I sit in the chair next to Ruth, my heart still in fluttery panic in my chest, not yet tuned in to the stillness of the room after the speeding and swearing of the last twenty-eight minutes. Ruth glances at me, her eyelashes dewy, before she turns back to Dr. Bunce, who sits opposite us, her fingers raised in a steeple, her head angled slightly to the side like a thoughtful hen.

“Ruth, are you happy for me to share what we were talking about before Jon arrived?”

Ruth nods. There’s a tissue scrunched into a ball in her hand. Dr. Bunce turns to me.

“Jon, Ruth was explaining how she feels you’re not committed to these meetings and, by extension, no longer committed to making your marriage work.” Dr. Bunce speaks like she moves, slowly and clearly. My words sound loud and boisterous in comparison as I twist in my chair towards Ruth.

“No, come on, please. This is the first time I’ve been—”

Ruth’s forehead knots and her green eyes darken as she interrupts. “It’s the second time you’ve been late, and I know you lied about where you were earlier.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“You said you were working, at an interview.”

“I was . . . I . . .” I feel heat flush my cheeks.

“I heard about what happened to poor Megan Nichols on the radio. You went to their house, didn’t you?”

“Ruth . . .” I glance at Dr. Bunce but she’s no help. She’s looking at me, after the truth as well.

“I knew, I just knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away.”

I snap the band on my wrist. Dr. Bunce sees, arches an eyebrow. Out of the corner of my eye I see Ruth glance at Dr. Bunce for support before turning back to me. I don’t look at Ruth as I try to explain to her as calmly as I can: “Megan Nichols has been murdered, her disabled daughter kidnapped.”

“Exactly. That’s why you of all people should show some humility, some decency. And if that’s too much like empathy, then at least show some respect for the restraining order. What if the police had seen you?”

“I only went out of concern, Ruth, nothing more. I won’t go again.” I’m surprised to hear that my voice has grown into a shout. Ruth’s eyes widen. I’ve overreacted. I force a calm I don’t feel into my tone. “Look, maybe I shouldn’t have gone, but I knew them both a little and I interviewed Simon. You know I always thought he was treated unfairly. I can see the same thing is going to happen—”

“Jon, listen to yourself!” The tendons in Ruth’s throat swell as she shouts. Jakey once told me “that means Mummy’s really cross.” “The woman’s son drowned when he was four, her daughter’s severely disabled, and the father of her kids pushed her down a flight of stairs when she was pregnant and then tried to kidnap their daughter, and you’re protecting him? Jesus!” Ruth sits back in her chair as though exhausted by my stupidity, looking at Dr. Bunce like they’re a team. The therapist strokes the air with her hands, as though it’s the air and not us that needs calming. But I don’t see her, not really. Instead I see Grace again, smiling, holding out that pink pill. Dr. Bunce asks something about what me visiting Woodgreen Avenue means in terms of our relationship.