Secret Smile

'Go on with the story.'

So I did. Even though time was getting short before his lecture, I told him everything. I even backtracked and told him about Brendan whispering to me about coming in my mouth. And then, at the end, I told him about Troy and Laura – but very quickly, so I wouldn't start weeping again. When I finished I picked up my mug and took a last gulp of stone-cold coffee.

'So what do you think?' I asked. For some reason, my heart was hammering.

'Fuck,' he said.

'Is that your considered verdict?'

'You're well rid of him.'

I gave a snort.

'I could say that. What I want to know is, is he a psychopath? Could he be a murderer?'

He held up his hands in protest.

'It's a bit early in the morning,' he said.

'It's actually very late in the morning.'

'I don't want to be pompous and say that I would have to conduct my own investigation before making any comment like that. And I don't want to start throwing technical, clinical terms around. The point is, it doesn't really work that way round. I can't say that this pattern of behaviour means that he is a murderer

'Could be a murderer,' I interrupted.

'The way it would work is if someone were found to have committed certain types of violent acts, then I wouldn't be surprised to find the kind of behaviour you've described.'

'So there we are,' I said.

'No, we aren't,' he said. 'The majority of murderers show earlier signs of dysfunctional behaviour. But a very large number of people display dysfunctional behaviour and the vast majority of them don't cross the line.'

'But if he has crossed the line, which is what I think, even if nobody else agrees with me, is that it? Is he finished? Is he still dangerous?'

Don sipped at his coffee.

'You're piling assumptions on assumptions here,' he said.

'I'm not in court,' I said. 'I can pile anything I want on to whatever else I want. I want to know if he could have burned himself out.' I heard the wobble in my voice and coughed to cover it up.

Don shook his head.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'This is all about hindsight. When people have acted, when they have committed a crime and been caught and imprisoned, then the psychologists and the psychiatrists come out of the woodwork and do their tests and pronounce their verdicts with great authority. And you'll be able to find experts to argue for or against any issue you want.'

'Thank you,' I said dully. I turned to face him. I noticed he had a thin face and auburn hair and he was looking at me kindly.

'Keep away from him,' he said.

'Yes.'

'Are you all right?'

'I don't know.' I pulled the window shut sharply and the room became quieter. I looked at my watch. 'You've got four minutes.'

'I'd better go,' he said. 'You don't look happy.'

'It doesn't make it all right that it might be just a stranger, does it?' I started to gather up the sheets. 'You can't just sit on the bank and let people drown.'

Don looked as if he were going to say something, but had changed his mind.

'What are you going to talk about?'

He frowned for a moment.

'A very rare psychological syndrome. Very, very rare. Only about four people have ever had it.'

'So what's the point of lecturing about it?'

He paused.

'If I started asking myself questions like that,' he said, 'then where would I be?'

I went to see the therapist, Katherine Dowling, again. I sat for a long time in silence, trying to come to a decision. Was I going to deal with the world or with my own head? I looked at my watch. It had been over ten minutes. I told her my dream.

'What does that mean to you?'

'I'd like to continue with you,' I said, 'but in a few weeks. Or a few months.'

'Why?'

'I've got things to sort out.'

'I thought that was why you were coming here.'

'I can't sort them out here.'

I left after half an hour. They still charge you the full amount, though.

You didn't kill yourself, did you? Of course you didn't. I should never have let myself doubt that, not even for a second. You didn't kill yourself and Laura didn't bump her head and drown. I always knew it. The question is, what should I do now, Troy? I can't just not do anything, can I?

No. Of course I can't.

The weird thing is, I should be scared myself, but I'm not. Not a tiny bit. The truth is, I don't care any more. Not about my safety. I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff in a howling wind and I don't mind if I fall off or not. Sometimes I think I almost want to.

I hope it didn't take too long. I hope you never knew. I couldn't bear it if you knew.

CHAPTER 32

I couldn't let it go. I was like a bee buzzing round a honey pot. No, that's not right. Honey pots are good for bees. I was like a honey pot knowing that there was a bee buzzing around somewhere. I was like a moth drawn to… No, I'm not going to say it because in fact it's all wrong. I had a boyfriend once and he was studying insects, which was part of the problem. The very first time we met he told me that moths weren't actually drawn to flames. It was a myth. A moth myth. He actually said that. We were in the student union and he was pissed. Our relationship was doomed from the start of course. It was just impossible to imagine myself for long with a boy who would introduce himself to a girl by telling her an interesting fact about moths. The funny thing is that now, about five years later, virtually all I can remember about him is that he was called Marc and the interesting fact he told me about moths which made me fall out of love with him instantly. Because it was pretty interesting.

I had insisted to Marc that he was wrong. I had once been camping with my family and there had been a blur of moths and mosquitoes around the lamp that my father tethered to the tent pole. Marc shook his head. It's an illusion, he said. They're trying to align themselves with the moon, which means that they keep the rays of the moon at the same angle. The only way they can do this with a nearby lamp is to circle it. In practice, what they'll do is to spiral into it, closer and closer. There's no attraction. It's just a navigation error. I remember pondering it for a moment. I was probably a bit pissed myself. It doesn't do the moths much good, I said. They still end up in the flame. 'Who cares about a fucking moth?' replied Marc. That was a further bad sign. He was cruel to animals.

So there we are. Moths aren't really drawn to flames. All those songs and poems are wrong. But the fact remains that the moth's progress is not helped by the flame. God knows I had plenty else to do with work and looking round at estate agents and making huge decisions about my life, the sort you can't possibly make rationally, which you really ought to make just by tossing a coin. Even so, I rummaged in the pockets of jackets hanging in my cupboard and found the number that David had scrawled on a ripped-off corner of a newspaper, the number of the person at the skating rink who had known Brendan. Jeff Locke.

'Brendan Block? The guy who used to order weirdly flavoured pizzas?'

'Did you think there was something odd about him?'

'Sure.'

'You should have warned me about him.'

'You can't go about like a policeman. Anyway, didn't he get married?'

'She died.'

'What? You mean his wife?'

'She was a friend of mine,' I said.

'I'm sorry.'

'That's all right. How did you meet him?'

He had to think for a moment. 'I think a guy called Leon was an old friend of Brendan's. I don't have his number, but I know where he works.'

'Is this Leon Hardy?'

'Right.'

'I'm trying to track down Brendan Block.'

'Oh, him. I hardly know him. But I think Craig does.'

'Craig?'

'Craig McGreevy. He works for the Idiosyncratic Film Distribution Company in Islington.'