Part Two

My argument with so much of psychoanalysis is the preconception that suffering is a mistake, or a sign of weakness, or a sign even of illness. When in fact, possibly the greatest truths we know have come out of people’s suffering.

Arthur Miller

The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,

And the fierce Poseidon you will never encounter,

If you do not carry them within your soul,

If your soul does not set them up before you.

C. P. Cavafy, ‘Ithaca’

1

I couldn’t sleep again tonight. Too energised, too wound up. Overexcited, my mother would say.

So I gave up trying – and went for a walk.

As I wandered the deserted streets of the city, I encountered a fox. He hadn’t heard me coming and looked up, startled.

It was the closest I’ve ever been to one. What a magnificent creature! – that coat, that tail – and those dark eyes, staring right back at me.

I gazed into them and … what did I see?

It’s hard to describe – I saw all the wonder of creation, the wonder of the universe, there in that animal’s eyes, in that second. It was like seeing God. And – for a second – I had a strange feeling. A kind of presence. As if God was there, on the street, next to me, holding my hand.

I felt safe, suddenly. I felt calm, and at peace – as if a raging fever had abated, a delirium burned itself out. I felt the other part of me, the good part, rising with the dawn …

But then – the fox vanished. It disappeared into the shadows, and the sun came up … God was gone. I was alone, and split in two.

I don’t want to be two people. I want to be one person. I want to be whole. But I have no choice, it seems.

And as I stood there on the street, as the sun came up, I had a horrible feeling of recollection – another dawn, years ago. Another morning – just like this.

That same yellow light. That same feeling of being split in two.

But where?

When?

I know I can remember if I try. But do I want to? I have a feeling it’s something I tried very hard to forget. What is it I’m so afraid of? Is it my father? Do I still believe he will emerge from a trapdoor like a pantomime villain, and strike me down?

Or is it the police? Do I fear a sudden hand on my shoulder, an arrest, and punishment – retribution for my crimes?

Why am I so afraid?

The answer must be there somewhere.

And I know where I must look.

2

Early next morning, Mariana went to see Zoe.

Zoe had just woken up, and was groggy, clutching Zebra with one hand and pushing away the eye mask from her face with the other.

She blinked at Mariana, who pulled back the curtains to let in the daylight. Zoe didn’t look good – her eyes were bloodshot, and she looked exhausted.

‘Sorry, I didn’t sleep well. Kept having bad dreams.’

Mariana handed Zoe a mug of coffee. ‘About Tara? I think I did too.’

Zoe nodded and sipped her coffee. ‘This all feels like a nightmare. I can’t believe she’s really – gone.’

‘I know.’

Tears welled up in Zoe’s eyes. Mariana didn’t know whether to comfort her or distract her. She decided on the latter. She picked up the pile of books on the desk, and looked at the titles – The Duchess of Malfi, The Revenger’s Tragedy, The Spanish Tragedy.

‘Let me guess. Tragedy this term?’

‘Revenge tragedy,’ Zoe said with a small groan. ‘So dumb.’

‘You’re not enjoying it?’

‘The Duchess of Malfi is okay … it’s funny – I mean, it’s so insane.’

‘I remember. Poisoned Bibles and werewolves. But somehow – it still works, doesn’t it? At least, I always thought so.’ Mariana looked at The Duchess of Malfi. ‘I’ve not read it in years.’

‘They’re staging it at the ADC Theatre this term. Come and see it.’

‘I will. It’s a good part. Why don’t you audition?’

‘I did. Didn’t get it.’ Zoe sighed. ‘Story of my life.’

Mariana smiled. Then this little pretence that nothing was wrong collapsed. Zoe stared at her, a deepening frown on her face.

‘Are you leaving? Are you saying goodbye?’

‘No. I’m not leaving. I’ve decided to stay, at least for a few days – and ask some questions. See if I can help.’

‘Really?’ Zoe’s eyes lit up, and her frown melted away. ‘That’s amazing. Thank you.’ She hesitated. ‘Listen. What I said yesterday – about wishing Sebastian was here instead – I’m sorry.’

Mariana shook her head – she understood. Zoe and Sebastian had always had a special bond. When she was very small, it was to Sebastian that Zoe would invariably run if she grazed a knee or cut herself, or needed comforting. Mariana didn’t mind – she knew how important it was to have a father. And Sebastian was the closest to a father Zoe ever had since the loss of her parents. She smiled.

‘You don’t have to apologise. Sebastian always was much better in a crisis than me.’

‘I guess he always looked after us. And now …’ Zoe shrugged.

Mariana gave an encouraging smile. ‘Now we look after each other. Okay?’

‘Okay.’ Zoe nodded. Then she spoke more firmly, pulling herself together. ‘Just give me twenty minutes to shower and get ready. We can make a plan—’

‘What do you mean? Don’t you have lectures today?’

‘Yeah, but—’

‘No buts,’ said Mariana firmly. ‘Go to your lectures. Go to your classes. I’ll see you for lunch. We can talk then.’

‘Oh, Mariana—’

‘No. I mean it. It’s more important now than ever that you keep busy – and focus on your work. Okay?’

Zoe sighed heavily but didn’t protest further. ‘Okay.’

‘Good,’ Mariana said, kissing her cheek. ‘I’ll see you later.’

Mariana left Zoe’s room and went down to the river.

She passed the college boathouse – and the row of moored punts belonging to St Christopher’s, chained to the bank, swaying in the water.

As she walked, Mariana phoned her patients to cancel her week’s sessions.

She didn’t tell her patients about what had happened. She merely said she had a family emergency. And the majority of them took the news well – apart from Henry. Mariana didn’t expect him to react well, and he didn’t.

‘Thanks a lot,’ Henry said sarcastically. ‘Cheers, mate. Much appreciated.’

Mariana tried to explain there had been an emergency, but he wasn’t interested. Like a child, Henry could only see his own needs being frustrated, and his only interest was in punishing her.

‘Do you care about me? Do you even give a shit?’

‘Henry, this is beyond my control—’

‘What about me? I need you, Mariana. That’s beyond my control. Things are happening. I – I’m drowning here—’

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

‘I can’t talk about it on the phone. I need you … Why aren’t you home?’

Mariana froze. How did he know she wasn’t there? He must have been watching the house again.

She felt a sudden alarm bell ringing in her head – this situation with Henry was untenable; she felt angry with herself for having allowed it to happen in the first place. She’d have to deal with it – deal with Henry. But not now. Not today.

‘I have to go,’ she said.

‘I know where you are, Mariana. You don’t know that, do you? I’m watching. I can see you …’

Mariana hung up. She felt unnerved. She looked around the riverbank and the path on either side – but couldn’t see Henry anywhere.

Of course she couldn’t – he was just trying to scare her. She felt annoyed with herself for rising to the bait.

She shook her head – and kept walking.

3

It was a beautiful morning. All along the river, sunlight shimmered through the willow trees, making the leaves glow a luminous green above Mariana’s head. And under her feet, wild cyclamen grew along the path in patches, like tiny pink butterflies. It was hard to reconcile such beauty with her reason for being there, or with her thoughts, which revolved around murder and death.

What the hell am I doing? she thought. This is crazy.

It was hard not to dwell on the negative – on everything she didn’t know. She had no idea how to catch a murderer. She wasn’t a criminologist or forensic psychologist, like Julian. All she had was an instinctive knowledge of human nature and human behaviour, derived from years of working with patients. And it would have to do; she had to banish this self-doubt, or it would cripple her. She had to trust her instincts. She thought for a second.

Where to begin?

Well, firstly – and most importantly – she needed to understand Tara: who she was as a person, who she loved, who she hated – and who she feared. Mariana suspected that Julian was right: Tara knew her killer. So Mariana needed to discover her secrets. It shouldn’t be too difficult. In groups like these, in small cloistered communities, gossip was rife and people had intimate knowledge of one another’s private lives. If there was any truth to the affair Tara alleged she was having with Edward Fosca, for instance, there was bound to be some gossip. A great deal could be learned from what others in college had to say. This was where Mariana would begin – by asking questions.