“You can break it off anytime you want,” I say. “From my understanding you and Shaun haven’t been getting along for a couple weeks now.”
“Ella doesn’t think so, she thinks we should use him. She wants me to get close to him again, find out as much as I can about Navid so we can go to the police, take him down—if we have enough evidence, we can do that. She has a plan.”
“Ella’s wrong.”
She looks up, falling silent. Vexed that I’ve challenged their friendship. Again. I make a note of the splitting that’s occurring between Ella and me. Her best friend, her shrink. Who will win? I wonder.
“Is it time?” she asks.
I check the clock.
“Couple of minutes,” I say.
“I have to take Grace to the dentist.”
“How come?”
“Ella’s busy. And their mum’s still out of town.”
She taps her foot, stretches her neck from side to side. I note she is tired. Crusted sleep she hasn’t bothered to wipe away. Her listless eyes eventually landing on the oil painting above my head.
Her dismissiveness concerns me. A refusal to engage with the likely danger of their plan something she’s barely acknowledged today. This isn’t some silly game, I want to shout, some TV drama where the bad guys get a good kicking.
She stares at the painting, bored and beautiful. Crosses her arms over her chest.
What or who is she withholding from me? And why?
“Sometimes,” she says, picking a zit on her chin, “this fucking therapy really sucks.”