I Know Your Secret - Ruth Heald Page 0,9

at the row of terraced houses rolling by. And then I wonder if it’s true. I did love him at the beginning of our relationship. I spent every waking moment thinking about him, fantasising about him. And I loved him on our wedding day, I remember that so clearly. But do I love him now?

Five

Beth

After Danielle leaves, I lock the door of my therapy room and go downstairs to the living room, sit down and take deep breaths. I feel unsteady, just glad to have got through the session. As I try and relax, all the thoughts I’ve been keeping at bay come crowding in. Richard has left me. The man I love, the man who I thought I would grow old with, doesn’t want to be part of my life anymore. Richard has always looked out for me, but now there’s no one. I’m going to have to look after Charlie alone, without anyone there in the evenings to talk through the stresses and strains of bringing up a four-year-old. I feel the panic rising inside me, and I try to calm down by telling myself that I can keep going, I can hold it together.

I make myself a cup of tea and take it upstairs to check on Charlie. He’s fine, still sleeping peacefully. Somewhere in the house I hear the clunk of a pipe and I jump, glancing behind me, remembering Danielle standing there earlier. I think of how much she longs for a child, and I feel sorry for her. But there’s another feeling there, a kernel of fear. Maybe it was the way Danielle was looking at Charlie. I didn’t like the way she came into his bedroom without asking.

I push the fear away, recognising its irrationality. A lot of people say you should trust your instincts, but mine can let me down. I was delusional once, spiralling out of control, convinced someone was out to hurt me. I ended up in hospital. These days, I’m better most of the time, but I have to remember to take my pills.

I think about how I can help Danielle, and a warm feeling spreads through me. The thought that I can make a difference to her life, help her through a tough time, goes some way to alleviating some of the emotional pain coursing through me. Even without Richard, there is still lots worth living for. I can focus on my job, on my clients. If anything’s going to get me through this, it will be that.

I take my tea into the bedroom, pick up a novel from the bookcase and flick through the pages, unable to concentrate. Thoughts of a future without Richard swirl round my head. The drawer in my bedside table tempts me. It’s where I lock away my grief, the things I try not to think about as I go about my day-to-day life. Happy memories, smiling photos and Charlie’s drawings are scattered round the house. Only the painful memories make it into the drawer. Moments I want to hide from, never confront. As a therapist I should have dealt with all my own problems, but the truth is I’ve found some things insurmountable.

Most of the drawer is full of Nick; pictures and cards, theatre tickets and restaurant receipts. When I was in a relationship with Nick I was the happiest I’ve ever been. I laughed and joked as if I didn’t have a care in the world. He helped me realise that not all men were like my violent ex, that the world could be a good place. He taught me how to live.

Much later, I moved into this house with Richard. It’s in the suburb where I used to live, where I first met Nick, but I didn’t tell Richard that. I was heavily pregnant by then, and we’d chosen the house thinking about the baby’s quality of life. I brought my bedside table with me when we moved in, so the photos were never far away.

But now the pictures only make me sad. They remind me of what I once had. What I can never get back.

Soon the drawer became a repository for other painful things: the hospital identity band which they’d put round Charlie’s little foot when he’d had to stay on the ward because he wouldn’t feed and was losing weight. And the other photos. The photos I got in the post. The ones that showed me Richard was cheating.

I take a gulp of tea and then reach