The Split - Sharon Bolton Page 0,31

great. Possibly the best thing I’ve ever done. I think I mentioned it last week.’

‘Oh?’

‘We have a base on South Georgia. Mainly it’s about studying the wildlife, which is remarkable, but there are over a hundred glaciers there, and we know very little about them.’

‘South Georgia? The southern United States?’

She forces a laugh. ‘No, sorry. I’m talking about the island in the South Atlantic. Between the Antarctic and the Falkland Islands. It’s a British protectorate, and one of the most remote places on Earth. No resident population, just a couple of government officials and our scientists. And tourists in the summer. In the winter, though, practically no one.’

He makes a deeply puzzled face. ‘And this is somewhere you want to live? For how long?’

‘I’d love it. It would make my career. And it would be a two-year assignment.’

‘But to be allowed to go, you have to be fit? They’ll expect a medical report and that will include a psychiatric assessment.’

And, with that, she knows he’s seen her game. Of course, the Survey will never send her to South Georgia without a clean bill of health. Physically, she’s absolutely fine. It all depends on Joe.

‘When would you leave?’ he asks.

‘The last week in August. When the worst of the southern hemisphere winter is over.’

‘Just over two months then.’

‘Is it enough time? To get me better. To sort me out. If I agree to two whole months of therapy, will you be satisfied?’

His eyebrows bounce.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I know you’re trying to help.’

‘I’ll answer your question,’ he says. ‘Because I think it’s fair. Two months may be enough time. But I won’t be able to say with any level of confidence until you start to trust me.’

She stares back at him.

‘I think there’s much you’re not telling me,’ he says. ‘And that’s OK. We move at a pace you’re comfortable with.’

She’s been a fool, to imagine she can keep these sessions under control.

‘And I think you’ve been trying to steer the conversation today so that I won’t ask you anything difficult.’

‘So, ask me something difficult,’ she says.

Smiling, he shakes his head. ‘That’s not how it works. I’m not here to make you uncomfortable. What do your friends think about your South Georgia plans?’

The question throws her. ‘My friends?’ she repeats, playing for time.

‘You’ve yet to mention friends,’ he says. ‘But those closest to us can be instrumental to our emotional wellbeing. Is there a significant other in your life? Someone who might, understandably, feel left behind by your plans to move to the other side of the globe?’

‘My memory’s playing tricks on me,’ she says, before she can stop herself.

Joe’s eyes narrow.

‘The day I first came here, this time last week, I did a big supermarket shop after work. When I got home, I found I’d done exactly the same thing a couple of days earlier and forgotten all about it. And I’d bought things I’d never eat.’

Joe makes a note in his pad. ‘You’ve been under some stress,’ he says. ‘It’s understandable things will slip your mind.’

Can she leave it at that? She should, except she finds she doesn’t want to.

‘I keep finding things that aren’t how I left them,’ she says. ‘Things in the wrong place. Sometimes it’s little things like car keys not being on the right hook, but the other week, someone emptied all my kitchen cupboards and put everything back in different places.’

‘Someone?’ he prompts.

‘Exactly. It can only have been me. I’m doing all these things and I can’t remember them happening.’

He is writing again. She should stop now. But she finds she can’t. She has opened a flood gate and can no longer hold back the flow.

‘I’m finding cigarette butts,’ she says. ‘I’ve never smoked. But I find them in the garden near the back door several times a week. This is going to sound mad. I know its mad, but I can’t help thinking that someone is sleeping in my spare bedroom.’

That’s it. That’s enough. Stop now.

‘More than once, I’ve gone past the door and seen it open, which is not how I keep it. I’m pretty tidy around the house. And when I look inside, the bed is all rumpled, as though someone has just got out and not bothered to make it. And the curtains are drawn too. I hate drawn curtains during the day.’

‘This must be very confusing.’

‘It is. I’ll tell you the worst thing, though.’

‘What’s that?’

‘You know you suggested keeping a diary?’

Joe inclines his head.

‘I went to start it that