by V Clifford
He picked up immediately. ‘Hi, Viv. Is there any chance we could catch up today?’
Viv thought, ‘catch up’? Mary, his wife, must be within earshot. Interesting that he didn’t want her to know. Why wouldn’t he?
She replied. ‘Yes, I could meet you this morning if you like. But it would have to be in Edinburgh.’
‘That’s fine. How about that café in the Grassmarket?’ He spoke as if they hadn’t had an arrangement yesterday.
‘That’s good. What time?’
‘I could get to you within the hour?’
iv looked at the time on her laptop, ten to ten. ‘Eleven o’clock suit?’
He responded in a voice that was very upbeat, for a man who only two days ago sounded desperate. ‘Excellent, Viv, see you then!’
She spent the next half hour online looking for info about the Eastern Brethren. There wasn’t a lot on the Aberdeenshire group, but tons of mentions of Pennsylvanian groups. From what Viv read they were a lot like Plymouth Brethren only stricter. Their women weren’t allowed to go out of doors without a hat. She recalled the sisters Louise and Emma who always wore hats. Apparently, they kept nasty angels from impregnating them. Viv guessed that the Eastern Brethren used the same biblical text to justify their own dogma. She could see the work of St Paul behind this, and shook her head as she spoke to the screen. ‘Who are these people who think that some guy almost two thousand years ago had the right answers? Didn’t he know that angels were clever enough to circumnavigate a hat?’ Another couple of emails arrived in her box: one from Paula offering to meet, the other a promotional one, which she deleted. Viv checked the time. She’d answer Paula later.
Chapter Ten
Viv stretched out her hand as she approached the table, genuinely pleased to see him. ‘Walter! How are you?’
He didn’t look great. Although he was wearing an immaculate collar and tie, his pale drawn face told its own story. Viv nodded to Bella, the proprietor, who waved but seemed to sense that this was a business meeting and didn’t come over for her usual catch-up. Viv, entirely at home here, slipped her jacket round the back of the chair, but before she was even seated Walter launched. ‘I’m worried Viv.’
Viv nodded. ‘I can see that. But what’s going on?’
He looked round about him and Viv almost laughed. The steamer on the coffee machine swooshed full pelt trying to keep pace with people queueing for take-away latte and cappuccino. Walter practically had to bawl to be heard. They were the only two sitting in.
He leaned over the table. ‘You’re never going to believe this.’
Viv cocked her head. Then as he continued the swooshing stopped and Walter was bellowing into the now quiet room.
Embarrassed, Walter adjusted his volume. ‘I’ve been having difficulty with an ex client . . .’ He checked over his shoulder. ‘She’s stalking me and no matter how often I confront her about it she says it’s simply coincidence. Coincidence that she’s looking in an empty shop window outside my practice three or four hours a day. Coincidence that when I had, oh you’ll love this, my haircut, she was in the salon at the same time. Guess what her presenting issue was?’ He didn’t wait for her to reply. ‘Being obsessed by “powerful” men, but Viv I’m not a powerful man. You know that.’ He was on auto-rant and completely unaware of it.
Viv nodded in acknowledgement, ‘Yes, but I know what I know, and as you were always keen to tell me, I don’t know what I don’t know. And let’s face it I don’t know you beyond therapy. You could be an axe murderer.’
His face registered shock, and he shook his head running a hand over his grey stubble. Viv had never seen him in this state. Walter was so dedicated to neatness and routine that she fancied he must factor in a specific time for spontaneity. Life for Walter always appeared to flow seamlessly from one fifty-minute hour to the next. Viv, slightly alarmed by his obvious distress, remembered his infinite patience when she was in a similar state and decided she wanted to help.
She smiled at him as he rearranged the salt and pepper pots, an obsession familiar to Viv. ‘You’ll be relieved to know that I don’t think you capable of criminal behaviour, but you get my meaning.’
He nodded. ‘Of course. Of course.’
‘What have you done to discourage this behaviour?’
Suddenly his fingernails fascinated him. ‘The thing is . . . I have had coffee with her once or twice.’
Viv was dumbstruck. This was a complete no-no. To fraternise with patients outside of therapy was reason enough for him to be struck off. What had possessed him? ‘Walter, is it my imagination or have you become a little lax in the ethics department. Not to mention arithmetic. Was it once or twice?’
‘Okay, twice, but . . . ’
She interrupted him by putting her hands up. ‘Don’t say it. Don’t tell me there was nothing in it, because you and I know that . . . in fact, wasn’t it you who taught me that the brain is a jail made out of bullshit?’ Viv sighed and rubbed her hands over her face and into her hair. ‘Okay, Walter. From the beginning. How did she come to you etc, etc?’
‘Oh God.’ He stared at her as the pause extended.
Viv’s patience was beginning to be tested.
Before he blurted out, ‘She said that you recommended me.’
Viv sat back in amazement and looked up at the cornice, racking her brain for anyone she knew that she’d have been comfortable sharing her therapist with. She couldn’t think of a single person . . . ‘Not Sal Chapman?’
He shook his head. ‘No. Never heard of her.’
‘Phew.’
He remained silent, staring at her over the top of his coffee.
‘Well? Do I get to know or are we guessing?’ He hesitated and she continued. ‘And it’s a bit late to play the ethics card.’
‘Her name is Nancy. Nancy McVee. She said she used to work with you. She started to train as a hairdresser but couldn’t hack it so took a job as a receptionist.’
Viv had no memory of anyone she had ever worked with called Nancy and shook her head. ‘Don’t know that name.’ It was tricky though, because the hairdressing industry was notorious for people reinventing themselves, and if Nancy had a nickname her real name would have faded into obscurity.
‘No matter, Viv, I hoped that if you knew her you could have a word with her and it wouldn’t need to go any further.’
‘But what do you mean? How much further does it need to go? You’ve already broken the patient–practitioner code by seeing her outside official sessions. And by the way, how does she know what your movements are?’
‘That’s one of the things I’m most worried about. She must be accessing my computer calendar. Okay I have my haircut on the first Tuesday of the month, so that’s easy, but my dental appointments only happen once a year.’
‘Lucky boy. Good teeth?’
He nodded. ‘Yeah, at least I’ve got that in my favour.’
‘So we could have an ex-client who is a hacker? She couldn’t have access to a diary? I remember Mary keeping a house diary so that you both knew where you were.’
‘God, Viv, that would be even scarier. It would mean that she had been in the house without our knowing.’
Viv visualised Walter’s hallway. His notice board with hooks all along the bottom where all the keys hang, each key labelled for its own door. Anyone could take a key and have it copied.
‘How old is she?’ Viv had a vision of a young athletic female, stealthily creeping around Walter’s house while he was seeing patients, and shuddered. She hated the idea that someone could have overheard her sessions. That was the point of going all the way to Fife to see him. She told herself to stay calm, that she had consulted Walter way before Nancy . . . but still. Walter stared into his cappuccino as if it was a crystal ball. ‘She’s twenty-five, twenty-sixish. Very beautiful. Photographed by Lichfield.’
Something about this tweaked a memory. ‘She’s not the woman who had the horrendous car crash and burnt her face? It was all over
the papers.’
He nodded and took a huge breath. Viv waited what seemed like an age, before he released it and said, ‘She’s still beautiful. The skin graft was miraculous, and it was only at the edge of one side of her face.’
‘But, Walter, her internal damage.’ She tapped her temple. ‘In here she’ll never heal. And as you say she was stunning enough to be photographed by one of the most famous photographers in the world. How much d’you think she had invested in her face? Plenty. That’s how much.’ Viv sighed. ‘When did you last see her?’
‘Thursday. Mary and I were at a private view here in Edinburgh and she was there.’
‘But it’s not beyond the bounds of possibility that she had an invitation.’
‘No. No, she didn’t. I saw her arrive and watched her charm the man on the door. She said she’d left her invitation at home and he let her in.’
‘Why wouldn’t he? They want to sell pictures, and the more bums on seats, the better I suppose.’ Viv took out her note pad. ‘Okay, let me have her details and I’ll see if I can find out what’s going on. She hasn’t threatened you with anything?’
Again he looked at his nails. This pissed Viv off. ‘Your nails won’t have any answers, Walter. Look, if you want my help you’ll have to come clean. I can’t be arsed with half-baked confessions.’
‘She hasn’t threatened me but she said I can’t control her movements and if she wants to she can . . .’
‘What? She can what?’
‘She can make my personal life a misery. And I tell you, she’s already doing that. She didn’t want to end therapy, but I thought she was ready and explained that sometime she’d have to get on with day-to-day life without a therapist. She was having none of it. Had hysterics, so I gave in and said she could continue for three more sessions where we’d work on her endings. That was my first mistake. She agreed to the extra sessions but wasn’t really doing the work. That’s the thing about therapy, people think it’s the therapist who has all the power but they don’t.’
‘What does your supervisor say about it?’
‘She doesn’t know about the stalking. But was adamant about me ending with her. Oh God, what a mess.’
‘It sounds to me as if you need help. But not from me.’
‘I have supervision monthly.’
‘Yeah, sure you do, but you need to see a therapist, and your supervisor should have picked up on this.’
He looked out of the window then back at Viv. ‘You’re right. But who would I see? I’m not supposed to see anyone I know, and that’s almost impossible. I know most psychotherapists on the Scottish register . . . I don’t suppose you would consider it, Viv?’
Viv had practised as a volunteer therapist for two years, and decided she couldn’t hack it. One client in particular, who had been recommended to have therapy by her solicitor ‘as a way of reducing her sentence’ had put Viv off. All that client had had to do was come and sit with Viv for an hour a week for ten weeks then their solicitor could tick a box marked, ‘has been for counselling’. It was a total waste of Viv’s time. The hour should have been given to someone more deserving, someone who really did want to do the work. With all this running through her mind she shook her head. ‘No, Walter. I do want to help but I can’t do that. Just give me the woman’s details and I’ll see what I can do. You’ll have to find someone else to hear your story.’
He handed over a piece of paper with a mobile number on it. ‘That’s the best way to contact her.’
‘Don’t you have an email address for her?’
Reluctantly he took the paper back and wrote it down. His attitude wasn’t what Viv would have expected, and she wondered what else was going on for him.
‘How is Mary?’
A shadow crossed his already shadowy face. ‘She’s as she always is. A complete rock.’
‘Have you told her about Nancy?’
He looked at her as if she was mad. ‘Absolutely not. I still have to respect client confidentiality.’
Viv didn’t believe him but nodded her head as if she did. ‘Sure. Well look, I’ll be in touch as soon as I make contact with her.’ She stood to go but he didn’t move, just stared out of the window, distraught.
When Viv passed Gabriella’s shop on the way to her flat it struck her that their indiscretion could become a hassle. Gabriella had a customer with her but waved enthusiastically as Viv sauntered up the other side of the street. Her insides flipped, but not in a good way, as she took the stairs two at a time.
Chapter Eleven
Once inside, she checked her answering machine. A message from Mac. ‘Viv! Where the hell are you?’ Next, another message from Sal, which twanged her heartstrings, but she still wouldn’t ring her. Instead she dialled Mac’s number. ‘Hey, Mac. I’ve been busy on a job. What can I do for you?’
‘You can . . . No, first let me say thanks. That colleague’s computer did show discrepancies. We’re trying to marry those with the shifts of others.’ It sounded as if he was with someone.
‘I’m glad to be of service. But that’s not why you left the message, is it?’
‘No. I thought I’d take a look at that young missing person, the one in the photograph you gave Sandra. I came up with an odd religious group. They sound whacky, even by Aberdeenshire standards. Ruled by a control freak called Pastor Rawlins, an American, who appears to have bolted with the church’s funds. The father of your young girl may have been involved.’
None of this was news to Viv but she said, ‘Well done, Mac! You’ve obviously had a busy weekend!’
Her irony wasn’t wasted. ‘Well not as busy as yours obviously! By the way I think I saw that editor of yours going into the gym.’
‘No way! Jules? Not a chance. She’d sooner have an amputation.’
He sighed. And she imagined him rubbing his hands over his face. ‘She must have a double then.’
Viv snorted. ‘Or she’s lost her marbles.’
They laughed. Jules was the most unlikely candidate for a gym membership that either of them knew. Fags, booze, long hours – yes – but fitness never. Unless there was a new man on the scene. Even then Viv couldn’t imagine it, as she continued, ‘I must give her a ring. If there’s been a story out there about a sect in Aberdeenshire she’ll have had it covered.’
Mac was hesitant. ‘How about lunch or . . . ’
Feeling awkward she interrupted him. ‘Sadly not. Absolutely up to my eyes . . .’
He replied. ‘Okay. We’ll speak.’
‘Absolutely.’ Had she heard disappointment in his voice?
No sooner had she laid the phone in its cradle than it rang again. It was Jules. Viv assumed this must be ESP. Jules and the gym – things must be bad.
Jules wasn’t a woman known for social grace and she immediately set off. ‘Hi, Viv. Need you to give me a thousand words on that young bird in the canal.’
Viv shook her head incredulously. ‘That would be the young woman who is lying on a slab in the mortuary without any family or friends to mourn her.’
‘Yeah. Yeah. What d’you have for breakfast that’s made you into a puppy lover? They think they might have an ID. A student from Aberdeen.’
This confused Viv. ‘But when was this girl found? Are we talking about the same girl here?’
‘Pulled out of the Union on Saturday night. I just heard that she could be a student from Aberdeen.’ Jules coughed and kept coughing.
Eventually it ended and Viv was able to say, ‘Ah, so not necessarily from Aberdeen . . . only could be.’
‘Viv, you all right? Not exactly hearing your cylinders firing.’
Viv imagined Jules perched on the window ledge inside her office, either hanging outside with a fag or just ducking in to light another. ‘I heard you. It’s just . . . ’
Jules was on her. ‘It’s just what, Doc? Don’t you go holding back on me now.’
Viv paused again. ‘It’s nothing. But if it becomes something I’ll let you know.’
&nbs
p; ‘You’d better or else.’
Viv smiled at Jules’audacity but was so used to it she just echoed Jules. ‘Yeah. Yeah . . . Course. But listen, while you’re on I need some info on a religious group in Aberdeen. Eastern Brethren. You heard of them?’
‘Nope, but I’ll take a look and get back to you.’
For all Jules’s craziness when she said she’d do something, she usually followed through. ‘Thanks. Speak . . . ’
Her bad manners also never failed, and Viv was left listening to the dial tone. Viv shook her head distractedly, clicked on her inbox and read an email from Beccs with a telephone number and a message asking Viv to ring her.
Beccs immediately picked up. ‘Hi. They’ve got my email address and my mobile number. She must have given it to them.’
Viv tried to slow her down. ‘Hold your horses. Who’s got your email and mobile number? And who is she? Are we talking Tess?’
‘They’re threatening to tell my dad about Tess and me. If they find out I’m interfering they’ll definitely do it . . . Why now?’ Could this be the result of her trip?
‘Look, Rebecca, forward the email to me and I’ll take a look at the source.’
The distress in the young girl’s voice was evident as she shot back. ‘No. I’m not doing that. They’ll know that I’m . . . ’
‘You’re what, Rebecca? They obviously already know something. If they’re holding Tess we could get to her through that email. Come on, send it.’
Viv heard a stifled sob and said, ‘Rebecca, your dad probably already knows. He’s not stupid. I’m guessing he just doesn’t think it’s appropriate to mention it.’
Through her tears Rebecca managed to shout, ‘You don’t know him. It would really matter to him if this came out.’
‘Well, as someone who works with the press, I know that a story like that would last five minutes tops, before it would be wrapping chips.’
She heard Beccs sniff. ‘You’re not allowed to wrap chips in newspaper any more.’
‘I know. I know. But you get my meaning. It would be an overnight sensation if it was anything at all. It would rely on there being no other news and how likely is that?’