Chapter Sixty-Six
I stared at the woman.
Joyce Hatton… Joyce Hatton… where had I heard that name before? And then memory rushed back. I reached for the back of an easy chair to steady myself.
‘I once saw your name on my husband’s computer,’ I wheezed.
‘What?’ Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Did Peter ever tell you about me?’
‘No.’ I shook my head.
Breathe, Jen. Breathe. Attagirl. Suck air in. Now blow it out. And repeat.
I collapsed down on the easy chair, momentarily winded. Joyce didn’t seem to be faring much better. She was now slowly pat-patting her way towards the marital bed. A moment later, she sank down, facing me.
‘I’m here under false pretences,’ she admitted.
‘You don’t say,’ I muttered sarcastically. ‘You’ve got some front.’
‘I… I had to see this place.’
‘Why?’ I gasped.
She shrugged, her face desperately sad.
‘I found out Peter had died through an obituary. I suppose I came here to get closure.’
I shook my head slowly. Good God.
‘I tried finding you on social media,’ I said. ‘But you were a mystery.’
‘I’m on Facebook as Joyce Bartholomew. That’s my married name.’
‘Oh, so there is a cuckolded husband,’ I said bitterly.
‘We’re separated,’ she said quietly. ‘I guess you tried looking for me to ask some questions.’
‘Not really,’ I sighed. ‘Don’t flatter yourself that you were special.’ My tone was suddenly harsh. ‘You were one of many.’
‘Look.’ She licked her lips nervously. ‘Can we be candid with each other?’
In that moment I realised that Joyce had come to confess. Unburden, so to speak, and maybe to even try and understand where she’d stood in Peter’s life.
‘You go first,’ I said coldly.
‘Okay.’ She took a deep breath, visibly gathering herself. ‘I was Peter’s therapist.’
That brought me up short. My husband had been seeing a counsellor?
‘Peter was your client?’ I said in astonishment.
‘Jen – I hope you don’t mind me calling you that – I know everything about you and Peter. I possibly know more about your husband than you ever did.’
‘Not necessarily,’ I spat. How dare this woman make such an assumption. ‘I don’t know how long you knew Peter, but you weren’t his wife. You didn’t live by his side. Raise his children. Suffer his controlling behaviour. Or cringe when his temper repeatedly came to the fore.’
‘I’m not here to upset you, Jen. Please believe that. It’s cards on the table time, yes?’
There was a pause while we simply stared at each other.
‘I guess,’ I mumbled. ‘Carry on.’
‘Peter was a charming but emotionally volatile man. He decided to have therapy after an incident at work.’
That shook me. I wondered what had happened. But then again, he’d rubbed shoulders with some dubious people. Henry Rumbold flashed through my mind.
‘But, more pressingly’ – Joyce continued – ‘Peter confessed that while he’d never hit you, he’d felt increasingly scared about doing just that.
So, you see, I knew about his violent thoughts.
His misogyny. Also’ – her eyes met mine – ‘his secret hook ups. They were anonymous. Fast, meaningless, but necessary. Just like I was fully aware of his disdain for your emotional needs. And yet Peter was also very magnetic, self-aware, clever, and tortured.’
‘Oh, please,’ I scorned. ‘Don’t try and make his faults sound like hidden depths.’
Joyce shook her head.
‘I didn’t mean to,’ she said. ‘However, I honestly thought that he was trying to change when he met me. He didn’t know if he could change.
He didn’t even know if he should change.
Nonetheless he turned up at my office to see if therapy would help.
Instead of being repulsed by him, I became fascinated by him – both his charisma and his rage.
You see, I truly believed that I was seeing his ‘real self’ underneath the rot.
Wrongly, I became emotionally entangled.
And then’ – she hung her head – ‘sexually involved. I saw our affair as real, even if it was built on ugliness. But my visit today isn’t just to confess.
It’s to try and reconcile my guilt with my own obsession.
My fatal flaw was that I fell for the confessor, not the man.
I’m also more than aware that I’ve crossed a major ethical boundary, both professionally and personally.
And I’m deeply sorry for that. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, somehow… ’
Her words trailed off, the sentence unfinished, but its meaning understood.
I momentarily closed my eyes. Bloody hell. What a mess. Were there other women out there, like Joyce? Females that Peter had visited and left in emotional tatters? Who knew what secrets he’d taken to the grave.
‘There’s nothing to absolve,’ I said quietly.
‘I knew about my husband’s multiple sexual encounters.
I can’t say with whom – if any – he had a relationship with.
However, under the marital roof he treated me with utter contempt.
I knew a long time ago that I needed to get away.
I’d even taken legal advice – not that Peter had known.
I’d feared him finding out. If he had ever left me, that would have been acceptable in his eyes.
But not the other way around. For him, that would have been intolerable. A severe loss of face.’
For a moment neither of us said anything.
‘So,’ she ventured. ‘You mentioned earlier that you saw my name on Peter’s computer.’
‘Yes,’ I said slowly.
Careful, Jen. You don’t want everything spewing out so that this woman, of all people, is given a different account of what has been officially recorded with the police.
‘I can’t remember the finer details’ – I continued – ‘but Peter had popped outside to do something. He’d left his computer on.
I happened to spot that he’d been in the middle of making a reservation at a hotel.
At the time I’d fleetingly wondered if he’d been in one of his better moods, and planning a surprise.
However, when I’d looked at the screen, the booking was for himself and one Joyce Hatton.
’ I heaved a sigh. ‘Did you have a nice time?’ I asked innocently.
She shook her head.
‘I knew nothing of it,’ she said sadly. ‘He must have had second thoughts.’
‘Ah,’ I nodded. ‘The truth is, Joyce, that Peter never changed. He never changed for me, and I don’t think he would have changed for you either.’ I looked her in the eye. ‘I’m sorry you found out about Peter’s death in the way that you did. However, I personally believe you had a lucky escape.’