‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘I thought I could cope. My husband was very supportive.’
She felt a surge of panic. The walls of the room were closing in on her, unwelcome pressure bearing in from every side.
‘I don’t really want to be here,’ she admitted in a faltering voice.
‘Then why are you?’
She puffed out her cheeks, willing herself to stay in control.
‘My father-in-law insisted I see someone. I had an episode at Julian’s funeral. A panic attack. Then I went to Thailand. They think I ran away.’
‘And you didn’t?’
‘I went to see my sister.’
‘So you don’t think you need professional help?’
‘I don’t want to be put on more pills. After my baby died, I was given medication by my doctor to help me sleep. I didn’t like how it made me feel.’
‘I’m a psychotherapist, not a psychiatrist. I’m not here to dispense pills. We just talk.’
Diana looked at her with a sense of disappointment. Ralph and Barbara Denver hadn’t tried to disguise their unhappiness that she had left the funeral under such dramatic circumstances, and she had only agreed to seek help as a way of pacifying them. But even though she was here under duress, she had secretly been hoping for a miracle cure that would free her from the intensity of her grief. She wondered whether she should just stand up and walk out of the door, then told herself that she would only get out of this session what she put in. If she was going to circle Olga Shapiro in wide, distrusting circles, then this trip to Highgate would only be a waste of time.
‘I don’t like myself right now,’ she whispered, hoping that the relationship between doctor and patient really was private.
‘Why not?’ Olga Shapiro did not react with any surprise, and Diana felt reassured by her calmness and the orderly surroundings that seemed to help make more sense of the world.
‘I’m looking into his death. Myself,’ she said quietly. ‘I thought it would make me feel better, I thought it would make me feel empowered, as though I’m finally in control. But I think it’s actually making things worse.’
‘Worse?’
‘I feel so guilty,’ cried Diana. ‘What do you think it says about me, about my relationship with my husband? It’s as if I’m saying I didn’t trust him, like I’m looking for evidence, secrets he kept from me.’
‘Do you think he kept secrets?’
She nodded. ‘He’s been unfaithful before now.’
‘Do you want to tell me about it?’
She told the therapist about how she had discovered Julian’s infidelity, seeing it on the front page. But she left out the part about her sister’s involvement. That was a story for another day.
‘Was it a surprise?’
Diana shook her head ruefully. ‘I didn’t want to believe it, but deep down I think I’d been expecting it.’
She remembered Rachel telling her once that it was her instinct that made her a good journalist – and perhaps that instinct ran in the family. Yes, she had known Julian was cheating. Not just with the eighteen-year-old model he had been caught out with either; her instinct told her there were others. Although none since the scandal. Even though they’d worked at their marriage, she had still kept her eyes open for evidence of marital guilt – credit card entries for jewellery or roses, text messages – cursing her paranoia when she found nothing suspicious.
‘You know, women were even flirting with him at our wedding reception. It was as if the fact that he was now married was just a minor irritation . . .’ She felt the tears running down her cheeks again.
‘We should probably keep today’s session quite short.’
‘No, sorry. I haven’t been too bad with the waterworks so far. I guess it’s talking about it that set me off.’
Olga waited while Diana wiped her eyes and blew her nose.