Waiting for Wednesday

Karlsson, as she closed the lid. ‘We
haven’t got to them yet. It takes a long time to go through a house like this.
Nothing was thrown away.’
    ‘Photo albums?’
    ‘A whole shelf given over to them. She
wrote the date and occasion under each. She didn’t do motherhood by
halves.’
    ‘No.’
    Frieda went to stand by the window that
overlooked the garden. There were drifts of blossom around the fruit tree, and a cat sat
in a patch of sunlight. ‘There’s nothing here she wouldn’t want to be
seen,’ she said.
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘I always think that nobody’s
life can tolerate a spotlight shone into its corners.’
    ‘But?’
    ‘But from everything you tell me and
everything I’ve seen, hers seems entirely ready for the spotlight, don’t you
think? As if this house was a stage.’
    ‘A stage for what?’
    ‘For a play about being
good.’
    ‘I’m supposed to be the cynical
one. Do you mean you think nobody can be that good?’
    ‘I’m a therapist, Karlsson. Of
course that’s what I think. Where are Ruth Lennox’s secrets?’
    But of course, she thought, several hours
later and sitting at Number 9 – her friends’ café near where she lived – real
secrets aren’t found in objects, in schedules, in the words we speak or the
expressions we put on our faces, in underwear drawers and filing cabinets, deleted
texts, and diaries pushed to the bottom of the bag. They are lodged far deeper,
unguessable even to ourselves. She was thinking about this as she faced Jack Dargan,
whom she supervised and, even during her convalescence, met at least once a week to
track his progress and listen to his doubts. And Jack was a thorny ball of doubt. But he
never doubtedFrieda: she was the constant in his life, his single
point of faith.
    ‘I have a favour to ask,’ Jack
was saying animatedly. ‘Don’t look anxious – I’m not going to let down
my patients or anything. Especially not Carrie.’ Since discovering that her
husband Alan had not left her but had been murdered by his twin, Dean Reeve, Carrie had
been seeing Jack twice a week and he seemed to have done better than even Frieda, who
believed in him, had expected. He laid aside his self-conscious pessimism and his
awkwardness and concentrated on the woman in distress.
    ‘What is this favour?’
    ‘I’ve written a paper on trauma
and before I send it out I wanted you to look at it.’
    Frieda hesitated. Trauma felt too close for
her to review it dispassionately. She looked at Jack’s flushed face, his tufty
hair and ridiculous clothes (today he was wearing brown, balding jeans, a second hand
yellow-and-orange shirt that clashed with his colouring and his hair, and a green
waterproof even though the sky was cloudless). In his confusion, he reminded her of Ted
Lennox, of so many other raw and self-conscious young men.
    ‘All right,’ she said
reluctantly.
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Can I ask you something?’
    ‘You can always ask.’
    ‘But you won’t always answer. I
know.’ Jack avoided her eyes. ‘I’m only asking because the others
won’t and –’
    ‘What others?’ Frieda
interrupted.
    ‘Oh, you know. The usual
suspects.’
    ‘Am I that scary? Go on,
then.’
    ‘Are you all right?’
    ‘That’s what you – they – wanted
to ask?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘The paper you’ve written was
just an excuse?’
    ‘Well, yes. Kind of – though I have
written it. And I would like you to look at it if you have time.’
    ‘And I’m assuming that
you’re asking me because you’re worried that I’m not.’
    ‘No – well, yes. You seem –’ He
stopped.
    ‘Go on.’
    ‘Brittle. Like an eggshell. More
unpredictable than you usually are. Sorry. I don’t mean to offend you. But maybe
you aren’t taking your recovery seriously enough.’
    ‘Is that what you think?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘All of you?’
    ‘Well – yes.’
    ‘Tell everyone – whoever takes it upon
themselves to be worried for me – that I’m fine.’
    ‘You’re angry.’
    ‘I don’t like the thought that
you’ve been discussing me behind my back.’
    ‘Only because we’re
concerned.’
    ‘Thank you for your concern, but
I’m fine.’
    Later that afternoon, Frieda had a visitor
she wasn’t expecting who brought the recent past flooding back. She opened her
door to find Lorna Kersey standing on the doorstep, and before Frieda had time to say
anything, she had stepped inside and closed the door behind her with a bang.
    ‘This won’t take