Page 26 of The Therapist

FIFTEEN

TUESDAY

Mike

He’s late for work but he doesn’t care. The morning was as chaotic as he had imagined it would be, with the kids sleeping late because he was passed out on the sofa.

Once he had replaced Sandy’s phone under the mattress, he had found himself unable to get comfortable, like the princess with the accusing pea underneath him.

Lana, the therapist, had not believed a word he’d said.

That much was obvious. Her pale face, the way her eyes focused on the blood on the wall and then him went around in his head until he thought he might go a little mad.

He had gone downstairs, and even though he’d known it was not a good idea to drink any more, he had turned on the television, slumped onto the sofa surrounded by the kids’ toys and started with one beer that led to two and then to three.

Eventually he had passed out. And he had only woken up to Lila hitting him on the head with her teddy. ‘I want breakfast, Dad, and I can’t find my school dress and Felix is in the bathroom and I need a wee.’

He had tried, as he did four things at once, not to yell at the kids because he knew they were unsettled by their missing mother.

The lunchboxes needed to be packed and the uniforms found.

Felix seemed only moments away from tears all through breakfast and Mike ended up throwing chocolate bars and small bags of chips into both lunchboxes, not caring that he would get a call or email from the school on the topic of Healthy Lunches.

When he walked out the door and finally had them both in the car, he knew that he had left the house in a dismal mess.

If Sandy returns while he’s at work, she will have a lot to say about that.

He sent her a quick text after he dropped the kids off at school.

Sorry about the mess. Will clean up when I get home.

He knows it’s better to send it, better to have it on record in case. In case of what?

As he walks into the office, a woman wearing a name badge that says ‘Kellie’ catches his eye and virtually runs over to him.

‘Hi, I’m Kellie, and I work with the firm of Arthur and Gorman. We’re the auditors and we’re here to help wrap things up and see if we can get as many suppliers and staff paid as possible.’

She has brown hair in a pixie cut and a wide smile on her face as though this is all a delightful adventure.

He can’t believe how quickly she has appeared and it seems to him that Paul has probably had this in the works for a while.

‘Um hi,’ replies Mike, wishing that the day was over already.

‘Okay if we have a quick chat in your office?’ she says and Mike can do nothing except nod.

She is filled with questions about every sale he’s made over the last two years and wants every single dollar accounted for, and eventually he holds up his hands.

‘I’ll get that all to you, just give me some time,’ he says.

‘Right, but we are going to also need?—’

‘Can you just give me some time?’ he repeats, and thankfully, the woman takes the hint and leaves.

Mike sits in his office for two hours doing nothing at all, staring out of his window and occasionally calling his wife’s phone.

At noon he can’t actually deal with it anymore.

It’s his lunch hour anyway and he has a right to some time off.

He leaves his office like a thief sneaking out of a house he’s robbed, desperate not to draw Kellie’s attention again.

He needs to do what she says because he needs to make sure he gets his last pay cheque and that he gets as much money in severance as he can. How is he going to survive this?

Once he’s outside in the cold air, he breathes a sigh of relief.

As he’s crossing the road, making his way to the café where he can usually get a reasonable sandwich, his phone starts to ring.

He shoves his hand into his pocket, desperate to get it because it could be Sandy on a borrowed phone, but as he pulls it out, it slips out of his hand and drops onto the road, forcing him to stop and pick it up, a car hooting at him for the delay.

With the phone in his hand, he darts to the pavement and then tries to answer but he’s missed the call.

Frustration bubbles inside him and he swears.

He doesn’t recognise the number but then Sandy doesn’t have her phone and he goes to hit it on his missed call list before he stops, wondering if this is one of their suppliers or customers.

Since yesterday, as news of the factory’s closure spread like wildfire, Mike has been getting a lot of calls from people who have placed orders and he’s sick of having to tell everyone that there is nothing he can do and that the auditors will be making sure that people get their money back if that’s possible. It’s been a shitty, shitty time.

And the worst part of all of this is not being able to adequately explain to his kids what’s going on.

‘Will Mum be home this afternoon?’ Felix asked when Mike dropped him and his sister off at school.

‘I don’t know,’ he replied, trying not to sound angry.

She’s been gone for over twenty-four hours now because he knows she was there yesterday when he left to drop the kids off at school.

She’s probably really enjoying the idea that he’s worrying about where she is and that he has to take care of the kids.

One of her frequent complaints about her life is that he has no idea how difficult it is to take care of young children and that he never gives her enough help, and he has to admit that she’s right.

It’s exhausting and boring and the hours seem to stretch on forever before bedtime.

But what kind of a mother leaves her phone behind?

‘But you know everything,’ said Lila softly when Mike said he didn’t know if their mother would be back or not.

Mike wanted to scream with rage. He is supposed to know everything but right now, he feels like a kid again, caught up in a chaotic world over which he has no control.

The urge to hit something runs through him.

‘Chicken and salad, thanks,’ he says to the man behind the counter in the sandwich shop, and then he pays and steps away to wait. His phone beeps with an audio message and he shoves a finger in one ear to block out all the other lunchtime customers and listens.

‘Mr Burkhart, this is Detective Franks calling in relation to a report of a missing person we’ve had. I’m trying to get in touch with you or your wife, Sandy Burkhart. She’s not answering her phone. If you could please return my call at?—’

Mike stops the message, his heart racing and his palms sweating. She’s gone to the police: the therapist bitch has actually gone to the police.

‘Chicken and salad,’ the man behind the counter calls, and Mike steps forward, grabs his sandwich and gestures his thanks. Then he walks out of the shop into the cold air, thinking that he should have brought his suit jacket. Spring has arrived but it has brought no change in the weather.

He takes a bite of the sandwich as he walks towards a pub that he knows he can get a lunchtime drink at and then he stops and has to concentrate on swallowing. She went to the police.

After chucking the sandwich in a nearby bin, he feels in his pocket, glad that he has his car keys.

There’s no way he’s going back to work now.

The police are going to want to speak to him.

They are going to want to trace Sandy’s phone, to search the house, to dissect their lives.

Is this what Sandy wanted? Did she know that things would go this far?

Is this her sick, twisted way of punishing him?

He thought there was some hope that Lana would wait and that Sandy would turn up. Obviously, that was idiotic. The therapist turning up last night was weird but it meant that he should have understood exactly what the woman would do today.

And perhaps he should have been the one to contact the police. He should have done it for the same reason he’s been ringing Sandy’s phone, even while he knows it’s under their mattress. It would look better if he had contacted the police and reported his wife missing.

He walks through the back entrance of the building, going into the garage where his car is parked, finding the silence unsettling.

The noise from the factory next to the garage is usually tremendous but everything has fallen silent now as the company is slowly buried by the auditors.

Mike gets into his car, knowing exactly where he’s going.

What has the therapist told the police about his marriage?

He needs to get her on side. Maybe if she understands, if she will listen to the truth about Sandy without running off, really listen and understand, then she will call the police and tell them that Sandy really is the kind of person to just up and leave her kids, because she is.

He needs the therapist to understand the truth.

It’s a few minutes after 1 p.m. and he has a couple of hours before he has to get the kids. He will go to her office and talk to her.

Perhaps he should call the detective back and explain but he’s afraid to do that. What if he says something wrong? What if the detective asks a question he can’t answer? No, the best way forward is to speak to the therapist.

A small part of him knows that what he’s doing is irrational but it’s overridden by fear and worry and by his need to be understood, by his need for the truth to come out.

He needs to convince her that he hasn’t done anything to Sandy and that she left of her own accord. He knows how weird it sounds. Women generally don’t leave their children but Sandy is a very different kind of woman.