reading articles about it online.’

‘Didn’t he go to work?’

‘No. He said you were still convinced there’d been a miscarriage of justice and that it wasn’t like you to take on a cause for no reason at all. He was trying to find the article you read that made you decide the husband wasn’t guilty. And now he’s trying to speak to Ben, I’m not quite sure why. Something about wanting to know if he sold the Maxwells the house.’

I feel a twinge of alarm. I’m touched that Leo wants to help but I feel bad that he’s wasting his time looking for an article that doesn’t exist. And what if Ben is involved in Nina’s murder, and Leo’s questioning spooks him?

‘I think he just wants to know when the Maxwells moved to The Circle,’ I tell Ginny.

‘That’s alright, then.’

‘I’m sorry, I have to go. Lunch date with Eve, Tamsin and Maria.’

‘Good luck,’ she says.

‘I need to tell them I’m leaving. I’m sure Tamsin will be relieved.’

She laughs and hangs up.

They’re waiting for me when I arrive at the brasserie, seated at a round table. They’ve left me the place opposite Tamsin, so I give each of them a quick hug and sit down between Eve and Maria.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ I say, while Maria pours me a glass of wine. ‘I was busy packing.’

‘I thought your friend was coming to stay?’

‘No, I’ve decided to go to hers instead. But not just for the weekend. I’ve decided to go back to Harlestone for good.’

Eve pauses, her glass halfway to her lips. ‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

She puts her glass back on the table. ‘Oh.’

‘What about Leo?’ Maria asks.

‘He’s staying here.’

She puts her hand on mine. ‘I’m so sorry, Alice.’

‘Me too.’ Eve looks as if she’s about to cry.

‘Don’t worry,’ I say, leaning into her. ‘I’ll come back and see you.’

‘But you won’t be next door,’ she says mournfully.

‘I’m going to miss you all. You’ve been so welcoming.’ I pick up my glass. ‘Come on, let’s drink to our continuing friendship.’

Maria passes me a menu and we choose our meals. Eve asks me if I’m going to be able to get my house back in Harlestone and I tell her that I’ll be staying with Debbie until I can sort something out.

‘Is there any chance of you and Leo getting back together?’ Tamsin asks.

‘No,’ I say, reaching for my glass. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Because he didn’t tell you about the murder?’

‘It’s not always black and white,’ I tell her. ‘Just like the murder.’

She groans. ‘You’re not going to start going on about that again, are you?’

‘I just want to know one thing,’ I say quickly, ‘and then I won’t ask you anything else.’

‘What?’ she asks warily.

‘You said Nina saw a therapist. Male or female?’

‘Male.’

‘Did she ever mention his name?’

She arches an eyebrow. ‘That’s two questions. No, I did ask her for it, but as I told you, she didn’t give it to me.’

‘Do you know where his practice was? Was it local?’

‘It doesn’t matter where it was because he came to her,’ Eve intervenes before Tamsin can tell me I’ve run out of questions. ‘That’s why she stopped coming to yoga with us. It clashed with her therapy sessions.’

‘Yes, but she only arranged to have her sessions on a Wednesday afternoon so that she would have an excuse not to see me,’ Tamsin points out.

I frown, remembering that Nina had started avoiding her about four months before she died.

‘So the therapy sessions were a new thing?’

‘Yes.’

‘And he came to see her at the house? Is that usual?’

‘I know it’s not the same, because I’m a speech therapist,’ Maria says. ‘But I wouldn’t normally go to a client’s house unless they can’t get to me for some medical reason.’

‘I don’t suppose Tim would know the name of Nina’s therapist,’ I say, turning to her. ‘I know he decided to specialise in psychotherapy largely because of Nina. Maybe she mentioned a name to him?’

‘I can certainly ask him. But why do you want to know? If you’re leaving, wouldn’t you rather see a therapist nearer to where you’ll be living?’

‘It’s not for me,’ I say. And then I stop, because I don’t know what reason I can give for wanting to know the name of Nina’s therapist.

But it’s too late. ‘Don’t tell me – you think her therapist murdered her,’ Tamsin drawls, an amused look on her face.

‘No, but I don’t believe Oliver did. And neither do you,’ I add, infuriated that she’s laughing at me.

‘I’ve never said that.’

‘Yes, you did! The day you invited me for coffee, I overheard you talking to Eve and you said that you had never believed that Oliver killed Nina.’

Her green eyes flash with annoyance. ‘I guessed you were there, listening in the porch, but it’s good to have it confirmed that as well as everything else, you’re also an eavesdropper.’ She glares at me across the table. ‘I’m glad you’re going. We’ll be able to get on with our lives now.’

‘Tam.’ Maria puts a hand on her arm.

‘So you don’t mind that Nina’s killer hasn’t been caught?’ I say angrily. ‘You know it wasn’t Oliver but you prefer to sit there and do nothing, say nothing?’

Tamsin flushes. ‘Well, you’ve certainly done plenty. We were all happy before you came along and decided to stick your nose into something that had absolutely nothing to do with you. You didn’t even know Nina, or Oliver, so why the hell did you get involved?’ She looks appraisingly at me. ‘Shall I tell you what we all think?’

‘No, Tam,’ Eve pleads. But Tamsin is too far gone to listen.

‘You’re a fantasist, Alice. You invent a whole load of crap and then you start to believe it. We knew it the moment you pretended that a man had turned up at your drinks evening, a man that nobody saw except you, a man that nobody spoke to except you. That’s why we didn’t care whether or not you found out who he was. We knew he was just something you made up to make you appear more interesting than you actually are.’ She gives a snort of disgust. ‘You even admitted to Will that that’s what you do.’

‘I didn’t make him up!’ I say furiously.

She looks at me pityingly. ‘We know, Alice. We know that at one time or another you’ve suspected us or our husbands of killing Nina, we can see right through your invitations to lunch and dinner, right through the questions you ask, right through the lies you tell. You’re dangerous. You need to get a life, before you destroy everyone else’s.’

I wait for Eve or Maria to come to my rescue. But Eve, who would normally do her best to smooth things over, doesn’t say anything.

The silence becomes unbearable. Tamsin pushes her chair back. ‘I’ve just remembered I need to be somewhere,’ she says, her voice tight.

I push my chair back too. ‘No, you can stay, I’m going.’ I grab my bag from under the table. ‘If you must know, the reason I got involved was for Oliver’s sister. I was doing it for her. But as nobody else seems to care – not even you, Nina’s best friends – well, why should I?’ I start to move away and then stop. ‘And by the way, I didn’t make the man up, the one who came to the party. Lorna admitted to letting him in, remember?’

I manage to hold on to my tears until I get to the street outside. Then I dissolve. I walk quickly to Finsbury Park, my head down, my scarf pulled up around my ears, and crumple onto the first bench I find. Is that what I am, a fantasist? When I look at all the things I’ve allowed myself to believe over the last few weeks, I’m ashamed. Tamsin’s right, at one time or another I’ve suspected all of them of being involved in Nina’s murder.

My cheeks burn when I think of them laughing at me behind my back. What Tamsin said about me getting a life – it hurt more than anything because she was right about that too. I haven’t really had a life since my parents and sister died. It’s why I launched myself so fervently into helping Thomas and Helen. I needed something in my life, something to make me feel alive, make me feel that I was doing some good because most of the time, I just exist. But I’ve taken it too far. When I think of Leo and Thomas, both of whom are trying, at this very moment, to find out if Ben had something to do with Nina’s murder, I’m scared. I need to tell them to stop.

I get a grip by thinking about Nina – my sister, not Nina Maxwell. I can almost hear her telling me to stop feeling sorry for myself, to accept that I had a kind of brain-storm, and move on. She’s right, I need to move on. By the time I get home, it will be almost three o’clock. I’ll just have time to throw the rest of my stuff into a case before Thomas arrives. In a couple of hours, I’ll be on my way to Harlestone, and Nina Maxwell and my time in The Circle will just be a memory.