What Goes Around: A chilling psychological thriller Read Online Free Page A

Katarina good. There is more than one layer of puppy fat hiding in the folds of the dressing gown.
    ‘Katarina?’
    She doesn’t reply. She’s busy helping herself to a large dollop of butter to spread over her toast. If Katarina were my daughter, I’m sure I’d have developed strategies to cope with her, but three months isn’t time enough for a full-scale assault on the girl’s personality. I grab a pen and paper. ‘This is the address,’ I tell her, writing quickly. ‘If you really can’t remember where it is then use the map icon on your phone.’ I push the paper across the breakfast bar towards her. ‘Clean up the kitchen. I’ll be in my consulting room. My first client arrives in twenty minutes.’
    I can feel her watching me as I leave the room. I expect that if I had eyes in the back of my head I would see her scowling.
    The space I’ve remodelled for my therapy rooms is not part of the original house but an extension built on in the nineties. There is a connecting door from the kitchen that leads into the waiting area, also accessible from the outside so that my clients don’t need to come through the house. The waiting area leads into a large room with windows overlooking the back garden. I can’t help but smile whenever I walk in here. This space used to be Tom’s study and it was a dark, arguably dismal room with magnolia walls, patterned curtains in three tones of beige and ugly, mismatched furniture. As soon as I moved in I asked Tom whether he would be willing to relinquish the space. ‘It’s everything I’ve ever wanted,’ I told him. ‘A perfect space to see clients.’
    ‘Not possible I’m afraid, darling,’ he told me. ‘It’s been my study for ever. I couldn’t move from here.’
    It took me three months of persuading, most of which took place in the bedroom – roleplay, massages, handcuffs and vibrators, attending to his every desire like a high-class hooker – before he softened towards the idea.
    ‘Well … I guess I could let you have the room,’ he said. ‘Chloe doesn’t need a bedroom here any more. I can move my study in there. It’s important for you to get your business off the ground.’
    Result.
    I had Tom’s study completely redecorated in a lilac shade, transforming the walls from dead and dirty to warm and inviting. The carpets are now a cappuccino woollen blend. The curtains were replaced by swish, modern blinds, and concealed lighting has replaced an old standard lamp. Two chairs and a sofa are covered in a rich yellow fabric that reminds me of a Tuscan orchard, branches bending under the weight of ripe lemons.
    The answermachine light is flashing and I play back the message that was left in the small hours.
    ‘Hello, my name is Mary, Mary McNeil, and I need to see a therapist.’ Short pause. ‘I was given your name by Sharon, a police liaison officer. I have been attending her group therapy for victims of crime but … And well …’ Longer pause. ‘I have developed … anxiety. I was mugged. But it didn’t start there.’ A nervous cough. ‘I wonder whether you might give me a call back?’

2. Ellen
    I wake up in the morning and instantly remember – last night, the phone call. Recollection has me covering my face with the duvet. I called Leila Henrikson. I left a message on the answermachine. I’d been doing my checks – again – the front door lock, every socket in the house, the hob. I was sneaking about in the dark, frustrated with myself and my inability to control my compulsion, when I decided to act. (Okay, so I’d been drinking – a very large gin and tonic – no ice, no lemon and more gin than tonic.) It was two in the morning but that didn’t stop me. I lifted the phone and I called her. As I was keying in the numbers, I knew I was calling the separate phone line into Tom’s study but that didn’t stop me either. I didn’t try to disguise my voice but I did use my middle and my maiden name. And I remember everything I said