‘It was.’ She tries to push the image of the bloodied bird, its guts gaping, from her mind, but the more she tries not to think about it the more it hooks itself in her brain.

‘You know men with violent tendencies often harm animals,’ she adds.

‘That’s true. Particularly of serial killers. As children they’ll often torture and abuse animals. It’s not just men though. Child murderer Mary Bell throttled pigeons.’

‘Well if any animal deserves to get throttled …’ She tails off. ‘That was a joke, by the way.’

‘Glad to hear it.’

An uncomfortable silence settles between them. Tom reaches for his mug. Jenna does the same. She can feel his confusion weighing on her. He doesn’t understand her change in mood.

‘What colour was the bird?’ he asks.

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘I was curious. Birds play an important part in mythology.’

‘It was black.’

‘Right.’

‘Right what?’

She glances up at him as he sits back in his seat and crosses his legs, resting the ankle of his right leg on his left knee. ‘Black is the colour of the unconscious, of the unaware. A black bird is said to be the spiritual representation of some unresolved tension within you that requires your attention.’

‘That’s bollocks.’

‘Are you holding onto something that is hurting you, Jenna?’

‘You know I am!’ She sits forward so sharply her knees knock against the table and coffee slops over the sides of the cups. Tom jumps up and heads to the kitchenette. He returns with a tea towel and dabs at the spill.

‘You’re angry today.’

‘People get angry’ – she meets his eyes – ‘even you.’

‘Sure. I get angry, of course I do. But why you, why today?’

How did she get him so wrong? All this – these questions, this faux concern – he’s so good at it. He makes her feel special, like he cares, but it’s just play-acting.

Tom settles himself back into his seat. ‘What are you thinking? Right now?’

‘That I’m tired of people disappointing me. That I can’t trust my own judgement. That maybe I should assume the worst of everyone so I’m not disappointed.’

‘That’s a cynical way of looking at life.’

‘Is it?’ She raises her eyebrows.

‘Of course. In my experience, the majority of people in the world are good and decent.’

‘And the ones who aren’t?’

‘Are often damaged.’

‘But obviously you could fix them, couldn’t you Tom? The SoulShrink can fix everyone.’ She feels tense and twitchy. She wants to run until she’s exhausted, or swim until she can’t breathe. She wants to get as far away from this woman beating charlatan as quickly as she can.

‘No. I can’t. But I’d like to help you.’