It was unimaginably gratifying to hear someone give her permission. It turned on a tap that Heather couldn’t seem to turn off. When she finally managed to, several minutes later, she felt a little embarrassed by her outburst.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure what –’
Mary held up a hand. ‘Don’t you apologise. You’ve suffered a terrible loss. Your hormones will be going crazy. It’s absolutely normal for you to feel this way.’
‘Is it?’ Heather said.
Mary nodded with wonderful certainty. ‘I’m not sure if Stephen told you, but I’m a psychologist. I actually worked in pregnancy loss and infertility for many years, so I’m very familiar with what you’re going through. I’ve also experienced two miscarriages myself.’
Heather and Mary talked for over an hour, about the women Mary had seen in her practice, about the two babies Mary lost, about the emotions Heather would go through in the coming weeks. Heather couldn’t remember the last time someone had spent this much time with her, devoted to her, caring for her. There was something about it that made her feel both vulnerable and powerful.
‘Thank you so much,’ Heather said, when Mary looked at her watch and commented on how the time had flown. ‘I didn’t realise how much I needed to talk about all of this.’
‘Everyone needs to talk sometimes,’ Mary said. She stood up, reaching for her handbag. ‘If you ever wanted to talk to anyone in a professional sense, I’d be happy to recommend a colleague of mine. No pressure. You might be fine. But the offer is there if you need it.’
If she had been sent here to see if Heather was crazy, she’d concealed it well. Heather felt completely disarmed. She actually thought she might take Mary up on her offer of a referral to her friend.
‘Thank you, Mary,’ she said. ‘Maybe I will.’
Mary smiled, putting her bag over her shoulder. ‘Well. I’m here if you need me. Please, please, please don’t hesitate to contact me if you need anything at all. Promise?’
Heather smiled. ‘Promise.’
Then, in her most disarming move yet, she leaned forward and kissed Heather’s head.
‘Mary?’ Heather called after her, when the older woman was almost out the door.
‘Yes, my love?’ she said, turning.
‘Do you think Stephen is a good man?’
A pause. Heather scanned her face for surprise at the question. And she did find a little. But within a second or two Mary’s comforting knowingness was back. ‘I think he’s a very good man. And he cares a lot about you, Heather.’
Heather nodded. She trusted Mary. And if Mary said Stephen was a good man, he was. That was the end of the story. She guessed she’d have to contact Mary’s friend after all. Because the jury was in . . . and she was clearly crazy.
53
TULLY
Sonny handed Tully a cup of tea and sat down beside her on the floor. The room felt large and echoey without furniture. She and Sonny had been talking for hours, about everything. They’d talked about Dad and Heather, about Fiona Arthur, about the possible abuse – which Sonny didn’t believe. They talked about what happened to Rachel when she was sixteen. They talked about the kleptomania and the hold it had over her. They talked about Tully’s fears about Miles.
Now, Tully sat with her back against the wall and sipped her tea. The boys were in bed, or ‘on their mattresses’ to be more accurate, now that the beds had been taken away. Sonny had put them to bed single-handedly, much to Tully’s frustration.
‘What is wrong with me?’ she demanded. ‘Why is Miles perfect for you but not for me? For me, he doesn’t eat, he doesn’t talk, he doesn’t sleep. He shits on the carpet!’
‘Maybe because he feels safest with you? Maybe with you he feels like he can finally let his guard down.’
For some reason this brought tears to Tully’s eyes.
‘Everyone needs someone with whom they can let their guard down,’ Sonny continued. ‘That said, you’re right, this has been going on for a while. Maybe it’s time to get some outside help.’
Tully nodded. ‘Yes. For me and Miles both.’
Sonny placed his tea on the floor beside him. ‘I wish I’d known how much you’ve been hurting, Tully. I knew you were upset about your mum. And I assumed you weren’t coping too well with your dad remarrying. But you never talked about it, and I was so busy with trying to sort out our financial situation . . . And I can’t even begin to think about the kleptomania. To know that you’ve been doing this for as long as I’ve known you and I didn’t notice . . .’