I didn’t want her to know his name, or that he was my boyfriend. I wanted her to know nothing about us. I despised myself, knowing that no matter what Mary said or did, I would never trust her.

She held up her hands and made a frame shape in front of my face with her fingers and thumbs. ‘What’s your story, Ruth Bussey? Before I paint a person, I need to know their story. What happened to you? How did you get that scar?’ This time she didn’t say that I didn’t have to tell her if I didn’t want to, so I said it to myself. ‘You think it makes you strong, suffering in silence, bearing the burden alone? So what if it does? What’s the advantage of being strong? Do you know what happens to strong people? I do. Weak people attack them. Why do you think I went for you in the gallery that day?’

I stiffened. How long before I could escape?

‘You seemed so strong, and I felt so weak. Weak people always attack strong people—it’s safer. It’s weak people who are dangerous, who lash out uncontrollably and hurt you back. Strong people can walk away—no repercussions, you see, if you attack a strong person. Want to know how I ended up so weak?’

‘No, I . . . no.’ I picked up Abberton, afraid she’d change her mind and take it back. ‘I’ve got to go.’

Mary grabbed my hand. ‘Tell me your story and I’ll tell you mine.’

I tried not to panic, said again that I needed to leave. I’d opened the front door and was almost out, with Abberton under my arm. ‘You’ll tell me one day,’ she said as she released her grip.

I ran to my car, gulping in fresh air as if I’d been trapped underwater. I didn’t look back at the house. I knew I would see Mary in the doorway, watching, waiting. As I drove away, uncertain as I was about everything else, I became convinced of one thing: Aidan’s insane belief centred around a woman who was every bit as insane as the things he’d said about her.

I didn’t know what that meant, but it had to mean something.

10 - 4/3/08

10

4/3/08

‘It isn’t a relationship,’ Olivia said indignantly. ‘I’m not sure you’ve noticed, but I don’t have those. That suits you fine, doesn’t it? Me having no one, being on tap whenever you want me.’

‘Don’t twist this! I don’t want you to be lonely, or . . .’

‘Terrified of telling any man I fall for that I lost my womb and ovaries to cancer and can’t have children?’