for her session. She was going over her notes, and looking over some further research she’d done on claustrophobia. It might be an
idea, she thought as she read, for Elinor to have a further medical check-up: according to the latest neurological thinking, certain inner-ear infections and abnormalities in the nerve cells of the
brain can result in the disorder, as in these instances sensory information may be misread, causing a panic response. That said, given that the claustrophobia had occurred since her mother’s
death, it seemed more likely that the disorder was purely neurotic, with no physiological cause. And it also seemed clear that, for the time being, it wasn’t going to abate, since she was
still under considerable emotional stress.
The door to the consulting room was open, and a few minutes past the appointed hour, Elinor walked in. She pushed the door to, but didn’t close it completely. Then she took off her mac,
hung it up, and walked over to the couch, acknowledging Jess with a brief nod. As before, the window was open a crack. Elinor leaned over and opened it wider. Much wider.
Bad sign
, thought Jess, as she went over to the armchair behind the couch and sat down.
Elinor settled herself on the couch and closed her eyes. She looked tense, Jess thought. Her face was white and drawn, and there were pale blue rings under her eyes.
Silence fell. Jess shivered. She wished she’d worn a thicker sweater, or turned up the heating a bit more before the session.
She wondered what was going on in Elinor’s mind. She sensed that there was something else troubling her besides her mother’s death, something she had not yet mentioned. Yet she knew
better than to press her. Whatever it was, it would emerge sooner or later, whether directly or in some more oblique way.
Elinor’s eyes remained closed. Jess began to wonder, after a while, whether she’d fallen asleep. She’d had clients do that on the couch quite a few times, in the days when she
was training. It was just another avoidance mechanism, along with all the others she’d learned to recognize.
As the minutes ticked by, she had the urge to tuck a blanket round Elinor’s outstretched form. She looked so thin and white lying there under the window, with the cold air streaming in
from outside, her hair so fair and fine on the dark green pillow, like a sick child. Poor thing, thought Jess. Her mother dead. Her father, too. Orphaned. Her sister married. Living all alone in
that great big house, her family gone . . .
‘You’d think they’d leave the relatives alone at a time like this.’ Elinor’s voice broke the silence at last. ‘But they won’t stop pestering
us.’
Jess remembered the policewoman that Elinor had mentioned in the last session.
‘She came round again yesterday, saying she wanted to go down and look at the studio. I let her in, but I stayed outside in the garden.’ Elinor’s voice quavered. She was near
to tears. ‘It made me so angry, having her snooping around looking through my things. It’s been four months since it happened. Surely they could leave me alone now. I can’t stand
it any longer.’
Elinor began to sob.
Jess had an urge to reach forward and hug her, but she managed to maintain her professional composure. There was a box of tissues on a table beside the couch, so she leaned over and pushed it
towards her.
Elinor sat up, took one, and dabbed at her eyes. Then she lay down again.
‘The problem is,’ she went on, the tears subsiding, ‘I don’t have an alibi. They’ve got me on CCTV when I was walking around Cardiff shopping, but there was no one
else there when I found Ma.’ She crumpled the tissue into a ball, kneading it in her fingers. ‘Isobel hasn’t got one either. She was in her house that day. She hadn’t gone
in to the gallery because she had a cold.’
‘The gallery?’
‘She runs the gallery now. The one my father used to own.’ Once again, Elinor spoke as if Jess
idea, she thought as she read, for Elinor to have a further medical check-up: according to the latest neurological thinking, certain inner-ear infections and abnormalities in the nerve cells of the
brain can result in the disorder, as in these instances sensory information may be misread, causing a panic response. That said, given that the claustrophobia had occurred since her mother’s
death, it seemed more likely that the disorder was purely neurotic, with no physiological cause. And it also seemed clear that, for the time being, it wasn’t going to abate, since she was
still under considerable emotional stress.
The door to the consulting room was open, and a few minutes past the appointed hour, Elinor walked in. She pushed the door to, but didn’t close it completely. Then she took off her mac,
hung it up, and walked over to the couch, acknowledging Jess with a brief nod. As before, the window was open a crack. Elinor leaned over and opened it wider. Much wider.
Bad sign
, thought Jess, as she went over to the armchair behind the couch and sat down.
Elinor settled herself on the couch and closed her eyes. She looked tense, Jess thought. Her face was white and drawn, and there were pale blue rings under her eyes.
Silence fell. Jess shivered. She wished she’d worn a thicker sweater, or turned up the heating a bit more before the session.
She wondered what was going on in Elinor’s mind. She sensed that there was something else troubling her besides her mother’s death, something she had not yet mentioned. Yet she knew
better than to press her. Whatever it was, it would emerge sooner or later, whether directly or in some more oblique way.
Elinor’s eyes remained closed. Jess began to wonder, after a while, whether she’d fallen asleep. She’d had clients do that on the couch quite a few times, in the days when she
was training. It was just another avoidance mechanism, along with all the others she’d learned to recognize.
As the minutes ticked by, she had the urge to tuck a blanket round Elinor’s outstretched form. She looked so thin and white lying there under the window, with the cold air streaming in
from outside, her hair so fair and fine on the dark green pillow, like a sick child. Poor thing, thought Jess. Her mother dead. Her father, too. Orphaned. Her sister married. Living all alone in
that great big house, her family gone . . .
‘You’d think they’d leave the relatives alone at a time like this.’ Elinor’s voice broke the silence at last. ‘But they won’t stop pestering
us.’
Jess remembered the policewoman that Elinor had mentioned in the last session.
‘She came round again yesterday, saying she wanted to go down and look at the studio. I let her in, but I stayed outside in the garden.’ Elinor’s voice quavered. She was near
to tears. ‘It made me so angry, having her snooping around looking through my things. It’s been four months since it happened. Surely they could leave me alone now. I can’t stand
it any longer.’
Elinor began to sob.
Jess had an urge to reach forward and hug her, but she managed to maintain her professional composure. There was a box of tissues on a table beside the couch, so she leaned over and pushed it
towards her.
Elinor sat up, took one, and dabbed at her eyes. Then she lay down again.
‘The problem is,’ she went on, the tears subsiding, ‘I don’t have an alibi. They’ve got me on CCTV when I was walking around Cardiff shopping, but there was no one
else there when I found Ma.’ She crumpled the tissue into a ball, kneading it in her fingers. ‘Isobel hasn’t got one either. She was in her house that day. She hadn’t gone
in to the gallery because she had a cold.’
‘The gallery?’
‘She runs the gallery now. The one my father used to own.’ Once again, Elinor spoke as if Jess
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