‘No,’ said Josef, from the other end. ‘We take in fine and upstairs. But problem. Now we take it out and back.’
‘What do you mean “back”?’ said Frieda.
‘Wait.’
With much groaning and a suppressed scream when Josef got his fingers trapped between the bath and the doorway, they got it outside and laid it down on the cobblestones.
‘That bath is fucking heavy,’ said Stefan, then looked at Frieda guiltily. ‘Sorry. It is big, though.’
‘But why are you taking it out?’
‘Is heavy,’ said Josef. ‘Hard for floor, I think. We check it now. Probably need joist.’
Frieda heard the phone ringing inside. ‘You mean a steel girder?’ she said.
‘So you don’t fall through floor in bath.’
‘Well, you’d know about that,’ said Frieda. ‘Are you sure?’
Stefan smiled. ‘We are sure.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Frieda. The phone was still ringing. ‘Hang on.’ She pushed past them, but before she could reach the phone, it had stopped. It was almost a relief, something that didn’t have to be dealt with, someone who didn’t have to be talked to. She stood still for a moment, watching Josef and Stefan pushing the bath back into Josef’s van. It seemed to sag under the weight of it. And then the phone rang again, insistently, like a person jabbing at her. She picked it up and heard a woman’s voice.
‘Can I speak to Dr Frieda Klein, please?’
‘Who is this?’
‘My name’s Jilly Freeman. I’m calling from the Sunday Sketch.’ There was a pause. ‘I’m sorry. Are you still there?’
‘Yes,’ said Frieda.
‘We’re running a story in tomorrow’s paper and we’d like to hear your comments on it.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it concerns you.’
Frieda felt a stab of dread and at the same time a numbness, as if she was receiving a blow on a part of her body that had been hit before and then had partially healed. She felt an impulse to smash the phone rather than continue the conversation. Was it something to do with the attack? Were the police reconsidering it? Were the press trying to sniff something out?
‘What is it?’ she said.
‘You’ve seen a patient called Seamus Dunne.’
This was so unexpected that Frieda had to think, just to recall the name. At the same time, Josef stepped into her line of sight and gestured that they were leaving.
‘We need to talk,’ she said to him.
‘Soon.’ Josef backed away.
‘What?’ said the woman on the phone.
‘I was talking to someone else. How do you know about Seamus Dunne?’
‘Dr Klein, it might be better if I could come round to your house and conduct a proper interview in person.’
Frieda took a deep breath and, as she did so, caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass of a picture on the wall. Was that person really her? The thought of someone else, anyone else, coming round to her house made her feel sick. ‘Just tell me what this is about.’
‘All we’re doing is reporting on some new psychological research which we think is really important. As you know, some people think that psychoanalysts aren’t sufficiently accountable to the public.’ Jilly Freeman left a silence that Frieda didn’t break. ‘Well, anyway, there’s this academic called Hal Bradshaw who has been conducting research. Do you know him?’
‘Yes,’ said Frieda. ‘I do.’
‘Well, what he’s done is to select some prominent analysts – and you’re one of them. And then he sent people to see these analysts with instructions to show the identical classic symptoms of a person who was an imminent danger to the public, to see how the analyst responded.’ There was another pause and Frieda didn’t speak. ‘So I was ringing to ask if you had any comment.’
‘You haven’t asked me a question.’
‘From what I understand,’ said Jilly Freeman, ‘this patient, Seamus Dunne …’
‘You said he was pretending to be a patient.’
‘Yes, as part of this research project, and he displayed what are the clear, accepted signs of being a violent psychopath.’
‘Which are?’ said Frieda.
‘Um …’ said Jilly Freeman. There was a pause and Frieda heard pages being turned. ‘Yes, here it is. Each of the supposed patients were to talk of having been violent towards animals in their childhood and then to have vivid fantasies of attacking women and to talk about putting these into practice. Did Seamus Dunne talk about that?’
‘I don’t discuss what my patients say in their sessions.’
‘But he wasn’t a real patient. And he’s talked about it. He gave me an interview.’
‘As part of the research project?’ said Frieda.
She looked around for a chair and sat down. Suddenly she felt utterly exhausted, as if she might go to sleep even while she was talking. It was as if she had locked the door and blocked the windows and they’d still managed to get in through a gap she’d missed.
‘What we want to know for our piece on the research is whether you reported any concerns to the authorities.’
There was a ring at the door.
‘Wait a minute,’ said Frieda. ‘I’ve got to let someone in.’
She opened the door. It was Reuben.
‘Frieda, I just –’ he began, but she held up her hand to silence him and waved him inside. She noticed that he seemed dishevelled and distracted. He walked past her and disappeared into the kitchen.
‘What were you saying?’ said Frieda.
‘I wanted to ask you if you’d reported any concerns to the authorities.’
Frieda was distracted by the sound of clinking from the kitchen. Reuben reappeared with a can of beer.
‘No,’ said Frieda. ‘I didn’t.’
Reuben mouthed something at her, then took a large gulp of beer from the can.
‘From what we’ve been informed,’ continued Jilly Freeman, ‘this experiment was designed to present various therapists with a patient who was a clear, present danger to the community. The patient was a psychopath and it was your duty – in fact, it was your legal responsibility – to report him to the police. Could you comment on that?’
‘But he wasn’t a psychopath,’ said Frieda.
‘Is it her?’ said Reuben. ‘Is it fucking her?’
‘What are you talking about?’ Frieda hissed.
‘What?’ said Jilly Freeman.
‘I’m not talking to you.’ Frieda angrily waved Reuben away. ‘You’ve said yourself that he wasn’t a psychopath. There was no need to report him. I may have had some concerns about this particular man, but I wouldn’t discuss that with anyone but him.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Jilly Freeman, ‘but this experiment was to test how therapists respond when they are confronted with a patient who shows the classic signs, established by research over the years, of being a psychopath. The public will want to know whether they are being protected.’
‘I’m going to talk to you for one more minute,’ said Frieda, ‘and then I’m putting the phone down. You’ve told me that he wasn’t actually a psychopath. He was just saying psychopathic things.’
‘Don’t psychopaths say psychopathic things? What else do you have to go on, apart from what patients say to you?’
‘And second, as I said to Seamus Dunne himself, psychopaths don’t ask for help. He was talking about lack of empathy but he wasn’t displaying it. That’s my answer.’
‘And you trusted yourself to ignore the classic signs of a psychopath?’
‘Your minute’s up,’ said Frieda, and ended the call.
She looked at Reuben. ‘What are you doing here?’ she said.
‘I just saw Josef driving away.’
‘He’s working on my bathroom.’
‘I guess that’s why I can’t track him down.’ His expression hardened. ‘It was her, wasn’t it? It was that journalist, what’s her name?’