I’m on a precipice that I can no longer step back from.
Behind my closed eyes I see Ewan, on the Jeep, his eyes wide at the sight of the lioness. Lydia can’t move.
‘It’s so much bigger than on TV!’ they gasp. James puts his arm around his brother and forgets he’s cool.
The lioness watches me, watching my children, and we connect over our mutual maternal ferocity.
The image disappears when Henry answers his phone after me calling it four times already. Maybe Hunt has got to him first.
‘Henry, it’s Doctor Alex here. How are you? I’m sorry it’s taken me a bit longer to get round to returning your call.’
‘Thanks for calling back, no worries, I didn’t expect you to get back to me so soon, and on a Sunday. Sorry for interrupting your family time,’ he says.
‘You didn’t. How can I help?’
‘I was wondering if I could come and see you before my next appointment.’
‘I’ve got a slot in my diary tomorrow, but I can talk now.’
‘Right, erm…’
It sounds like he’s driving. I can hear the tell-tale noises of traffic and the echo of hands-free. He’s nervous.
Run, run, run.
‘Or, I’m in the office now. I was actually working today anyway. You can pop in, if that suits you better?’
‘Now?’
‘I’m here.’
‘I’m in Cambridge, I’ll drive over now, thank you.’
‘No worries, I’ll see you soon, come to the entrance and just knock, I’m doing some paperwork.’
‘I’ve been driving all night,’ he says.
‘Let’s talk about it when I see you.’
I pace up and down my office. My mind races over what I should do. I don’t know whether to call Hunt, or check with my governing body about confidentiality, or confront Tony, or just breathe and listen to Henry’s version. He at least deserves a chance.
Wouldn’t I want the same chance if it were me lying in the chiller at the mortuary? Who are my community? My inner circle? Can I trust them when I’m gone? What picture would the police get of my life from Jeremy and the kids? I have few real friends. Sure, we invite people over for dinner and Sunday roasts… but really, we don’t even do that anymore. Sunday was a rarity. My isolation taunts me. I’m struck by how small people’s realms are, and how they bump into each other and cross over. Jeremy is right: all I do is work. What would my clients say about me?
I take deep breaths and weigh up my options. I’ve already gone too far. I know I’m not legally obliged to pass on revelations secured in confidence, if I deem them to be benign, but that will change as soon as Hunt secures his warrant. Can I trust him? No. Oftentimes the police get it wrong. Hunt doesn’t want justice for Monika, he wants the CPS to charge and convict somebody so he can claim glory. It’s my job to make sure he focuses on the right person. To do that, I need to know more. And that’s why I need Henry.
Sarah jumps uninvited into my head again. But I allow it.
She was one of the most vibrant and funny people I ever met. We were weeks away from our final results, and planning to travel through Europe on the Eurail pass. Kids these days have no idea how much of a big deal that was. It was akin to flying to the other side of the world and never coming home. Buying the ticket, planning the route, checking the overwhelmingly complicated bus and train timetables for ten different countries, and packing everything into a small rucksack: it was all part of the adventure. We were going as a foursome: me, Jeremy, Tony and Sarah.
But it never happened.
No one had seen that Sarah was so far gone. But I saw. Her suffocation of Tony, and her intensity. Three months in Europe would have been all-consuming. She had the ability to choke life itself and turn it to despair, a terminal spiral of depression.
She survived the jump and lived for seventeen minutes. Three medics held her together as she struggled to breathe through her crushed torso. Her legs ended up inside her shoulders and her guts spewed ten feet across the central square, which was full of students enjoying their beers.
It was the beginning of Tony’s descent into self-destructive behaviour. Or maybe he’d been like that all along. It was also the beginning of Jeremy and I always watching out for him. Like a little lost brother, we overlooked his outrageous behaviour after that. I learned in the time it took for Sarah’s body to plunge to the ground that nothing stays the same. Time changes in an instant and lives hang in the balance. But we got through it, and we’ll get through this.
The noise of a car engine disturbs me and I see Henry in the carpark.
He slams the van door and I see the logo on the side. I’ve seen it a hundred times but today it doesn’t make me smile. I know his prison time intimately and what led to it; I also know about – and participate in – his rehabilitation package and checks with his probation officer.
I go to the front door and buzz him in, smiling. He looks very tired. His lover has just been found pummelled to death and dumped near the river Cam. Plus he already told me that he’s been in his van all night.
His face is that of a man who I am seeing for the first time. I open the door wide for him and welcome him in. He fiddles with his keys.
‘Thanks for seeing me at such short notice,’ he says bashfully, as if he’s been running. He might be soon enough.
‘Have you come from the gym?’ I ask, breezily.
‘No, I’m just hot and stressed, I’ve had some work on over the weekend, and lots to do.’
‘What did you do to your hand?’
‘Oh, I cut it yesterday at work, it’s fine.’ A chill travels down my spine.
‘Come through. We’ve got the place to ourselves.’ I wonder at the wisdom of being here with him alone. He walks behind me and I can hear my footsteps echo. I’ve told Jeremy and Tony where I am, but they’re nursing hangovers, not considering me. I beckon him to sit down.
‘I’ve put water out for you.’
‘Thank you,’ he says, taking a glass and filling it from the jug.
‘Take your time to relax and let me know when you’re ready.’
Henry leans over, and I appreciate his muscle power. He rubs his temples. I’ve never understood the lure of the gym but I have plenty of clients who do. Henry is a well-conditioned man, and he looks after himself. Monika would like that. And Tony would hate it.
‘I think I might be in trouble,’ he says.
I feel a moment of déjà vu, as if he’s echoing Carrie’s shame. My gut stirs.
‘I’ve been caught up in something which I think is going to be very difficult to get out of,’ he adds.
‘Do you want to tell me about it?’
He nods. I omit to tell him about the police’s right of search if they suspect a crime. If he’s been in his car all night, he already knows they’re after him. I give him time to make himself as comfortable as I think he’s going to get.
‘Is it material involvement or emotional?’ I ask.
‘Very much material, and that’s why I’m worried.’
‘So you feel in imminent danger?’
My powers of paraphrasing are needed here. Clients often splurge out garbled emotions and it’s my job to put them into complete sentences, so we can both make sense of them.
‘The woman I told you about, the one I was seeing…’ Henry says. His chest beneath his t-shirt is pink, and it makes the tattoos look like ash against molten lava. ‘She’s dead.’
‘I’m so sorry about that. It’s a shock, I can tell.’
‘She didn’t just die. She was murdered.’
Like a typical man, he’s plunged straight in. I need to halt him, or at least divert his premature discharge.
‘Can I stop you there, Henry? I’m bound by law to report anything illegal. I have to ask you if this is a confession. I’m so sorry.’
‘No, it’s all right. I understand. No, it’s not. I had nothing to do with it. But I’m sure at some point the police will come knocking, because I was in her house. In her bed.’
I keep calm because I have to, and Henry thinks it’s because I’m a consummate professional.
‘So you’ll be a material witness, and possibly even a suspect.’
He nods wearily. I can tell it’s been a long night for him and he’s worn himself out. It makes him more malleable.
‘I have to record that you understand that I might be asked to aid the police, in that case.’
‘I understand. The thing is, I think it was her husband who did it. Monika told him about us and I went there the night she disappeared.’ His face crumples and he buries his head. It gives me time to remember last Tuesday night.
Pandora’s box is now fully open.
‘As your therapist, Henry, you don’t have to tell me details. It’s my job to help you deal with the emotional fallout of whatever you’re experiencing, but if it helps, you can start at the beginning and I’ll guide you through.’
He takes a deep breath.
‘Tuesday night, she called me. She was drunk, I could tell. We’d been having disagreements about leaving here, together. She wanted to leave him. She’d already bought a ticket to go home and she wanted me to go with her. I said I couldn’t, not yet anyway. She went crazy at me and I think that’s what led her to drink so much. Anyway, later she called me and said her husband had hit her. She sent me a photograph of her face. I drove over there and her cheek was all bruised and cut. I had to step in, I couldn’t ignore it.’
‘Was the husband home?’
I think my heart will pump out of my chest.
Henry nods. I recall Tony’s version.
‘There was screaming and tears, he looked proper broken, like he didn’t expect it at all, but Monika had told me they were virtually separated already. To me, that was a lie. I could tell he loved her. I got in between them. I offered to take her to mine, but she refused, and then she got belligerent and violent.’
‘Is that how you really hurt your hand?’
‘No! I told you, I did this at work yesterday. Stupid, I know. The police will take one look at it and come to the same conclusion as you. I didn’t hurt her, I swear. But it doesn’t matter, does it? I can tell by your face. People like me will always be one step behind those who are protected by the system. The husband is rich beyond my wildest dreams, it’s why I didn’t really think Monika was serious about me. He’s got a private yacht, and a chalet in Switzerland, for Christ’s sake. The odds of the police believing me over him are zero. I’m a thug with a record, he’s a pillar of the establishment.’
It’s the longest monologue I’ve ever heard from him and it impresses me. But it also saddens me. He’s right. The odds are stacked against him. Tony has Kingston, and Henry will have legal aid, when it comes to it.
‘You haven’t got to convince me, Henry. What case have the police got against you?’
‘I have no idea. I guess my number will be on her phone, the husband might admit I was there on Tuesday.’ He paused. ‘I slept in her bed. We might have been seen together. She could have told friends. I don’t know, it looks pretty bad. And now this,’ he says, and holds up his injured hand.
‘Have you got a lawyer?’
‘Do I need one?’
‘You know the score, you’ve just said it yourself. With your previous, the police won’t treat you like an innocent anomaly.’
He already knows and that’s why he’s been driving around all night. He puts his head in his hands.
‘Why can’t crap just fucking leave me alone? I’ve done nothing wrong. I just can’t get rid of my past. I don’t stand a chance.’
I know I need to stop the session but I’m caught between this world and the next, and I need to make it to the other side, just like he does. For Ewan. For Tony.
‘Do you have an alibi?’
‘No, that’s my problem. She disappeared. She just wandered off and then I spent an hour looking for her. I promised the husband I’d bring her back, but I couldn’t find her. I tried, God, I tried.’
His prayer to above will go unanswered. But he already knows that, too.
‘I went back to the husband to tell him I couldn’t find her but he didn’t answer the door. This is what I need to tell the police.’
‘Have the police tried to contact you?’
‘Yes, we had a brief conversation when they found out I fitted her kitchen. It was all very polite because then I was just somebody who’d been in her house. I told them I last saw her Monday.’
‘So, you lied.’
He gazes at me and his face is crestfallen. He bends his face to his hands and I wait.
‘Jesus, she was in my van.’
He’s just filled the gap that Hunt will be looking for: concrete forensics. I feel dizzy with duplicity.
‘What was she doing in your van?’
I don’t need him to elaborate, his face says it all. My head fills with a vision of him and Monika in the back of his van and, in other circumstances, I might have congratulated her.
He looks up and his eyes meet mine.
‘I didn’t kill her,’ he tells me.
I desperately want to tell him that I believe him, but Henry is a grown man; gone are the days when he needed a matriarch to tend to his wounds. He knows what’s coming and there’s little I can do to stop it.