BEX
I’m worried about Jen. Since arriving back at the flat she hasn’t said a word apart from the sentence, ‘But how do we know?’ She’s fixated on the idea that Laurence and Vicky were seeing one another while she and Laurence were still together.
I go into the kitchen and think of what to do next. Jen is no good to anyone when she’s like this, least of all herself. And she was doing so well. The investigation had really given her some purpose. I have to focus her energies once more. I return with two large glasses of brandy.
‘Here, take this,’ I say. ‘It will help with the shock.’
She holds out her hand, but it has all the vitality of a dead fish. Her eyes look lifeless too.
‘Take a sip,’ I tell her, but she simply puts the glass on the table next to her.
‘Oh for God’s sake!’ I snap. Before I know it my hands grab her around the shoulders. I force her to stand up, like a rag doll controlled by a sadistic puppeteer. I slap her around the face. I hear the crack of my palm on her cheek. Her eyes stretch wider, as if she is being woken from a deep dream. Her fingers travel up to her burning cheek. She can’t believe what’s just happened.
‘What …?’ she says.
‘You need to fucking snap out of it, Jen,’ I say.
I know this is not how a trained mental health professional would deal with Jen. But I had lost patience with her. I needed her to act, not sit around wallowing, drowning, in a sea of self-pity.
She starts to cry and I let her. At least she is having a reaction, feeling something. I pass her some tissues. After a few minutes she stops sobbing. She looks at the glass of brandy with an expression of surprise – as if to say Who put this here? – and gulps it down. Gradually, I see life begin to seep back into her. Her eyes light up and there’s a flush to her cheeks, a rush of blood not caused just by the slap I’ve given her. She looks around the room with a renewed animation.
‘I’m sorry, Jen, but I did it for your own good,’ I say. ‘If you give into this thing you’ll let Laurence win. You told me that you wanted a purpose to your life. You need to direct that hatred, use it. That sense of anger and frustration can be channelled. I’m not going to allow you to be beaten by this. So what if Laurence was sleeping with Vicky behind your back?’ She winces at this. ‘You knew he was a coward – he ran away and left his lover to die. Now you know he’s a prick too, right? Do you really want to be with a man like that?’
She looks at me and smiles. There’s something calculating about the smile, though. Like a cat that has a mouse in its sights. She’s coming back to me.
‘That’s my girl,’ I say.