The Split - Sharon Bolton Page 0,71

head to look at the woman on the sofa. Felicity lies still, her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted. She is breathing deeply. He gets to his feet and feels himself shaking.

That was not Felicity’s voice. That was a child. There is a child in the room. He looks behind the sofa, even behind the chair. He finds no one. And yet …

I hear voices.

Heart racing, wishing he hadn’t made the room quite so dark, Joe makes himself sit back down.

‘How are you feeling, Felicity?’ he asks.

The child replies, only this time he sees quite clearly that the child’s voice is coming out of Felicity’s mouth. He should be relieved. Not a ghost then. And yet …

‘I’m not Felicity, silly,’ the child says.

This is not just baby talk, this is the convincing voice of a young child. Joe feels a sweat break out between his shoulder blades.

‘Who are you?’ he asks.

‘I’m Little Bitch.’ Her voice is low, crestfallen, the voice of a child deeply ashamed and unhappy.

Joe checks his phone. He needs this to be recorded. ‘Who calls you that?’ he asks.

‘Everyone. Not Mummy though.’

‘What does Mummy call you?’

The child’s voice flattens, losing all inflexion, as though reciting a learned script. ‘Baby. Oh God, baby. I’m so sorry, baby.’

Joe swallows. ‘How old are you?’ he asks.

‘Three and seven months. My birthday’s in February.’

Felicity’s date of birth is the ninth of February, but they are only five months past her birthday. On his pad Joe writes, patient has regressed to a specific point in time.

‘Do you know where you live?’ he asks.

She recites quickly. ‘Twenty-two Clockhouse Road, Salisbury.’

Joe writes down the address and asks. ‘Who lives there with you?’

A shudder runs through Felicity’s body. ‘Mummy,’ she says. ‘Only Mummy. Not the bad men. The bad men not s’posed to be here.’

Her face clenches as though in pain.

‘What do the bad men do?’ he asks.

In response, she whimpers and pushes herself into a sitting position. Her feet scuttle back until her legs are drawn up and she can wrap her arms around them. She presses herself into the back of the sofa as though trying to escape an imaginary foe. Her eyes are open now, big and scared, but they don’t seem to focus on anything.

‘Fel—’ he stops himself. She does not want to be called Felicity. He cannot call her Little Bitch. ‘Are you frightened?’ he asks.

She nods. Every second or so, her eyes flick his way but don’t settle.

‘Are you frightened of me?’

Her eyes open wider, as though the thought has only just occurred to her.

‘I won’t hurt you,’ he says. ‘I’m Joe, your therapist. Please don’t be afraid of me.’

She looks directly at him now and he has to suppress a shudder. The face is Felicity’s, the eyes are not. ‘Are you my friend?’ she says.

‘Yes, I’m your friend. What are you frightened of?’

‘They hurt me. They hurt Mummy. I hear her screaming when they put me in the cupboard. And then they come and get me and I scream, but they hit me and Mummy says, “So sorry, baby”’

‘Where are you now?’

‘In the cupboard.’ Felicity’s eyes are wide open, staring around the room, but Joe doesn’t think she can see him. ‘In the cupboard under the stairs. It’s where they put me. They’re coming now. I can hear them on the stairs. Eight, nine, ten, coming ready or not. No, no, Mummy, don’t let them, please, make them stop.’

Felicity starts screaming. Moving fast, Joe leaves his chair and kneels by the sofa. He wraps his arms around her, holding her close. ‘Felicity, I want you to come back out of your trance. You’re perfectly safe and nothing can hurt you now.’

She fights him, but weakly, like a child.

‘Come back, Felicity, it’s over now.’

‘He’s opening the door. He’s opening the door. No, no, no, Daddy, don’t give me to the bad men.’

‘Felicity, you’re safe. You’re in your house, with me, Joe, come back now.’

For several long seconds, as she continues to sob and shrink away from him, he thinks she will never come back, that he has sent her over the edge. Then, slowly, her sobbing subsides and stops. She slumps against him and he holds her for long moments. Outside, a milk truck trundles along the road.

‘Are you back?’ he says. ‘Are you Felicity again?’

She eases herself away from him and he resumes his seat. She wipes a hand over her wet face.

‘I remember what I just told you,’ she says. ‘But I don’t remember any of it