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“Conflicted,” she says at last. The therapist tilts her head to one side, waiting for her to expand. “He’s just as …” She pauses, looking for the right word. She wants to say attractive, handsome, but doesn’t want Dr. Jones to see her as that sort of person. Superficial. There was always far more to his appeal than that.
Romilly knows Adam’s single. She still meets up with Pippa, and Pippa passes all the gossip on from Jamie. Easily getting women, by all accounts. “A bit of a slut,” Pippa had said with a frown. “Never faithful. You’re well rid of him,” she’d added, when Romilly knows that was never Adam’s problem.
She feels a flare of jealousy then, imagining Adam with other women, and she forces herself to focus on the parts of her ex-husband that were less than desirable.
“He’s infuriating,” Romilly says. “He’s smart, successful. Everything that attracted me to him in the first place. But now I also notice his arrogance. How he sees me as this awful person who let him down.”
“He said that?”
“No, but I could tell. And he pities me. Thinks I’m this fucked-up mess.”
“Do you think you’re a fucked-up mess?”
“No. Not usually.” Romilly feels the flash of shame again, knowing she embarrassed herself in front of Adam. “Maybe today,” she adds quietly.
“So what happened today? Why did you go to see him?”
“He’s in charge of that murder case. The one by the river. And I thought … I …”
“You thought it was him.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I … I’m not sure. A feeling.”
Romilly feels ridiculous repeating that now. Of course, Adam hadn’t listened to her. He’s a man who deals in hard evidence. Proof.
“He didn’t take you seriously?” Jones replies.
“No. And now I’m worried that he’s right. That I’m doing it again.”
“Catastrophizing?”
“Yes. Making it all about me—and him. Everything that happened in 1995.”
“What makes this different from when you did it in the past?”
“I feel better nowadays. But what if this is just the beginning? Of another episode?”
“What if it’s not?” the doctor asks. “What if you’re right?”
Romilly stops. Ever since yesterday morning, the only thing in her head has been calm down—you’re imagining things. It’s not him. How could it be? Adam’s reaction only confirmed her lunacy. But now, with Dr. Jones’s statement, she considers it from the other side.
The doctor carries on. “You know that case better than anyone. You lived it. You saw it with your own eyes. Something in that news report sparked a memory—something that’s made you worried rather than upset. Resolute rather than hysterical. Why the difference?”
“But … but …” Romilly stutters. “How can it be?”
The therapist shrugs. “You’re a doctor. You’re used to applying your intelligence, researching into symptoms. Find out. Dig a bit further. And if it’s nothing, you’ll know to let it go. But if it’s something …”
She leaves the sentence unfinished. If it’s something … if she’s right.
Then the thought is too horrible to bear.
BEFORE
HIS KNEES ARE pressed into his chest, his back curved, his head against his legs. He has been like this for a while, although time has no purpose here. It’s pitch-black.
