Читать книгу Sex, Lies Declassified - Eva Mazza - Страница 6

Jen sped out of the Waterfront. She was late. The last thing she felt like was seeing her psychologist. Jane was exactly as her name suggested; plain, dull. When she did speak, it was in a colourless voice devoid of inflection, intonation, energy. Unlike Sharon, Jen’s previous shrink, and now her best friend, who joked, laughed and even swore if she felt the need, Jane was hard work. There was no exchanging of opinions. In fact Jen wondered whether Jane had any opinions at all. Surely after nearly a year of counselling she would know how her shrink felt about certain issues. They had formed no patient-doctor relationship and it wasn’t for want of trying on Jen’s part. She had persisted, as Jane had come highly recommended by both Sharon and Claudia, but Jen had told them many times she just couldn’t fathom why.

“Doctors have different styles,” Sharon had said. “I’m not like a ‘normal’ therapist. I break every boundary; in fact many people aren’t too happy with my doctor-patient style.”

Jen knew that Sharon was being modest. After all, it was no coincidence that she was one of the busiest relationship counsellors in Cape Town.

Jane was, as usual, behind her desk, sifting through her files trying to find Jen’s. She looked up at the clock on the wall as Jen hurried past her and smiled by way of greeting.

Jen made a beeline for her usual seat: a bucket chair Jane must have salvaged from her lounge when she had eventually noticed it was time to spruce up her home décor. There was nothing interesting or beautiful about the consultation room. Jen couldn’t help but feel that a lack of care for appearances, whether personal or in the home or office spoke volumes about a person.

She removed her slip-ons before she sat, tucking her feet under her bum. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. As much as the chair was Hilda-horrible, it was comfortable, roomy even.

She noticed her therapist’s unkempt toenails which peeped from under the Meranti desk.

Jane pulled herself up from behind her desk. Her plump toes seemed trapped by their peep-toe encasings.

“How are you today, Jen?” Jane asked, as she always did at the beginning of every single session.

“I could really help you upgrade your rooms if you’re keen.”

Jane’s toes stiffened. “Yes. You are in the business of sprucing up other people’s surroundings.”

Jen smiled. “I am.”

“And I’m in the business of sprucing up clients’ lives.” Her toes seemed to spring back to life.

Today, Jen would challenge her to a duel of silence.

They sat opposite one another. She even risked pouring herself a glass of water. Then she wondered whether this woman had harvested it from a toilet bowl somewhere in the building.

What is wrong with me? Why am I being such a bitch?

She took a sip and battled to swallow.

Jane’s insipid smile was still fixed on her face. She looked down at her notepad and began to write.

Probably commenting on my passive-aggressive behaviour. Reason enough for Jen to concede defeat. “I celebrated my birthday on Saturday,” she said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“Was it the success you had hoped for?”

Jen sounded like a teenager, “It actually was even more successful than I’d anticipated.”

Silence.

“Umm. I got a very strange text message on Sunday morning though. It’s thrown me a bit.”

Jane’s toes wriggled, distracting Jen.

“I find peep-toes extremely uncomfortable. They seem to squash the life out of my toes,” Jen commented.

Jane looked up. “Who sent you the message? Was it John?” she knew from the previous sessions that John had not been happy about Jen’s fiftieth and poor Brigit and Pete had borne the brunt of his anger.

“I don’t know. It was from an unfamiliar number.”

Jane looked interested.

“It said something like, ‘Happy birthday from beyond the grave and hope you tango beyond fifty.’” Jen shrugged.

“Well, read it to me. Do you have your phone here?” Jane asked.

“The message was deleted.”

For the first time in a long time Jen noticed more than a hint of facial expression on Jane’s face. “Why did you delete it?”

“I didn’t. Whoever sent it did.”

“And who do you think sent it?” she asked.

Jen felt bold. “Who do you think?”

“I – I really couldn’t say. It sounds like someone is pulling a nasty prank on you.” She shifted in her chair.

“I think so too,” Jen said. “And I think it worked because it’s been playing on my mind ever since. Claudia has offered to have the number traced.”

“Is it that important? Surely you don’t want to give it too much weight?”

Wow! Plain-Jane is volunteering an opinion. “Well, it’s bothering me. ‘From beyond the grave’ is a bit of a freak-out for me.”

Jane looked at her. “It implies that it’s from Lee,” said Jen.

Jane’s smile was condescending. Her, “Lee is dead. That’s why it’s a very nasty prank,” was unequivocal. Maybe that’s what irked Jen about her. She was a black-and-white kind of person. No grey areas.

“I will hazard a guess: it’s from your ex. You have found happiness with, er, M-eye-roné.”

“Myron.”

“Yes. Well he wants to sabotage that. He thinks your, um, brief affair with Lee before your wedding…”

“It wasn’t an affair! It was a once-off.”

“Let’s not forget Lee played a pivotal role in rescuing you financially.”

“He didn’t; my mother did.”

Jane was on a roll today. “Jen, hold on. Let me finish. Lee was pivotal in rescuing you from John. Without your mother’s inheritance he had safeguarded for you, do you really think you would’ve left John?”

“Yes! Yes, I do. I had no choice.”

Jane said nothing, allowing her client to continue.

“I was leaving him,” she stressed, “I had an appointment to meet Claudia’s boyfriend, Leonard.” Jane nodded. “I mean the fact that Lee was killed exactly at that moment, and the disclosure of Patty’s role in everything! It just seems so contrived. So planned.”

“But it was planned,” Jane said. “Barring Lee’s fatal car-accident, everything was planned; well, from what you told me. Finding John with his wine rep, the disclosure of your mother’s inheritance. It was planned.”

“Exactly!” Jen said. “Why not Lee’s death, too?”

Jane’s condescending grin riled Jen. “Not likely. That, Jen, I’d say was fate.”

“Well, I can’t help thinking after getting this fucking text message that even Lee’s death was orchestrated! Sorry for swearing.”

Jane waved away her apology.

“Do you know I never swore until I walked in on John, in the tasting room?”

Jane laughed. For the first time, Jen had managed to draw a spontaneous reaction out of this rather dull woman. She had a nice laugh. “Well, it’s understandable, Jen.” Jane’s tone shifted. “John knows how to get to you. And clearly he has.” She sat back, her wriggling toes indicating time was up.

Jen grabbed her glass of water, gulping it down this time. Her mouth was dry.

“Okay. Okay. You’re probably right,” she said, grabbing her bag.

“So why spend time and money tracing the number? Rather try to analyse why your husband still hits that Achilles heel of yours.”

Jen stood and nodded.

“And why you were hoping Lee was still alive.”

Jesus!

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jane. Of course I’d want Lee to be alive; all of us would, even John.” Had Jane touched a nerve?

“You know what I mean, Jen. It’s something you need to think about.”

Jen left the rooms feeling more uneasy than she had coming in. And it wasn’t the text message, it was the question that Jane had posed to her. Besides the obvious, why do I really want Lee to be alive?