I Know Your Secret - Ruth Heald Page 0,80

I am. ‘And why not? It’s a lovely house. The perfect place to bring up a baby.’

She winces and draws away from me. ‘Like I said, it’s not a good time. So could you leave, please?’

I nod. ‘Of course. I’m sorry for interrupting. I’d assumed the estate agent would have let you know.’ I walk over to the door, as if I’m about to leave. I move round Beth and she sways a little as I brush by her. I’m clutching the key to the room in my hand. It feels solid beneath my fingers. When I get to the door, I push it into the keyhole and turn it, locking us both in the room.

Fifty-Five

Beth

‘What are you doing?’ I ask, my blood running cold. When I’d first opened the door I’d been shocked to see Danielle, but relieved that she wasn’t an intruder. But now she’s locked me in this room and I realise that that’s exactly what she is. An intruder in my home, in my life.

My own key for this room is downstairs. I won’t get out unless she lets me out.

‘I didn’t only come to measure up,’ she says. ‘I’ve been missing you. Missing our therapy sessions.’

‘You have?’ I look at her warily, gripping my glass tighter. I feel dizzy, as if nothing makes sense. Wasn’t she the one who reported me to my professional body?

‘I thought if I rang you and asked for another session you might not speak to me. But I’ve needed to talk to you for a while.’

Fear pricks my skin. ‘We don’t need to do this now. Why don’t we do it another time? We can have a session when I’m more prepared.’ If I can just persuade her to unlock the door, to leave the house, then I can work out what to do about her later. My mind’s too fuzzy to think straight at the moment.

She shakes her head. ‘I want to talk to someone now. And you’re the only one I can confide in.’ Tears start to slide down her cheeks, and for a moment I feel sorry for her.

‘Why me?’ I ask.

‘I trust you. I’ve always trusted you.’

‘Look, just unlock the door. We can book in a session for another time. I promise.’

‘Please, Beth, just hear me out. I’ve been having a tough time lately. My mother’s gone missing and I don’t know who to turn to.’

‘Your mother?’ I remember her saying she’d come to live with her. They’d been estranged.

‘It reminded me of the old times when she used to disappear sometimes, when she was angry with my father. But she always used to come back.’ Danielle eases herself down into my therapy chair, where I usually sit. I can see she’s not going anywhere. I sit opposite her on the sofa reserved for my clients and try to focus, my vision blurry from alcohol. Our roles are reversed now. It’s Danielle who holds the power.

‘It reminds you of your childhood?’ I struggle to take control of the conversation, repeating her words back to her, forcing myself into therapist mode, despite my mind being a jumble of confused thoughts.

‘Yeah. I longed for help then too.’

‘Did you have anyone to talk to about it, back then?’

‘Just one person.’ She looks at me shyly.

‘A friend?’

‘Well, I thought so. But she wasn’t really. She wasn’t a school friend. More like a concerned adult. Someone who cared about me. Someone who looked out for me. Someone who I could tell everything to. You see, even before my father died, I was unhappy. My parents were fighting constantly and I needed someone to help me. She did. She just listened to me. Like you’re doing now.’

Something stirs inside me, a memory from long ago. Before I had my breakdown, long before. But I can’t grasp it.

‘I’m so glad you had someone back then,’ I say, but I feel horribly uncomfortable, my stomach churning. Maybe I’m drunker than I thought. Maybe I need to be sick. The four walls of the room seem to be caving in on me, the space getting smaller and smaller. Sweat pools on my back. The intensity of Danielle’s gaze is too much for me. I try to take deep breaths.

‘It was a teacher who helped me,’ she says. My breathing stops completely. ‘An art teacher. She was kind to me.’

I can hardly focus now. I can hardly think at all. It’s her.

‘Sophie?’ I ask.

‘Yes,’ she nods.

I stare at her. I’m the teacher she’s talking about.

She continues.