Page 63 of We Live Here Now

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Freddie

“She’s still convinced the house is haunted,” I say to Dr. Canning, one eye on my office door. I’ve left it open just wide enough in case Alicia is listening. “And it’s made her paranoid. The vicar is worried too. He feels bad because he’s the one who said about the suicide victims being buried under the house, which hasn’t helped.”

A shadow falls across the carpet outside. I’ve been warned three times already that my assistant, Alicia, is a nosy parker. I’m not even sure why I want her to be listening in, but the bees are buzzing loudly, and it seemed like the right thing to do. Just in case I need a witness to prove my concerns.

“And she’s veering between manic and depressed,” I continue, before hesitating and then adding, “I’m not sure she’s always taking the pills you prescribed, and I don’t know how to make sure she does without her getting angry.”

“That doesn’t sound good.” I can hear the doctor’s pen scratching notes. “I’ll bring her next scheduled appointment forward, but it still will be a week or so. In the meantime, I’ll email you some recommendations for some good psychotherapists in your area. Not NHS, I’m afraid. But they should be able to see her quickly. And do what you can to persuade her to take her pills. The problem may be as simple as she’s spending too much time on her own. Between the accident and the miscarriage, she’s been through a lot. You both have.”

“You’re right.” I infuse my tone with a hint of relief. “That could be it.”

“Try to help her enjoy the house. She’s had a life-changing experience and it’s quite natural that her mind is constantly in fight-or-flight mode. She’s simply turned that toward the house, mistrusting it as a safe place. Self-preservation really.”

“Thank you again, Dr. Canning. And sorry to have taken up so much of your time. Again. I just—I was so close to losing her.”

“It’s perfectly understandable. And I’m glad you called. But try not to worry too much. She’s a strong woman.”

“I know. Thank you.”

Outside, the sky hangs heavy, pregnant with the threat of snow, and staring through the glass, I get lost in the grayness of it. What am I doing? Why is the thought of the life insurance payout constantly needling my brain? Emily isn’t going to kill herself. I’m not going to get that money. Why am I making her sound more unhinged than she is?

But what if she did? the bees buzz at me. Or what if it looked like she did? No more smugness. No more holier-than-thou attitude. No more Mrs. Always Right. Just a big, fat check and no more debts.

Do I really think those things of Emily? Sometimes she can be odd, sure, but not all the time. Not most of the time. Do I really want her gone? I want to be free of my own worries. I don’t want someone coming to put me in the hospital. But that doesn’t mean I want Emily dead. Does it? My head is throbbing again. I’m so confused.

I need to get back to the house. Everything feels clearer back in the house.