Simon Beckett - Where There's Smoke

It meant little to her, and the abstract wasn’t much more help, either:

Identical twins, separated at birth and given contrasting upbringings, were convicted of theft within twelve months of each other. This study considers the possibility of an inherited tendency towards impulse-control disorders, and suggests this as a subject of further research.

Her attention wandered before she had finished reading. She called up the next record, this one detailing an article on pyromania but sat back without bothering to read it. Enough was enough. Leaving the monitor switched on, she went over to the librarian. His windburned cheeks grew darker when he saw her.

“Sorry, I’m not sure how to turn it off,” she told him.

“That’s okay, I’ll see to it. Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Do you want any of the articles photocopied?”

“No, it’s okay, thanks.”

He looked disappointed. “Are you sure? It’s no trouble.”

“Really, it’s okay. I’ve seen what I needed.”

Then, because her excitement demanded an outlet, she gave him an extra broad smile as she went out.

Lucy and Jack returned that weekend. Kate waited through tales of collapsing guy-ropes, sunburn and ice-cream indigestion, before Lucy wound down.

“Are you going to be free one night next week?” Kate asked.

Lucy was slumped in an armchair. “I think you’d have to drag me out of the house after the last fortnight. Why?”

Kate couldn’t keep it in any longer. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

“This is Alex.”

The four of them stood in Lucy and Jack’s living room, stiff smiles on all their faces. The planned barbecue had been rained off. Instead, the big table at the back of the room was now draped with a heavy white tablecloth, and set with Jack’s aunt’s best cutlery and glasses. Two heavy silver-plated candlesticks stood in the middle, the beeswax candles in them slightly askew.

Lucy gave Alex a bright smile. “Pleased to meet you.”

Kate thought that she was going to step forward and kiss him, but she didn’t.

Jack stuck out his hand and gave Alex’s a firm shake. “How you doing?”

There was an awkward lull while everyone waited for someone to speak and no one did.

“Well, isn’t this just typical English weather?” Lucy declared. “If there’s one certain way of getting it to rain, it’s for us to decide to have a barbecue!”

They laughed, a little more heartily than was strictly necessary. Before the silence could descend again, Jack rubbed his hands together. “Right, who’s for a drink? Kate?”

“Red wine, please.”

She reminded herself to drink slowly. She hadn’t been able to eat anything all day.

“Alex?” Jack said. “Beer, wine. Something stronger, if you’d like it?”

Alex looked momentarily lost. “Er... beer, if you’ve got one.”

Jack’s face split into a grin. “You can have Budweiser, Boddy’s or Old Speckled Hen.”

“You can show him your beer collection later,” Lucy said, disguising the sharpness behind a smile. “I’m sure Alex isn’t bothered.”

Jack’s smile was just as cosmetic. “Well, let’s let him decide, shall we?”

Kate knew Lucy and Jack well enough to gather that they had been arguing. She had felt anxious enough before she arrived, and the tension between them didn’t make her feel any better. She had a sudden presentiment that the night was going to be awful.

“I’ll have a Bud, please,” Alex said. Jack gave Lucy a triumphant glance, clearly taking the nickname as proof of a kindred spirit. He went through into the kitchen.

“I’ll have white wine, since you’ve asked,” Lucy shouted after him, sweetly. She smiled back at Kate and Alex. “You might as well sit down.”

They went to the sofa and chairs set around the unlit fire. As she passed Kate, Lucy lowered her voice. “New dress?”

Kate nodded. It was plain white, sleeveless and ended well above her knee. Lucy raised an eyebrow at her, but made no further comment as she settled into one of the armchairs. After hesitating by its twin, Kate sat on the sofa with Alex, though at the other side. She was conscious of her dress riding up over her thighs. It was shorter than she was used to.

Lucy gave him a hostess’s smile. “Kate tells me you’re a clinical psychologist?”

Alex nodded. “Er, yes, that’s right.”

“You’ll have to forgive my ignorance, but I’m not sure what one is. I mean, I know what a psychologist is, but I’m not sure about the clinical bit.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, it, er, it basically means I work with patients rather than on the, uh, theoretical or research side.”

He sat with his legs crossed and one arm thrown casually over the arm of the sofa, but Kate sensed the same rigidity in him she had noticed in the restaurant. He seemed to be holding himself in the relaxed posture by an effort of will.

“So you treat schizophrenics and people like that, instead of getting rats to run round mazes?” Lucy persisted.

“Ah, no, I wouldn’t treat anyone for schizophrenia. That’s more a psychiatric condition, really.”

“What’s the difference?”

“The difference?”

Alex looked discomforted at being quizzed. Kate wished Lucy would change the subject.

“Psychiatry deals with, er, with mental illness. It, uh, it tends to use a lot of drug treatment. Psychology — c-clinical psychology — is more concerned with behavioural problems.”

The faint catch was back in his voice, an almost imperceptible stumble over his consonants. Kate wondered if Lucy could tell how nervous he was. She was beginning to regret the enthusiasm that had led her to take him there. It hadn’t been her intention to put him on display, but that was how it must seem.

“What made you choose it? The clinical thing, I mean?”

Kate wondered if she had sounded as inane when she’d first met him. She waited for Alex to tell Lucy about the “super psychologists”.

“Oh, no particular reason,” he said, dismissively. “It was just something I liked the sound of.”

He didn’t look at her, but Kate was suddenly sure that Alex knew she was conscious of the omission. And, for some reason, she was glad he hadn’t told Lucy.

“What sort of—” Lucy began, but Kate never knew what her next question would have been. She broke off as a small figure came into the room. Dressed in a pale yellow nightgown, Emily hung back at the edge of the circle formed by the sofa and chairs. She had a shy smile on her face as she looked up coyly at Alex from under her hair. “And what are you doing out of bed, young lady?“ Lucy asked, affecting sternness.

Emily twirled back and forth on her toes, not taking her eyes from Alex. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“And I don’t suppose that’s because you wanted to see who was here, is it?”

Emily smiled but said nothing. Lucy sighed and turned to Alex. “I don’t suppose you know anything about child psychology, do you? Like what to do with nosy children?”

He gave an uncertain grin. “No, sorry.”

As if Emily had been waiting for him to speak, she edged closer. “Are you Kate’s boyfriend?”

“Time for bed, I think,” Lucy said, coming out of her chair and swooping her up so quickly that they were half-way down the hallway before the little girl’s objections sounded. As the noises of protest receded Kate forced herself to smile at Alex. Separated by the width of a cushion and mutual embarrassment, they waited for Jack to return with the drinks.

Lucy had cooked roast chicken, rubbed with lemon and garlic and served with green beans and minted new potatoes from their garden. When she put her mind to it, she was a good cook, but she had obviously lost interest by the time it came to preparing a dessert. The chocolate gâteau she produced was mainly synthetic cream and additives, and misshapen on one side where it had been squashed in the shopping bag. But by that time the drinks had relaxed them enough so they could laugh about it.