Before I Let You In (21 page)

Well if Jessica thought she was going to get the better of her, she could think again.

She checked the clock: fifteen minutes to go before their session, plenty of time to pop to the toilet. Nerves.
Get a grip
, she told herself.

Molly was at her desk when she passed, and Karen smiled a greeting without trusting herself to speak. The toilet was empty, but as she sat in the stall she heard the door swing open and someone throw themselves into the cubicle next to hers. Seconds later there was the sound of sobbing.

Unable to ignore what was obviously a woman in distress, she spoke.

‘Molly?’

Their PA was the only other woman on this floor, and Karen’s assumption proved correct when she heard her squeak a reply. She flushed the toilet, washed her hands and waited for Molly to appear. When she did, her eyes were red and her face was glistening with tears.

‘What’s wrong?’ Karen asked, putting out a hand to touch her shoulder. ‘Has something happened at home?’

Molly shook her head and looked embarrassed.

‘It’s Joe,’ she said, not meeting her eyes but instead pretending to fix her hair. ‘I think he’s going to finish with me. He says he needs space.’

Karen couldn’t help thinking that it wouldn’t be a terrible thing if Joe did finish with her, but that wasn’t going to help the situation. The only time she’d met Molly’s boyfriend he’d been sprawled in the waiting room and had barely looked up when she’d opened the door and introduced herself. He spoke in a language made up of single syllables and grunts, and Karen wondered how this weedy, barely literate man could be the cause of so much grief for pretty, clever Molly.

‘Men always say that,’ she said instead. ‘Then they almost never want it when they’ve got it. If he loses you, he loses the best thing in his life and you get to demand an extra-large bouquet of flowers when he realises his mistake. And jewellery.’

It sounded like something Bea would say, which was a lot more helpful than what she herself usually came out with at times like this. She would always snap into psychiatrist mode, start talking about defence mechanisms and the primal need for men to spread their seed to as many women as possible in order to increase their chance of procreation. Molly seemed satisfied with the Bea answer and Karen excused herself before she was expected to hug her.

The waiting room was empty. Jessica’s session was still five minutes away and she hadn’t arrived yet. Grabbing herself a cup of coffee, Karen pushed open the door to her office, ready to assume her poised, ‘in control’ position before Molly brought her client through.

Jessica was standing behind Karen’s desk, studying the only personal photograph Karen had in the entire room. The shock that reverberated through her almost forced the coffee cup from her hand. Black liquid sloshed over the side, dripping down on to the carpet.

‘Jessica.’

Jessica hadn’t looked up as Karen had entered, but she did at the sound of her voice. She smiled, not looking the least bit embarrassed at being found in Karen’s office, touching her personal things.

‘Dr Browning. There was no one outside so I came straight in. Nice photo.’

She held it up to indicate what she was talking about, then replaced it on the desk. It was a 6x4 photograph of Karen and her friends, linking arms and beaming widely at the camera. They’d been on a hen weekend in Ireland, and shortly after the picture was taken, they’d argued about no one booking a taxi and had to walk the two miles to their hotel, getting lost twice on the way.

‘I’d rather you didn’t let yourself into my office, Jessica. And please do call me Karen.’

She gestured to the sofa, hopefully looking much more composed than she felt. How did this girl always manage to get her on the back foot? Jessica shrugged and sat down without apologising.

‘How have you been since our last session? Any more headaches?’

She braced herself for a reply about her obvious and boring question, or an interrogation into her feelings on prisoner-of-war camps, but Jessica just shook her head.

‘No, they seem to be gone at the moment. I’m feeling much better. Maybe these sessions really are helping.’

Karen couldn’t imagine how. They’d gone around in circles avoiding talking about the real reason Jessica was here and seemed to have made no progress on her feelings towards her affair. In fact the only thing they appeared to have achieved was to turn each session into a sparring match, Jessica trying to goad Karen into losing her composure and Karen trying not to scream.

‘Is there anything you’d like to talk about today?’

Jessica looked down at her feet, and Karen felt sure she was about to lift them on to the sofa again.

‘Maybe I could talk about my past? Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do? Explore the reasons for my screwed-up relationships with men?’

This was territory Karen was familiar with. ‘If that’s what you’d like. Is there anything that comes to mind?’

She nodded. ‘My father cheated on my mother a lot when I was younger.’

No real surprise there. Daughter following mother into an unhealthy relationship with the opposite sex, repeating patterns of destructive behaviour, sabotaging attempts at a real relationship by choosing someone inappropriate. Textbook.

‘Do you remember how you felt about that? As a child, it must have been hard to see your mother going through that kind of pain.’

‘I guess. I think I blamed my mum more than anything. If she’d just been prettier or funnier or made more effort, my dad might have wanted to be at home a bit more. It was almost like she gave up trying to keep him.’

Karen almost felt like shouting ‘Aha!’ but stopped herself in time. The suspicious part of her told her this was too easy, almost as if Jessica had come in here ready to reveal the reason for her problems. She shook away the feeling, desperate to cling to the thought that they might be having some kind of breakthrough.

‘And why do you think your mum reacted the way she did to the affairs?’

‘I have a sister. Had … had a sister.’ She gave a nervous little laugh. ‘I never know whether I’m supposed to say have or had – you know, like when a woman’s baby is stillborn and she still says she has a child. As if it belongs to her even though it isn’t alive any more. It’s like that. I used to have a sister. She’s dead.’

Karen’s hand froze halfway to her coffee mug and she could have sworn she could actually felt the blood stop pumping through her veins.

There’s no way she could know, she told herself, desperately trying to keep her composure. There’s no way she could know what happened to Amy. It’s a coincidence. Lots of people have sisters who die. When she looked back on the session, she would be furious at herself for letting her guard drop, for believing Jessica was just another patient, even for a minute.

‘What happened to her?’ Her voice didn’t quiver; didn’t give away any of the thousand emotions she was feeling. And yet Jessica Hamilton studied her as though it had.

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ she said, her own voice devoid of any emotion. ‘Do I have to talk about it?’

‘No, not if it’s too difficult for you,’ Karen replied, the voice inside her head screaming,
Yes! Yes, you do have to talk about it!
She wanted to know what had happened – needed to know what had happened to Jessica’s sister. If there was a sister. Everything that came out of Jessica’s mouth seemed to be aimed straight at Karen’s heart.

‘Good. Let’s talk about him, then,’ Jessica said. ‘Or more importantly, her.’

‘Your lover’s wife?’ Karen was spinning again, her mind struggling to deal with the constant change in direction.

‘Yes, her. I think she’s going mad.’

Karen managed to successfully pick up her coffee cup and brought it to her lips. The coffee was cooler than she’d have liked, but she needed the pause to slow the pace of the session, bring it back under her control. By making Jessica wait for her reply, she was giving herself time to appraise the rapid turn in the conversation while hopefully making her patient feel a little less like she was running the show. The fact was that she couldn’t manage to separate in her mind the woman Jessica was talking about from Eleanor. Now that the idea had entered her head, it was as clear as if she’d come straight out and said it.

‘What do you mean by mad?’

Jessica frowned. ‘You know, crazy. Batshit. Lost it. Mad.’

‘And what makes you think that?’

She threw her a ‘I thought you’d never ask’ smile. ‘She lost the baby.’

Karen couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath as Jessica finished the sentence, and the iron ball of dread that had been forming since this morning seemed to grow in size and roll over in her stomach.

‘What do you mean, lost?’ she asked. ‘As in “I can’t remember where I put my keys” lost?’ She winced inwardly at her flippancy – an annoying habit she’d picked up from years of friendship with Bea. In reality she was in no way feeling flippant.

‘Exactly like that. She was at Asda and she forgot where she’d parked the car. She phoned the police and everything. He told me about it, said she was losing her mind.’

Forgot where she parked the car. Called the police and everything.

‘At Asda?’ This was it. This was where she came right out and asked her if she was talking about Eleanor, demanded to know why she was targeting her like this. What was the worst that could happen? Jessica would deny it was her husband’s best friend she was sleeping with and they would carry on with this game of cat and mouse. Only then she would know Karen was on to her. That she was winning.

‘And you didn’t have any part in what happened to her son?’

Jessica scowled. ‘How could I? She forgot where she parked the car – I can’t make the stupid bitch forget things. Can I?’

It was a challenge, daring Karen to suggest she might have moved the car – daring her to ask more questions. Except Karen didn’t need to ask; she knew that Eleanor hadn’t forgotten where she’d parked the car. She knew it had been taken. What she didn’t know was why Jessica was here, taunting her with talk about mad women and dead sisters. What did she know?

Karen leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees, and looked Jessica square in the face.

‘Let me ask you, Jessica, if you could speak to this woman, if you could just walk up to her on the street, what would you say?’

Jessica considered this for a second – this question she hadn’t planned for or rehearsed, this break from ‘How does that make you feel?’

‘I’d tell her that she doesn’t deserve any of it, any of what she has. And that I’m going to take it all away from her and there’s nothing she can do about it. That she will know what it feels like to lose everything she holds dear. And when she asks why, I’ll tell her that someone did the same to me once upon a time, and this is my revenge. This is my turn to be someone people remember. And by the time I’m finished, she will never forget me.’

46

Does that strike you as strange now, now that you have some perspective?

I don’t think I understand your question.

You were certain that Jessica Hamilton was sleeping with your friend’s husband. She had changed diary entries to mess up Eleanor’s appointments, she had stolen her child and had her investigated by social services. Yet you were convinced that this woman was out to ruin
your
life.

Touché. Maybe at that point I was internalising the problem. Making it all about me as Bea would sa— would have said. But given what’s happened since, what we know now, I’d say I was pretty accurate in thinking Jessica Hamilton’s grudge was with me.

Would you? I mean, considering what happened, I’d say you got off lightly.

I’d say you know jack shit.

I’d like to talk about your relationship with your mother.

I bet you would. That’s what we do, isn’t it? Look for where the problems begin; start with childhood.

Do you have a problem talking about your childhood?

I just don’t see the point. We both know what happened.

Do you speak to your mother now?

Occasionally. We don’t have the closest of relationships, if that’s what you want me to say. Not everyone does; there’s nothing unusual about that.

Your phone records show you spoke to your mother the night before your first session with the woman you call Jessica Hamilton. The call lasted thirteen minutes. What did you talk about?

I can’t remember. Can you remember every call to your parents? That was a long time ago.

And yet you’ve only spoken to her once since, and only for four minutes. Did you argue with her the night before your session?

Maybe. Like I said, I don’t remember. All families argue.

Not like yours, though, do they, Karen? Not all mothers say the things yours said to you. The things she’s been saying to you since you were a child.

My mother is troubled. You can understand why.

I can, certainly. Can you?

I’d like to take a break, please.

47

Karen

She was still shaken up by the session the next day, so much so that she cancelled her other patients and declared it a ‘personal growth’ day. She knew it sounded a bit tree-huggy, but they were encouraged to take these days often, although they were never encouraged to ditch patients for them. She put it in her calendar and hoped no one would realise it was a new development. In the last month she’d started to take more days off, and longer lunch breaks, and it was only a matter of time before one of the others noticed and started questioning her commitment. Ten years of dedicated, devoted service, working through lunch and writing notes at weekends, would count for nothing if one of the others made a complaint – her money was on Travis.

They were present in the office for their personal growth days, although they were encouraged to use their flexitime to take longer lunches, come in later and leave earlier, to set up a relaxed atmosphere while they reflected on their professional development, any challenges they were confronting and any goals they were setting for the future. They were expected to keep diaries of their time over these days for a development portfolio. Needless to say, on this particular day she did none of that. What she did instead was spend the entire morning searching the internet for any sign of Jessica Hamilton.