ELLEN

2.00 P.M.

‘I think my whole worldview is changing.’ Ellen settled into the stick-back chair in the tiled room at Dr Hiralgo’s. She was glad that she had an appointment with him today, after everything that had happened and what she’d found out.

‘Do tell.’

‘Nothing seems to be the way I’d thought. I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s as if nothing adds up. I do things I don’t want to do, I find out things I don’t want to know. Death, death, death,’ she whispered, looking away in an attempt to hide it and fixing her eyes on a tile seam. The tiles flowed together and blurred.

‘You know what?’ he said.

She closed and opened her eyes a few times, and then met Dr Hiralgo’s gaze. She tried to decide if he was attractive or not, apart from his age, the moustache, and the lack of hair. She shook her head and didn’t understand how her own brain worked or why she was thinking about that now.

Dr Hiralgo leant forward, but there were still several arm’s-lengths between them.

‘This business with your tics, your mantra, or whatever we want to call it. It’s actually counterproductive. You are suppressing something that you need to process. It’s as if you are constantly seeking confirmation for your anxiety. You work with death and are drawn to death, simply because your body is seeking that anxiety.’

‘I know, I’ve heard that talk a thousand times. Now is when you reel off that bit about how paedophiles become paedophiles because their brains work the same way.’

He looked at her with surprise. ‘More or less the same.’

‘I thought you were alternative.’

‘You have to try to rid yourself of this to be able to live a normal life. It’s hellish to work through, but necessary. Right now, it’s as if you’re trying to put a lid on it.’

‘I see.’

‘I don’t think that that’s the right path for you. You don’t want to lift the lid, because you’re afraid of what you’ll find. You’ve repressed so much from that day — from that time. I would probably say that you have memory blocks that you have to remove in order to move on. I’m no expert in the area, but I think—’

Ellen looked away. ‘I saw a policeman today. He worked on Elsa’s disappearance.’

‘I see.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Did it upset you?’

‘To say the least. He doesn’t think that Elsa’s death was an accident.’

‘Do you think he’s right?’

‘I’m not sure, all I know is that I wasn’t surprised when he told me that. It was as if I’d heard it before, although I haven’t. There was a lot of what he said that I’d never heard about. Why don’t I remember everything that happened?’

‘For natural reasons: you were eight years old. But you have also repressed things. It was a trauma.’

‘Can you repress memories?’

‘There is a lot of research on that, and the truth is, we don’t really know. There is very little to support the idea that it would actually work. On the contrary, the problem is usually that the person affected can’t stop thinking about the trauma. On the other hand, false memories can be created and experienced as real. A person can have difficulty distinguishing between false and true memories. Memory can be affected by emotional stress, which is why the person affected sometimes blames themselves for what happened.’

She tried to understand. ‘My mother gave me sedatives when Elsa disappeared.’

‘Yes, that may also have affected your memory somewhat. You know, Ellen, I think perhaps you need more professional help than I can offer you.’

She stared into his eyes. ‘So, you don’t want me here any more?’ It was like a slap in the face. No one wanted her, no one could cope with her, not even her therapist or whatever he was.

‘I didn’t say that. You can continue to come here, but I don’t know if I can help you completely.’

‘Do you mean I need medical help?’

‘Yes, among other things.’

‘You can’t cope with me?’

‘Yes, of course I can, you mustn’t misunderstand me — I’m happy to continue talking with you, but …’

‘Sometimes I wonder how it got like this — what’s wrong with me? How did things work out that I ended up in all this? What was it that made everything turn out the way it did?’

‘Life.’ He smiled cautiously. ‘What would happen if you try to talk to your parents about what happened?’

‘No one will talk to me.’ She wiped away a tear from her cheek.

‘But, if I’ve understood the whole thing correctly, it’s your parents who want you to see me and deal with the past?’

‘They don’t want to put up with me any more.’ Ellen knew that she sounded like a sulky teenager, but couldn’t help it. ‘Everyone wants this to end, but no one wants to talk about it.’