‘Skirts.’
‘Long or short?’
‘Short.’
‘Stockings or tights?’
‘Stockings.’
‘What colour lipstick?’
‘Red.’
‘What colour eyes does she have?’
‘Blue.’
‘What is she wearing today?’
‘A skirt.’
‘What colour is her bra?’
‘Black.’
‘I didn’t mention a name, Liam. Who are you talking about?’
He stiffens, embarrassed, his face a beacon. I notice his left knee bouncing up and down in a reflex action.
‘Do you think Dr Naparstek is married?’ I ask.
‘I d-d-don’t know.’
‘Does she wear a wedding ring?’
‘No.’
‘Maybe she has a boyfriend at home. Do you think about what she does when she leaves this place? Where she goes? What her house looks like? What she wears to bed? Maybe she sleeps naked.’
Flecks of white spit are gathered in the corners of Liam’s mouth.
Dr Naparstek wants to stop the questioning, but the judge tells her to sit down.
Liam tries to turn but I lean forward and put my hands on his shoulders, my mouth close to his ear. I can see the sweat wetting the roots of his hair and a fleck of shaving foam beneath his ear.
In a whisper, ‘You think about her all the time, don’t you, Liam? The smell of her skin, her shampoo, the delicate shell of her ear, the shadow in the hollow between her breasts . . . every time you see her, you collect more details so that you can fantasise about what you want to do to her.’
Liam’s skin has flushed and his breathing has gone ragged.
‘You fantasise about following her home - just like you followed Zoe Hegarty. Dragging her off the street. Making her beg you to stop.’
The judge suddenly interrupts. ‘We can’t hear your questions, Professor. Please speak up.’
The spell is broken. Liam remembers to breathe.
‘My apologies,’ I say, glancing at the review panel. ‘I was just telling Liam that I might ask Dr Naparstek out to dinner.’
‘B-b-but y-y-you’re married.’
He noticed my wedding ring.
‘I’m separated. Maybe she’s available.’
Again, I lean forward, putting my cheek next to his.
‘I’ll take her to dinner and then I’ll take her home. I bet she’s a dynamite fuck, what do you think? The prim and proper ones, all cool and distant, they go off like chainsaws. Maybe you want to fantasise about that.’
Liam has forgotten to breathe again. His brain is sizzling in an angry-frantic way, screaming like a guitar solo.
‘Does that upset you, Liam? Why? Let’s face it, she’s not really your type. She’s pretty. She’s educated. She’s successful. What would she want with a sad, sadistic fuck like you?’
Liam’s eyes jitter back and forth like a shot of adrenalin has punched straight into his brain. He launches himself out of his seat, taking me with him across the room. The world is flying backwards for a moment and his thumbs are in my eye-sockets and his hands squeezing my skull. I can barely hear a thing above my own heartbeat until the sound of heavy boots on the linoleum.
Liam is dragged off me, panting, ranting. Hospital guards have secured his arms, lifting him bodily, but he’s still lashing out at me and screaming, telling me what he’s going to do.
The tribunal members have been evacuated or sought refuge in another room. I can still hear Liam being wrestled down a distant corridor, kicking at the walls and doors. Victoria Naparstek has gone with him, trying to calm him down.
My eyes are streaming and through closed lids I can see a kaleidoscope of coloured stars merging and exploding. Dragging myself to a chair, I pull out a handkerchief to wipe my cheeks. After a few minutes I can see clearly again.
Dusting off my jacket, I pick up my battered briefcase and make my way through the security stations and locked doors until I reach the parking area where my old Volvo estate looks embarrassingly drab. I’m about to unlock the door when Victoria Naparstek appears, moving unsteadily in high heels over the uneven tarmac.
‘What the hell was that? It was totally unprofessional. How dare you talk about what I wear to bed! How dare you talk about my underwear!’
‘I’m sorry if I offended you.’
‘You’re sorry! I could have you charged with misconduct. I should report you to the British Psychological Society.’
Her brown irises are on fire and her nostrils pinched.
‘I’m sorry if you feel that way. I simply wanted to see how Liam would react.’
‘No, you wanted to prove me wrong. Do you have something against Liam or against me?’
‘I don’t even know you.’
‘So it’s Liam you don’t like?’
The accusation clatters around my head and my left leg spasms. I feel as though it’s going to betray me and I’ll do something embarrassing like kick her in the shins.
‘I don’t like or dislike Liam. I just wanted to make sure he’d changed.’
‘So you tricked him. You belittled him. You bullied him.’ She narrows her eyes. ‘I’ve heard people talk about you, Professor O’Loughlin. They always use hushed tones. I had even hoped I might learn something from you today. Instead you bullied my patient, insulted me and revealed yourself to be an arrogant, condescending, misogynistic prick.’
Not even her Scottish lilt can make this sound gay or carefree. Up close she is indeed a beautiful woman. I can see why a man might fixate upon her and ponder what she wears in bed and what sounds she makes in the throes of passion.
‘He’s devastated. Distraught. You’ve set back his rehabilitation by months.’
‘I make no apologies for that. Liam Baker has learned to mimic helpfulness and co-operation, to pretend to be better. He’s not ready to be released.’
‘With all due respect, Professor . . .’
Whenever anyone begins a sentence like this I brace myself for what’s coming.
‘. . . I’ve spent the past eighteen months working with Liam. You saw him half a dozen times before he was sentenced. I think I’m in a far better position to judge his progress than you are. I don’t know what you whispered to Liam, but it was completely unfair.’
‘Unfair to whom?’
‘To Liam and to me.’
‘I’m trying to be fair to Zoe Hegarty. You might not agree with me, Doctor, but I think I just did you an enormous favour.’
She scoffs. ‘I’ve been doing this job for ten years, Professor. I know when someone poses a danger to society.’
I interrupt her. ‘It’s not society I’m worried out. It’s far more personal than that.’
Dr Naparstek hesitates for a moment. I can almost picture her mind at work - her prefrontal cortex making the connections between Liam’s words, his stolen glances and his knowledge of her underwear and where she lives. Her eyes widen as the real - isation reaches her amygdala, the fear centre.
The Volvo starts first time, which makes it more reliable than my own body. As the boom gate rises, I catch a glimpse of the doctor still standing in the car park staring after me.
The grounds of Shepparton Park School are bathed in the spring twilight with shadows folding between the trees. Most of the buildings are dark except for Mitford Hall, where the windows are brightly lit and young voices are raised.
I’m early to pick up Charlie. The rehearsals haven’t finished. Slipping through a side door, I hide in the darkness of the auditorium, gazing across rows of empty seats to the brightly lit stage.
School musicals and dance recitals are a rite of passage for every parent. Charlie’s first performance was eight years ago, a Christmas pageant in which she played a very loud cow. Now she’s fourteen with bobbed hair and dressed in a twenties flapper dress, having been transformed into Miss Dorothy Brown, the best friend of Thoroughly Modern Millie.