I can’t believe our time’s up already. ‘I can’t do Wednesday.’ That’s the evening of the Christmas Fayre. I wonder what Robin would say if I told him what I was planning to do. Call the police, probably.

‘That’s a shame. I really think we could benefit from talking this through sooner rather than later.’

‘How about now? Maybe another half hour?’ I feel wrung out, but there’s still a lot more I want to talk about.

‘Unfortunately I’ve got another client coming in fifteen minutes. If you can’t do Wednesday, we’ll have to leave it until next week. But I’ll call if I get a cancellation, okay?’

‘Oh, okay.’

We both get to our feet at the same time.

‘At least I didn’t need any tissues this week.’ I give Robin a half-hearted smile, which he tries to return, but his jaw is tight and there are lines etched across his forehead.

I put my coat on and wind my scarf around my neck, worrying that perhaps I went too far. I know you’re supposed to open up in a counselling session and talk about everything on your mind, but what if I’ve said too much? Also, I probably shouldn’t have mentioned Bella and Kate’s names. Well, it’s too late now.

‘Are you parked close by?’ Robin asks. ‘Do you need me to walk you to your car? It’s not very nice out there.’

‘Thanks, I’ll be fine.’

‘Okay, Rachel. Take care.’

‘Bye, Robin. Thank you.’ I leave the cosy warmth of his room and walk down the stairs and out onto the dark, glistening pavement. I try to look at things from Robin’s point of view. Try to see me as he sees me. But I can’t seem to do it. I can only see the reality of my situation. And whatever Robin sees it isn’t the real truth, rather it’s his narrow perception of my life. It’s helpful to talk to him, but I don’t think he gets my situation the way he thinks he does.

I speed up, anxious to get back to my car and out of the cold. Once I get home, I’m going to have a hot shower and then climb into bed with a book. Escape from it all for a while if I can.

27

I park two streets away from the Morrises’ flat and sit in the car for a few moments, contemplating all the different ways that this could go wrong. But if I don’t at least try, then what does that say about the type of mother I am? If Bella is my daughter, I need to know. I need to do everything I can to discover the truth.