‘No, not yet.’
‘I tried phoning here and when you didn’t pick up I was worried that you’d broken down on the way or had an accident,’ she goes on, ‘because I knew you’d have let me know if you were going to be late. So I thought I’d better drive over and make sure you were all right. You don’t know how glad I was to see your car in the drive!’
‘I’m sorry you’ve had to come out,’ I say guiltily.
‘Can I come in?’ Without waiting for an answer
she walks into the hall. ‘Would you mind if I make a sandwich?’
I follow her into the kitchen and sit down at the table.
‘Help yourself.’
‘It’s for you, not me. You look as if you haven’t eaten in days.’ She takes some bread from the cupboard and opens the fridge. ‘What’s going on, Cass? I go off to Siena for three weeks and come back to find you looking like someone I don’t know.’
‘It’s been a bit difficult,’ I say.
She puts a jar of mayonnaise, a tomato and some
cheese on the table and finds a plate. ‘Have you been ill?’ she asks. She looks so beautiful with her gorgeous tan and white shift dress that I feel self-conscious in my pyjamas. I pull my dressing gown around me.
‘Only mentally.’
‘Don’t say that. But you do look dreadful and your
voice is all over the place.’
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‘It’s the pills,’ I say, lying my head down on the table.
The wood is cool beneath my cheek.
‘What pills?’
‘The ones Dr Deakin gave me.’
She frowns. ‘Why are you taking pills?’
‘To help me cope.’
‘Why, has something happened?’
I lift my head from the table. ‘Only the murder.’
She looks at me, confused. ‘Do you mean Jane’s
murder?’
‘Why, has there been another one?’
‘Cass, that was weeks ago!’
She looks a bit off-kilter so I blink rapidly. But she’s still off-kilter so it’s obviously me. ‘I know, and her killer is still out there,’ I say, jabbing the air with my finger.
She frowns. ‘You don’t still think he’s after you, do you?’
‘Uh-huh,’ I say, nodding.
‘But why?’
I slump back on the table. ‘I’m still getting calls.’
‘You told me you weren’t.’
‘I know. But they don’t bother me anymore, thanks
to the pills. I don’t even answer them now.’
Out of the corner of my eye I watch her spreading
mayonnaise on the bread, cutting the tomatoes and
slicing the cheese. ‘So how do you know they’re from him?’
‘I just do.’
The Breakdown
243
She shakes her head in despair. ‘You know that there’s
no foundation for this fear of yours, don’t you? You’re worrying me, Cass. What about your job? Doesn’t school start again tomorrow?’
‘I’m not going back.’
She stops slicing. ‘For how long?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Are things really that bad?’
‘Worse.’
She assembles the sandwich and puts the plate in front of me. ‘Eat this, then we’ll talk.’
‘It might be better to wait until six o’clock.’
‘Why?’
‘Because the pills will have worn off by then and I might make more sense.’
She looks at me in disbelief. ‘Are you telling me that you spend all day like this? What on earth are you taking? Are they antidepressants?’
I shrug. ‘I think they’re more imagination suppressants.’
‘What does Matthew think about you taking them?’
‘He wasn’t too keen at first but he’s come round to the idea.’
She sits down next to me and picks up the plate,
offering me the sandwich, because I’ve made no move to take it. ‘Eat,’ she demands.
After I’ve eaten both halves, I tell her everything that’s happened over the last few weeks, about seeing the knife in the kitchen, about thinking there was someone in the garden, about barricading myself in the living room,
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about losing my car, about ordering a pram, about the things I keep ordering off the shopping channel, and when I get to the end I can see that she has no idea what to say because she can no longer pretend that I’m suffering from burnout.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she says, looking upset. ‘How does
Matthew feel about it all? I hope he’s being supportive.’
‘Yes, very. But maybe he wouldn’t be if he knew how hard it’s going to be for him in the future if I do have dementia, like Mum.’
‘You don’t have dementia.’ Her voice is firm, stern even.
‘I hope you’re right,’ I say, wishing I had her confidence.
She leaves soon after, promising to come back and
see me when she gets back from yet another business trip to New York.
‘You’re so lucky,’ I say wistfully on the doorstep. ‘I wish I could go away.’
‘Why don’t you come with me?’ she says impulsively.
‘I don’t think I’d be very good company.’