Chapter Six
“So, how have you been?”
My therapist always opened our sessions with that question. I pondered the answer, looking across at her seated in her sagging leather armchair, her legs neatly crossed. Margaret Greggs had clear, grey eyes and she always wore brightly coloured blouses.
I told her about being alone for the past couple of days while Matt was in Brighton. I told her something of what happened at the funeral. She nodded occasionally but mostly she just sat there, calm as a Buddha statue, letting the words spill out of me. I normally found this room relaxing but today I could feel myself hunching in my chair and biting at a shred of dry skin on my lip.
“You seem anxious, Maudie. Is there something in particular that’s bothering you?”
I was silent. I had been thinking about mentioning the thin, blonde woman, the woman I’d seen outside the flat.
“You know this room is a safe space, Maudie. There will be no judgement, no pronouncement on you. You can trust me.”
I struggled for a moment and gave in. “I’ve been seeing this – woman,” I began. “I’m not sure – I mean, it’s hard to say–”
“Go on. Take all the time you need.”
“There’s this woman. I keep – seeing her.” I suddenly realised how that sounded. “I don’t mean seeing her. I mean–” I stopped for a moment, flustered. “I don’t mean seeing her as in sleeping with her, or anything. I’m not sexually seeing her. I mean–” I stopped and took a deep breath. “I mean, I’ve been really seeing her. I look, and she’s there. You know.”
Margaret raised her eyebrows encouragingly. “How do you mean, Maudie?”
I swallowed. “I actually see her. In real life. Oh God, I’m not explaining this very well. I mean, I suppose, that I keep noticing this woman. She keeps – turning up. Outside my flat.”
“Mm-hmm?”
“Well, she has once,” I said. “I mean, I’ve seen her once.” I was floundering a little. It all sounded so insignificant. Would I be able to convey to Margaret just how frightened it made me feel?
“It’s just – it’s that - I’m not sure if she exists or not.”
There was a moment’s silence. I replayed the conversation in my head and clenched my teeth. “Sorry, it’s just that I’ve seen her standing in the street. And – oh, I don’t know – it’s as if she... hates me – or something. Some really strong emotion. She has this intense stare.”
Margaret said nothing. She sat there, inscrutable in her shabby chair, fixing me with her gaze, nodding slightly every time I paused.
“I thought I saw her at the funeral, but I didn’t – I thought it was someone else but actually, it was me–”
Margaret held up a hand. “Sorry, Maudie, could you repeat that? I don’t quite understand.”
I told her about the mirror mix-up, smiling as though it was a mildly funny anecdote. She didn’t smile, just gave me a crisp nod.
“Then I had a bad dream a few nights later, at home, and got up to get myself a drink of water. I saw her in the street - I mean, I saw her really for the first time. She was looking up at the flat, staring right at me.”
Margaret frowned. “And do you think she wasn’t really there?”
I chewed my bottom lip. “I don’t know.”
“And you haven’t seen this woman since?”
“No. Although I keep thinking I see a flash of blonde hair and tense up, thinking it’s her.”
“You don’t know who this woman is? Until recently, you’ve never seen her before?”
“No.”
“So you have no idea who she is?”
I looked down at my hands. Somewhere deep inside me, I wanted to answer in the affirmative. I couldn’t bring myself to do so. That would mean acknowledging what I knew to be impossible.
“No,” I said, again.
There was a short silence. I looked down at my hands, noting I’d chewed most of the polish from my nails.
“Do you have any thoughts?” I said, quietly, not sure whether I wanted an answer.
Margaret put a hand up to her face, rubbing a finger along her jaw bone. “To be honest, I’m not sure. I have to say this is a bit odd, Maudie. Now–” she held up a hand as I looked up in panic. “Now, I’m not saying there’s anything to be worried about. But, I have to be honest, I would be easier in my mind if you could confirm that someone else had also seen her. Although I’m sure there is a perfectly rational explanation.”
I nodded, miserably.
“But,” said Margaret, “I also think we need to ask ourselves the question that doesn’t seem to have occurred to you, just yet.”
“What’s that?” I whispered.
She smiled at me, kindly. “Well, what is it that she wants? Why does she keep appearing?”
I could feel my eyes widening.
Margaret went on. “Had you thought of that?”
I shook my head.
“Well, then,” she said. “It’s probably something perfectly explainable. I think you need to ask her what she wants.”
“But–” I struggled to find the words. “What if – what if I never see her again?”
“Do you think that’s likely?”
I thought for a moment and shook my head. “No,” I said.
Margaret brushed a lock of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. “Maudie, what do you think of the woman? What are your real feelings? How does she make you feel?”
I gnawed at my thumbnail, realised I was doing it and put my hand back down in my lap.
“Scared. She makes me feel scared.” I thought some more. “And guilty. And I don’t know why I feel guilty, except that’s my sort of default setting.”
“Why do you think that is?”
I looked at her quickly. “You know why.”
“Jessica?”
I nodded.
I took a taxi home from Margaret’s house. I couldn’t face the streets full of people, or any form of public transport, although she only lived a mile or so from my flat. I always emerged from a session feeling as though I were missing a layer of skin; I felt peeled, my nerve endings exposed to the outside air. And I was always cold, huddling myself into the taxi seat, my arms and legs crossed and hugged together for warmth.
I asked the taxi driver to drop me off at the end of the street. I needed to pick up a few things from the corner shop.
As I walked back along the street, I looked towards the flats, to the car park at the side of the building, hoping to see Matt’s car parked there but not really expecting it – I knew he probably wouldn’t be home until much later. His car wasn’t there. I sighed inwardly and looked towards the entrance to the flats and as I did so, a tall figure in a long black coat came out of the doorway. Their back was towards me but flowing over the collar of the black coat was a fall of bright blonde hair.
I felt my heart begin a fast and painful thudding. Laden as I was with carrier bags, I began to walk faster, then faster still. The blonde figure was walking quite slowly towards the pedestrian crossing at the other end of the street. I put on a final burst of speed and caught up.
I heard my voice say ‘excuse me’ in a high, breathless gasp but before the figure could react I saw my hand go out, the heavy bag swinging from my wrist. I grabbed at an arm, quickly and roughly.
The person I’d accosted gasped and spun round. Facing me, thinly plucked eyebrows raised high, was the face of a stranger, a middle-aged woman. I released my grip, stuttering out an apology. Close to, I could see the greying roots of her bleached hair.
“What is it? What do you want?” she demanded