Waiting for Wednesday

her body that had been hit
before and then had partially healed. She felt an impulse to smash the phone rather than
continue the conversation. Was it something to do with the attack? Were the police
reconsidering it? Were the press trying to sniff something out?
    ‘What is it?’ she said.
    ‘You’ve seen a patient called
Seamus Dunne.’
    This was so unexpected that Frieda had to
think, just to recall the name. At the same time, Josef stepped into her line of sight
and gestured that they were leaving.
    ‘We need to talk,’ she said to
him.
    ‘Soon.’ Josef backed away.
    ‘What?’ said the woman on the
phone.
    ‘I was talking to someone else. How do
you know about Seamus Dunne?’
    ‘Dr Klein, it might be better if I
could come round to your house and conduct a proper interview in person.’
    Frieda took a deep breath and, as she did
so, caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass of a picture on the wall. Was that
person really her? The thought of someone else, anyone else, coming round to her house
made her feel sick. ‘Just tell me what this is about.’
    ‘All we’re doing is reporting on
some new psychological research which we think is really important. As you know, some
people think that psychoanalysts aren’t sufficiently accountable to the
public.’ Jilly Freeman left a silence that Frieda didn’t break. ‘Well,
anyway, there’s this academic called Hal Bradshaw who has been conducting
research. Do you know him?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Frieda. ‘I
do.’
    ‘Well, what he’s done is to
select some prominent analysts – and you’re one of them. And then he sent people
to see these analysts with instructions to show the identical classic symptoms of a
person who was an imminent danger to the public, to see how the analyst
responded.’ There was another pause and Frieda didn’t speak. ‘So I was
ringing to ask if you had any comment.’
    ‘You haven’t asked me a
question.’
    ‘From what I understand,’ said
Jilly Freeman, ‘this patient, Seamus Dunne …’
    ‘You said he was pretending to be a
patient.’
    ‘Yes, as part of this research
project, and he displayed what are the clear, accepted signs of being a violent
psychopath.’
    ‘Which are?’ said Frieda.
    ‘Um …’ said Jilly Freeman.
There was a pause and Frieda heard pages being turned. ‘Yes, here it is. Each of
the supposed patients were to talk of having been violent towards animals in their
childhood and then to have vivid fantasies of attacking women and to talk about putting
these into practice. Did Seamus Dunne talk about that?’
    ‘I don’t discuss what my
patients say in their sessions.’
    ‘But he wasn’t a real patient.
And he’s talked about it. He gave me an interview.’
    ‘As part of the research
project?’ said Frieda.
    She looked around for a chair and sat down.
Suddenly she felt utterly exhausted, as if she might go to sleep even while she was
talking. It was as if she had locked the door and blocked the windows and they’d
still managed to get in through a gap she’d missed.
    ‘What we want to know for our piece on
the research is whether you reported any concerns to the authorities.’
    There was a ring at the door.
    ‘Wait a minute,’ said Frieda.
‘I’ve got to let someone in.’
    She opened the door. It was Reuben.
    ‘Frieda, I just –’ he began, but
she held up her hand to silence him and waved him inside. She noticed that he seemed
dishevelled and distracted. He walked past her and disappeared into the kitchen.
    ‘What were you saying?’ said
Frieda.
    ‘I wanted to ask you if you’d
reported any concerns to the authorities.’
    Frieda was distracted by the sound of
clinking from the kitchen. Reuben reappeared with a can of beer.
    ‘No,’ said Frieda. ‘I
didn’t.’
    Reuben mouthed something at her, then took a
large gulp of beer from the can.
    ‘From what we’ve been
informed,’ continued Jilly Freeman, ‘this experiment was designed to present
various therapists with a patient who was a clear, present danger to the community. The
patient was a psychopath and it was your duty – in fact, it was your legal
responsibility – to report him to the police. Could you comment on that?’
    ‘But he wasn’t a
psychopath,’ said Frieda.
    ‘Is it her?’ said Reuben.
‘Is it fucking her?’
    ‘What are you talking about?’
Frieda hissed.
    ‘What?’ said Jilly Freeman.
    ‘I’m not talking to you.’
Frieda angrily waved Reuben away. ‘You’ve said