Keeping one eye on the closed door of the therapy room, Kate moves the wooden bowl from the centre of the window sill to the edge. She places the key fob inside it, angles the camera towards the client’s chair then places a handful of coins around it to keep it in place. She won’t know if she’s positioned it correctly until she checks the footage later but it’s Peter’s session and, if she’s got it wrong, it won’t matter. She’s doesn’t need an insight into his past to work out what makes him tick. He’s a serial complainer, only happy if he’s got something to moan about. No wonder he’s been divorced three times. His ex-wives had a lucky escape.

Kate steps away from the window and checks the bin. Geraldine didn’t cry in her session so there’s nothing to empty and there’s fresh water and glasses on the table. Her job is done.

The door clicking open makes her turn sharply.

‘Kate.’ Tom greets her with a nod, then looks at his watch. ‘I’ve got Peter next, right?’ Without waiting for a reply he says, ‘Have you checked on Joy recently? I could hear her coughing as I walked past her room.’

‘No,’ Kate says, ‘but I will.’

She doesn’t mention that’s she’s heard Joy coughing too, or that she was listening at her door at the time. She looks at her husband, at the haggard sag of his skin, the five o’clock stubble on his jaw and the hint of grey at his temple. When they met he took good care of himself. He shaved daily, applied eau de toilette and did his hair for what felt like hours. She was shocked at his appearance when he came out of prison and assumed he’d jump into the shower and come out looking like a new man. He had showered – he’d insisted on washing the ‘stink of his cell’ off his body – but he didn’t cut his hair. He used to glance at himself whenever he passed a reflective surface. Now he avoids mirrors. It’s as though he no longer likes what he sees.

‘How was your session with Geraldine?’ she asks pleasantly. ‘Everything okay?’

Tom slumps into his chair. ‘Fine. There’s some emotional blockages we need to work through but she’s not resistant. She’s quite self-aware. Intelligent too. Hardly surprising considering she used to be an IT teacher.’

‘I’m sorry?’

Tom looks at her. ‘Sorry for what?’

‘I thought you just said she used to be an IT teacher.’

‘She did. She’s mentioned it several times.’

Kate rests a hand on the window sill, then snatches it up again as her fingers brush against the bowl. ‘She’s been lying to you, Tom. It says she’s a retired receptionist on her form.’