been every Tuesday night for the last five months.'
'An "enquirer"?'
'The church runs courses for those who want to learn about the faith.'
'Did he talk to you about it?'
'We talked about everything, Mrs Cooper. We were man and wife.' She stood up from the sofa. 'I'm sorry, my daughter's still crying. I'd like to go to her please.'
'Of course.'
'If you wouldn't mind seeing yourself out.'
As Jenny made her way to the front door she felt the coldness of the widow's disapproval follow her to the threshold and beyond. Driving away from the house, she was left with an image of Ceri's face, the look she had given her: like an accusation of heresy. She imagined the dead man mute in the face of his wife's silent judgement, enduring his suffering alone.
She was reluctant to trust her too-often flawed intuition, but the visit had left her in no doubt: Alan Jacobs had departed this world with many dark secrets.
Chapter 2
It had been a month since Jenny last sat opposite Dr Allen in the consulting room at the Chepstow clinic. During the one session they had had since her visit to her father in his nursing home, she had neglected to tell her psychiatrist what he had said to her. In fact, she hadn't told a living soul. He had advanced Alzheimer's, for God's sake. She'd be madder than him to take any notice of his lunatic outbursts.
Dr Allen sported new glasses and a salon haircut. Finally having arrived at an age that matched his serious nature, he was beginning to find a look that he felt comfortable with: stylish academic. She had never asked him if he was married but she assumed not, and guessed that the subtle makeover was part of his strategy to remedy the situation.
He looked up from the bound notebook in which he made his precise longhand notes. 'Has it really been four weeks?' He smiled. 'Any progress on the research you were promising to do?'
She felt a rush of electricity travel up her spine and she almost said it; almost confessed that her father had told her that Katy was a first cousin, his brother's little girl. It had shocked her; her uncle and aunt had lived round the corner yet she had no memory of a little girl, let alone one her age. 'What happened to Cousin Katy?' she had asked him. Sitting there in his armchair, chuckling at the seagull on the windowsill, he had said: 'You remember, Smiler. You killed her.' A minute later he was out cold, the heavy sedatives he was fed giving him the death-rattle snore she would hear all the way to the lift at the end of the corridor.
Jenny said, 'No luck, I'm afraid.'
Trying to hide his disappointment, Dr Allen said, 'Never mind. I'm sure we'll continue to make progress through regression.'
Jenny doubted that very much.
'How have you been feeling? Is the medication working?'
'On the whole.' She smoothed a wrinkle from the lap of her black suit skirt. 'It seems to hold the anxiety at bay - no panic attacks at least.'
'You've managed to avoid alcohol?'
'No problem.'
'And how does that make you feel?'
She resisted the temptation to tell him how much that phrase irritated her; she had counted him using it eight times in their last session.
'Honestly? ... It makes me feel miserable, like there's something wrong with me.'
'Do you think there isn't?' He floated the question neutrally, as if whatever answer she gave was fine by him.
Jenny crossed her legs, trying not to let the lurch she felt in her stomach show on her face. She would tell him about her father, just not now. How could she be expected to probe an open wound first thing in the morning? And what would Dr Allen do with her answer anyway? It was her responsibility. She would deal with it when she had the time and space, which wasn't now.
'Well?' he prompted her, his eyes searching her face.
'The more often I come here,' she said in what she hoped was a calm and measured tone, 'the more I'm inclined to believe that acute anxiety doesn't necessarily have one exciting cause. As you've said, sometimes time is the best healer.'
He kept his eyes trained on the centre of her face. He was making her nervous.
'How is your relationship with your son? Is he still living with his father?'
'For the time being. It makes sense him being close to college with all his commitments.' She sounded like a fraud and could