‘Good.’
‘Can you make eleven o’clock tomorrow morning?’
‘Yes.’ There was a pause. ‘I think you’ll find me a very interesting person.’
A nasty little headache screwed its way up Frieda’s temple. Cockiness. It wasn’t a good start.
Seamus Dunne was a young man, slim and neat, with even features and shiny brown hair, slicked back. He was wearing a dark, tailored jacket, black cords and a purple shirt that shimmered under the light. Frieda wondered how long he had taken to get ready for their meeting. He had a firm though slightly damp handshake and a clipped, emphatic way of speaking. His smile, when he produced it, seemed disconnected from what he was saying. He used her name slightly too often.
‘So, Frieda, how do we do this?’ he asked, after he had taken a seat opposite her and put his hands, palms down, on his knees.
‘I’d like to know a few details about you and then I’d like you to tell me why you’re here.’
‘Details. Right. Age, occupation, things you put on a form?’
‘All right.’
‘I’m twenty-seven. I’m in sales and marketing, and very good at it. I get people to buy things they didn’t even know they wanted. Perhaps you disapprove of that, Frieda, but, really, it’s how the world works. You don’t find out what people need and give it to them. You create the need in them and then you fulfil it.’
‘Do you live in London?’
‘Yes. Harrow.’
‘Tell me something about your family.’
‘My father died when I was seventeen. I didn’t mind. He was useless anyway and he always had it in for me. I was glad when he went. My mum, she’s another story. She adores me. I’m the baby of the family. I’ve got two older sisters and then there’s a gap and there’s me. She still does my washing for me, would you believe? And I go there every Sunday for lunch. Just me and her.’
‘Do you live alone?’
‘On and off. I like living by myself. I don’t get lonely and I have lots of friends.’ He paused, looked up, flashed her a smile and then looked down at his hands again. ‘And girlfriends. Women seem to like me. I know how to make them happy.’
‘And do you?’
‘What?’ He was momentarily startled.
‘Make them happy.’
‘Yes. I was saying. For a while, but I don’t want to be tied down, you see. I’m not a faithful sort of man. I want variety, excitement. I like feeling my heart pound. I used to steal when I was a kid for the thrill of it. Are you shocked by that?’
‘Should I be shocked?’
‘I don’t know. Anyway, it’s the same with women. I like the beginning of things, the chase. That’s why I’m good at my job too. I get a kick out of persuading people to buy things they don’t need. I get a kick out of making women want me. It’s only with my mum that I’m calm and ordinary.’
Frieda scrutinized him. There were beads of sweat on his forehead although the room was quite cool. ‘If you like your life so much, why are you here, with me?’
Seamus sat up straighter and took a breath. ‘I like having power over people.’ She could see him swallow and when he spoke it was more slowly, as if he was considering every word. ‘I remember, when I was a boy, I used to cut my father’s hair. My father was a big man, much bigger than I am, and solid. He had a thick neck and broad shoulders and beside him I felt very small. But every so often I would be holding these sharp scissors and he would shut his eyes and let me snip his hair off.’ He paused for a moment, as if recollecting something. ‘I can remember the dampness of the hair and the smell of it. Pushing my fingers into it, feeling the skin underneath. It smelt of him. When he let me touch his hair, I knew he was giving me power over him. I can still hear the sound of the blades. I could have killed him with those scissors. I had power over him, and that made me feel strong and tender at the same time. Looking after him with something that could wound him.’
He forced his eyes up and met Frieda’s gaze. He faltered slightly. ‘I’m sorry, is something wrong?’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘You look, I don’t know, puzzled?’
‘Go on,’ she said. ‘What were you going to say?’
‘I used to hurt animals,’ he said. ‘That gave me the same feeling. Mostly little things, birds and insects. But sometimes cats, a dog once. And now women.’
‘You like hurting women?’
‘They like it too. Mostly.’
‘You mean, hurting them sexually?’
‘Of course. It’s all part of sex, isn’t it – hurting, pleasing, causing pain and pleasure, showing who’s master? But now – well, now there’s this woman I’ve met. Danielle. She says I’ve gone too far. I frightened her with what I did. She says she won’t see me any more unless I get help.’
‘You mean you’re here because Danielle told you to come?’
‘Yes.’
‘Really?’
‘Don’t you believe me?’
‘I’m interested by the way you describe yourself as someone who likes to have power over people. But you’ve listened to Danielle, you’ve responded to her concern and you’ve acted on it.’
‘She thinks I could do something – well, something that could get me into trouble. Not just killing a cat. And she’s right. I think so too.’
‘You’re telling me that you’re worried you could seriously hurt someone?’
‘Yes.’
‘And is that all you have to tell me?’
‘All? Isn’t that enough?’
‘Apart from Danielle’s worries, which you share, are there other things that are troubling you?’
‘Well.’ He shifted in his chair, glanced away and then back again. ‘I’m not great at sleeping.’
‘Go on.’
‘I go to sleep all right but then I wake and sometimes that’s fine and sometimes I just know I won’t go back to sleep. I lie there and think about stuff.’
‘Stuff?’
‘You know. Little things seem big at three in the morning. But everyone goes through patches of not sleeping. And I’ve lost my appetite a bit.’
‘You don’t eat properly?’
‘That’s not why I’m here.’ He seemed suddenly angry. ‘I’m here because of my violent feelings. I want you to help me.’
Frieda sat quite straight in her red armchair. The sun poured through the window, ran like a river through the room where she told patients who made their way to her that they could tell her anything, anything at all. Her ribs hurt and her leg ached.
‘No,’ she said at last.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I can’t help you.’
‘I don’t understand. I come here telling you I might seriously harm someone and you tell me you can’t help me.’
‘That’s right. I’m not the proper person.’
‘Why? You specialize in things like this – I’ve heard about you. You know about people like me.’
Frieda thought about Dean Reeve, the man who had stolen a little girl and turned her into his submissive wife, who had stolen a little boy and tried to make him into his son, who through Frieda’s carelessness had snatched a young woman and murdered her just because she got in his way, who was still alive somewhere with his soft smile and his watching eyes. She thought of the knife slashing at her.
‘What are people like you like?’ she said.
‘You know – people who do bad things.’
‘Have you done bad things?’
‘Not yet. But I can feel them inside me. I don’t want to let them out.’
‘There is a paradox here,’ said Frieda.
‘What?’
‘The fact of asking me for help might suggest that you don’t really need it.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You’re worried about being violent, about a lack of empathy. But you listened to Danielle. And you’re asking for help. That shows insight.’