this a good thing? Do you think I should have said something to him?” Jen second-guessed herself.
“What should you have said to who?” Claudia had finally joined them, and plonked herself in one of the free chairs at the table. Sharon was about to answer when Derrick interrupted, “Is everything okay here? Can I get you a menu, ma’am?” he asked Claudia.
“All good here,” Sharon answered without even looking at him.
“I’ll have what they’re drinking,” Claudia said, then popped a bean into her mouth. “You going to fill me in or am I supposed to guess?”
Sharon filled in the details while Jen shoved another bomb in her mouth. “So I asked why she hadn’t texted or phoned the number,” Sharon concluded.
Claudia turned to Jen. “You didn’t? Why?”
Jen grabbed her hair and lifted it in a pony above her head; menopause or the heat, probably anxiety. “To tell you the truth, I didn’t think to.” She dropped her hair back down. “But I do have the number.”
Sharon grabbed Jen’s phone from the table and scrolled down.
“Is this it?”
“Yes,” Jen said.
Sharon spoke the words out loud as she texted, “Who are you?” She turned the screen to show her friends, “Hasn’t gone through.”
She then dialled the number.
“The number doesn’t exist,” she said, tossing the phone back onto the table.
A brief silence settled. Sharon sipped on her spritzer while Jen gulped hers down. Claudia’s wine had arrived and she poured the contents of the carafe into her glass.
Sharon broke the silence. “I need to get out of here soon, ladies. Loads of work to do. You finish my food, Claudia. I’m too preoccupied to eat.”
Claudia picked up a bomb in her one hand and the phone in the other. After negotiating the roll into her mouth, she pressed redial on Jen’s phone, then dropped the call, confirming the number indeed did not exist.
“God, Jen. Who do you think it is?”
“Someone playing a sick joke on me,” Jen opened her bag to retrieve her purse and signalled to Derrick to bring the bill.
“John?” Sharon and Claudia asked in chorus.
“Yes. Probably,” said Jen.
“But why?” Sharon wondered.
“He is deranged.” Jen searched for her credit card. “And he was pretty angry about my fiftieth.” She laughed, “I’m not sure if he expected an invitation.” Her friends shook their heads in disbelief.
“Why even speculate? You will never really know unless you ask him. You know what, I don’t think it’s him,” Sharon said.
“I do,” Claudia interjected. “But you’re not going to ask him, are you, Jen?”
“No. I really don’t want to engage with that man unless it’s absolutely necessary.” She fidgeted with her thong necklace. “Who else could it have been? After our separation he hasn’t stopped going on about how he was tricked into marrying me.”
Derrick handed Jen the bill. She added a tip and handed him her credit card.
“Could be Frankie?” Sharon said, getting up to go.
“No!” Both Claudia and Jen said. “I highly doubt it,” added Jen, punching in her pin. “It’s not her style.”
“I’ve got to go, ladies.” Sharon tucked her chair under the table. She looked at Jen. “Thanks for lunch, J.”
“Thanks for meeting me.”
Sharon leaned over and kissed Jen’s cheeks. After hugging Claudia goodbye, she said as an afterthought, “You can always trace that number if you need to, Jen. It may just ease your mind.”
Jen took a deep breath. “Can I tell you something messed up?” Her friends nodded, leaning in. “For some odd reason I keep wondering if it’s Lee. Hoping it is.”
“Lee’s dead. ‘From beyond the grave’ could mean so many things, Jen,” Sharon said. “Someone’s clearly fucking with you.”
“Well, I’m keen to know who it is,” Claudia said. “Give me the number and I’ll get my investigator onto it. It won’t take too long.”
Sharon weaved her way through the lunchtime tables, leaving Claudia and Jen to finish up. “Sharon thinks it isn’t your ex. I can’t think it could be anyone else but him.” She sipped on her wine, thinking out loud, “I doubt it’s Frankie, but it would be great if Lee was alive.”
Jen broke into an American accent, “Like sand through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives.” They both roared with laughter. “Oh, shit!” Jen shrieked, “I have an appointment with Jane in fifteen minutes.” She rose from the table and gave Claudia a kiss. Grabbing her bag, she fished out her parking card and keys. “Monday therapy with Jane-the-pain. Will chat soon, darling, thanks for meeting me,” she said before rushing off.
Two
Jen sped out of the Waterfront. She was late. The last thing she felt like was seeing her psychologist. Jane was exactly as her name suggested; plain, dull. When she did speak, it was in a colourless voice devoid of inflection, intonation, energy. Unlike Sharon, Jen’s previous shrink, and now her best friend, who joked, laughed and even swore if she felt the need, Jane was hard work. There was no exchanging of opinions. In fact Jen wondered whether Jane had any opinions at all. Surely after nearly a year of counselling she would know how her shrink felt about certain issues. They had formed no patient-doctor relationship and it wasn’t for want of trying on Jen’s part. She had persisted, as Jane had come highly recommended by both Sharon and Claudia, but Jen had told them many times she just couldn’t fathom why.
“Doctors have different styles,” Sharon had said. “I’m not like a ‘normal’ therapist. I break every boundary; in fact many people aren’t too happy with my doctor-patient style.”
Jen knew that Sharon was being modest. After all, it was no coincidence that she was one of the busiest relationship counsellors in Cape Town.
Jane was, as usual, behind her desk, sifting through her files trying to find Jen’s. She looked up at the clock on the wall as Jen hurried past her and smiled by way of greeting.
Jen made a beeline for her usual seat: a bucket chair Jane must have salvaged from her lounge when she had eventually noticed it was time to spruce up her home décor. There was nothing interesting or beautiful about the consultation room. Jen couldn’t help but feel that a lack of care for appearances, whether personal or in the home or office spoke volumes about a person.
She removed her slip-ons before she sat, tucking her feet under her bum. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. As much as the chair was Hilda-horrible, it was comfortable, roomy even.
She noticed her therapist’s unkempt toenails which peeped from under the Meranti desk.
Jane pulled herself up from behind her desk. Her plump toes seemed trapped by their peep-toe encasings.
“How are you today, Jen?” Jane asked, as she always did at the beginning of every single session.
“I could really help you upgrade your rooms if you’re keen.”
Jane’s toes stiffened. “Yes. You are in the business of sprucing up other people’s surroundings.”
Jen smiled. “I am.”
“And I’m in the business of sprucing up clients’ lives.” Her toes seemed to spring back to life.
Today, Jen would challenge her to a duel of silence.