‘I can’t believe you mean this, Shelley – after everything that’s happened, everything you’ve gone through up to now.’
‘I do mean it.’
‘You haven’t thought it through.’
‘I have thought it through, I’ve done nothing else but think it through, and inside and out and upside and down. I haven’t slept for thinking it through.’
‘Something’s happened, hasn’t it?’
‘No.’
‘Something’s happened, someone’s said something. Was it Tim? You haven’t told anyone else, have you?’
‘Tim’s been the same from the start. He didn’t want me to go this far and he’s never wavered.’
‘Then what, Shelley? Don’t you think you owe it to me to tell me? Last time you were here you were rock solid – you were pressing charges, nothing more certain. Today you come in and you’ve changed your mind. Something must have happened.’
Shelley stared out of the window at the summer rain. The traffic below moved along silently, sound muffled by the double glazing in the consulting room. She did not look at Tina because she felt ashamed of meeting her counsellor’s eye.
‘Listen … a lot of women who come in here are not only like you, frightened, in shock, hurt – physically hurt, emotionally hurt – they’re also all over the place and the one thing they want to do is blot it out, run away, have it over with, and they’re often women who are terrified of what will happen to them if they do press charges against the man – assuming they know his identity. If they don’t, they’re terrified the police will find him and that will put them in danger … they’re not women who are very familiar with the police and the court process – or if they are, it’s not in a good way, I can tell you. They might have been up before the court themselves, in prison even – and once that’s happened, they’re convinced no one will believe them, and with good reason. It shouldn’t affect things but I’m afraid all too often it does. If they get even as far as us they’re doing incredibly well. But you’ve no reason to fear the police, you don’t have a criminal record, you’re – well, let’s just say you’re the kind of woman a court is likely to believe. Why would you go this far? Why would you lie? What possible reason could you have? Shelley, listen to me – I’m here for you, this place is behind you, all of us, the whole system, everything we can muster – you can afford a top lawyer –’
‘So can he.’
‘All right, but –’
‘I know what sort of man he is, Tina, because, basically, he’s the sort I married, other than the fact that Tim would never in a million years do what Serrailler did. But he’s a pillar of the community, doctor, highly respected, Freemason, all that … they’re not going to take my word against his, of course they’re not. That’s what I suddenly realised. I’d be mad to go into court against him. And when I lost, which I would, how would that play out in the future? With my life, with my marriage, for both of us living here? Think of what it would be like every day, when I went shopping, if we ate out, just everyday life … think how people would look and point, you try putting yourself into that place.’
‘I have,’ Tina said quietly. ‘I do it every day.’
Shelley started to cry. Small, silent, pathetic tears rolled down her cheeks.
Tina pushed the box of tissues across the low table. She waited. Shelley got up and turned her back, staring out of the window at the rain. Tina poured some water, drank it all. Looked at Shelley’s back. Looked at rain dashing against the windows. Waited.
Eventually, and without turning round, Shelley said, ‘One more week.’
‘That’s brilliant!’ Tina got up and went to hug her, but Shelley stiffened. She used to hug and kiss easily, had always been affectionate with everyone, from her two small nephews upwards. Now, she couldn’t bear anyone to come close to her. She had to brace herself when Joshua and Luke clung round her legs, wanting to be picked up. She could not let Tim near her at all.
‘Sorry,’ she said.