9.52 am

From her office window Ruth looks across at the grey archways. The building opposite had once been a bakery, which can surprise her still, no trace of that now in the shops below, blinds and musical instruments. ‘One to conceal, one to reveal,’ Aidan had joked when they’d viewed the place first, and she had laughed. Though maybe music was a mask, like any other. Some clients ask Ruth if she knows this or that song and ask her to listen, because it expresses their feelings, because the singer’s words convey them better than they can. She’ll listen, and then ask them to read the lyrics in their own voices. It helps them to release something. Though Ruth fears the opposite for them too, that to speak a secret can be a kind of loss.

Anyway, playing an instrument is maybe more of a shield than a mask. A violin at the chest, a guitar at the stomach, turning one’s back entirely at a piano. You were always liked if you could play an instrument, you were called on at parties, you were given space and brought close, all at the same time. Aidan is right, Ruth has never figured that out, a way to be easy around others. Perhaps it’s her job that intimidates, the idea that she might force a confession. ‘You’re not at work,’ Aidan reminds her before dinner parties.

Her job. Aidan was right there too, Ruth had thrown herself into work. But it wasn’t just because of the last few years. She had always dreamed of an independent practice, the promise of making something for herself, surely he knew that? She and Lisa had talked about it since graduating, best friends and now business partners. Of course, it was Ruth who had led – drawing up plans, setting up meetings, finding the office. It was Ruth who had said to Lisa, ‘Let’s sign, let’s just do it.’ It was Ruth’s idea to offer the first session for free. It was Ruth who had made it a success. No one can blame her for feeling proud. Ruth sighs, looks again at the building across from her. Somewhere behind the former bakery there was once an abbey. St Mary’s. The estate agent had told her this, and Ruth had liked being let in on this history.

A man comes out of the music shop, carrying some kind of folded metal yoke, what is it, a music stand, maybe? Steps to the side, avoiding the woman on the phone who’s pacing the pavement, pacing and chatting and waving her free hand. Ruth guesses she is speaking to a lover. Ruth looks again at the building opposite and wonders why the thing that is lost always seems more interesting. Perhaps the abbey was not attractive, was not wanted or useful or whatever buildings do for people.

In her twenties she had not thought she was creating a pattern, but it somehow was, and it kept on for over a decade. Time after time, man after man, there was always an ex-girlfriend or a big work project or an ‘I’m just not looking for a relationship’ until she could have screamed because what were they looking for? But the answer was frustratingly obvious. They had time to waste. So she’d stopped looking. And then, just like that, she’d found Aidan.

They had met years before, in college, so it wasn’t like meeting for the first time. He had been first-year psychology too, but he’d transferred out in the second term. It was all Ruth could do to resurrect an image of him, to correlate it to this man in his thirties standing before her at Lisa’s housewarming.

‘I’m getting ahead in advertising,’ he said.

Ruth smiled.

Aidan smiled.

And somehow that was it, she’d felt – yes, this is the person. Ridiculous, really. They had talked and laughed, and it was all going so well. But a gaggle of new people had arrived, and Aidan had drifted away. Trying to be subtle, Ruth had followed him when he next went to the kitchen, waving her empty wine glass, pretending surprise that he was going for a top-up too. And then they had sat on the stairs, just the two of them. It was while Ruth was telling some holiday anecdote that Aidan had reached across and taken her hand. It seemed audacious, that he could simply take her hand.

From that one gesture, they had become a pair. How Ruth had hated other people saying ‘we’, then suddenly she was doing it too. Looking at Aidan, with the pride of ownership. She loved the way his skin smelled. She loved that she came in bed with him without worrying what her face was doing. She loved that they wanted the same kind of life.

It’s cold by the window. Ruth wishes she could override the landlord and put in double glazing. There are other things she would change in the room too, the door into the kitchen always jamming. She resents it suddenly, this place that has been her pride and her retreat. Look at me, doing it on my own, and she had made herself known, some articles, some phone-ins. But it’s not enough.

Only a few minutes of peace left, and she should pull herself together. She had run onto the bus, earlier, to get away from Stephen. What had he seen in her face, the fear maybe, the lines of worry? She should have asked him if he thought she was difficult. But you can’t ambush people like that. Can’t say, ‘What’s wrong with me?’ And you really can’t say, ‘Why didn’t you want me?’

‘Men are for decoration,’ her mother had said throughout her growing up. Intoning it as a lesson, as if admitting you needed a man – or any other person, really – was a kind of defeat. Ruth is not her mother, oh no, she’s almost nauseous at the thought. But perhaps she is her creation, after all, perhaps that’s why she’s unable after all these years to do the basic things, like tell someone she needs them.

Almost ten o’clock. Ruth looks, yes, there’s someone below, looking at the name plates. She sighs as she moves away from the window because this might be a long hour. It’s always trickier with a new client, till you figure them out. All those expectations to negotiate.

The door chime goes.

Ruth presses the buzzer, hears the street door bang, and then feet on the stairs. Clearly a two-steps-at-a-time woman. Okay, then. Summon the calm face, the blank canvas, the friendly manner that says to this person they are welcome, that they have all your attention, that they’re the first and only one.