‘Is she OK now?’
She looks up again, but briefly. ‘She’s fine, thanks. She got herself sorted out. She even started volunteering. Like you do. It’s good that you help them. They need people like you.’
Again, a shadow crosses Joe’s face, and for a moment, Felicity is tempted to pursue the conversation about the murdered homeless woman. Before she can speak, though, he takes a deep breath. ‘I’m happy for you to go back to work,’ he says. ‘As soon as you like.’
‘Today?’
He lifts both hands in a gesture that says, ‘it’s up to you’. ‘But I’m attaching a condition.’
‘What?’
‘I want you to agree to continuing therapy with me. Once a week for six weeks. That’s the deal.’
Her first instinct is to refuse. Sit in this chair for six more hours, fending off his questions, watching every word she says?
‘And will my employers know I’m seeing you?’
‘Only if you tell them. Unless I think you’re about to harm yourself or others, these sessions will be completely confidential.’
Six weeks, six hours.
‘OK,’ she agrees.
Joe gets up and walks towards the window. She watches him as he looks outside, wondering whether he is giving himself thinking time, or her the chance to speak without looking directly at him. Given time, she will learn his tricks, be prepared for them. For now, she has to be careful.
‘Felicity,’ he says. ‘Has anything like this happened before?’
‘No,’ she says.
He turns to face her again, and with the light behind him, she can no longer see his face. She doesn’t have to. He knows she is lying.
20
Joe
Joe’s last appointment runs over time but it’s only a five-minute walk to the pub. It takes him several seconds to spot the woman at the corner table of the courtyard garden. She has two pints of beer in front of her, one of them half empty. He makes his way over, edging past one of the university football teams, still in training kit. She’s changed her hair colour again. On top of the bleached blonde she’s added a pink rinse and, in all fairness, it is the exact same colour as her ripped jeans and the round circles on her cheeks.
Delilah stands up, letting him see that she’s gaining weight again. ‘Darling,’ she says as she wraps one arm around his waist. She kisses his cheek and holds on to him for a second longer than he is expecting. Joe wraps his arms around her and lets her hug him.
‘Put her down, you dirty bastard, she’s old enough to be your mum!’
Joe and Delilah break apart. The goon who is about to wish he’d switched to lime and soda a couple of pints ago is grinning from a crowded table several feet away.
Joe puts his hand on Delilah’s shoulder. ‘Can’t you just—’ he says, and decides not to bother. Of course she won’t let it go, she never lets it go, already she is reaching into her bag and striding across the courtyard.
‘Come on then, love.’
‘Fancy a toyboy, do you?’
Joe lifts his pint as Delilah reaches the boys. The table bounces as she slaps her warrant card down hard on its surface. Beer spills. Ignoring their outraged splutters, Delilah leans towards the boy who insulted her.
‘I am his mother, Shit-For-Brains,’ she says. ‘I’m also a very senior local police officer. So, if I hear another word from you, or any of your intellectually challenged mates, I will arrest the lot of you for breach of the peace, being drunk and disorderly in a public place and behaviour that I am interpreting as a racist hate crime. Is that understood?’
Five pairs of eyes stare back at her.
Delilah takes a deep breath and yells. ‘Is that understood?’
The courtyard falls silent.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ one of the smarter – possibly more sober – says.
Everyone in the garden watches the overweight, middle-aged woman with pink hair and jeans walk back to her own table.
‘Racist hate crime?’ Joe asks, as his mother takes her seat again.
‘Welsh is a race,’ she tells him. ‘Cheers.’
‘Actually, I’m not sure it is.’
They chink glasses.
‘Good day?’ he asks, although he knows what the answer will be. He’s read the local papers the last couple of weeks. The serious crime squad are not enjoying their finest hour.
‘Pissing awful,’ Delilah says. ‘First murder in God knows how long and we have squat. The gaffer is talking about getting me some help, meaning take me off the case.’
‘Can he do that?’
‘He can do what he wants. And I’d agree with him if I thought we’d missed something, or if we’d cocked up somehow.’
Joe says nothing. There is nothing to say. Bella had been a good kid. One he’d thought he might be able to help. He’d taken time with her, developed a rapport, thought he was getting somewhere.
‘On the plus side,’ Delilah adds, ‘my granddaughter phoned me.’
Joe puts his pint down. ‘What did she want? Is she OK?’
‘Keep your knickers on, she’s fine. She wanted to know if she and Jake could stay with me on Saturday night. Sarah’s got a last-minute Ann Summers party.’
‘They can stay with me. Why the hell didn’t she ask me?’
‘Might have been Tupperware. Do they still do Tupperware parties? And she said she’d called you once already and you’d bitten her ear off for disturbing you when you’re with patients. You come too. If you stay over, I won’t have to worry about getting called out if another rough sleeper decides to get himself knifed.’
‘That’s the spirit.’
His mother grins at him. ‘How was your first day back?’ she asks.
Joe takes his time. ‘It went well, actually. Mainly admin, getting in touch with people to let them know I’m available again. And I’ve got a new patient.’
‘Well, I hope to God it’s not another potential student suicide. If I have to scrape another kid off the pavement at the bottom of St John’s tower … God, I hate exam term.’
‘You should talk to someone.’
‘I do. I talk to you.’
‘I mean someone with whom you can have a professional relationship. Can’t the police organise it?’
‘And trash my reputation as the most heartless bitch in Cambridge?’
‘Well, I don’t think suicide is on the cards for this one, although you can never be sure. Very anxious young woman. High achiever, holding down a responsible position, terrified she might lose it if she’s diagnosed with a mental illness. I suspect she’s been concealing symptoms for some time.’
Joe stops himself. He’d been about to refer to Felicity’s adventure on the common but that had involved the police. His mother might know about it.
‘You said “young”.’ Delilah’s face has darkened. ‘Is she attractive?’
‘Didn’t notice.’
Delilah breathes out, noisily, through her nose. ‘Another young woman, Joe? Is that wise? I mean, so soon after—’
Joe interrupts, before his mother can speak the name he dreads hearing. ‘Mum, her youth, and her looks, are irrelevant. I’m not allowed to date patients. Plus, starting a relationship with a woman suffering mental health problems would be—’