Page 77 of The Silent Bride
She nods. ‘I know his password. It’s “Volition91”, capital “V”.’
I shake my head at this. Why would she tell me his password? I make a mental note to get him to change it asap.
‘Anyway,’ Francesca continues. ‘I didn’t find anything about you two having an affair, but I did notice that he’d been looking at hypnotherapy websites in the months before your wedding. Not just the regular sites, but the dodgy ones. The forums where people ask questions about what it’s possible to achieve. He was especially interested in studies relating to editing patients’ memories. How to do it. How to make them forget. How to make them go off someone. It got me thinking ...’
I really don’t like what she’s saying. It’s making me feel odd. ‘I’d like you to leave now,’ I say. My voice sounds as though it’s coming from far away. I think I must be in shock, or something.
‘I know it’s upsetting to hear this, Alice. But I couldn’t have lived with myself if I didn’t say anything. I’ve been sitting on this news for a while, but when I heard Laurence was out of town, I had to come over and let you know. I think you need to be careful. I think Laurence might actually be dangerous.’
Sweat starts to gather under my armpits and between my breasts. This whole visit is freaking me the hell out, even if what she’s saying is all a load of bullshit. My head is swimming and I really feel as though I might be about to throw up. ‘Can you please stop talking and leave?’ I repeat, weakly.
She slides off the stool, a genuine look of concern in her eyes. ‘I realise this must be a shock. Can I get you anything? A glass of water? A cup of tea?’
‘No. Just go, please.’
‘Don’t you even want to talk about this? If I were you, I’d have so many questions. I can show you the websites if you like ...’
‘Just go!’
‘You need to be careful,’ she says. ‘Like I said before, if he’s done this, then he’s dangerous. He might have been a good friend to you, Alice, but he wasn’t always the best boyfriend. You’ll find that out.’
I can’t focus on what she’s saying. I feel like I’m underwater. Even my vision is blurred. ‘Key,’ I manage to say.
‘Sorry?’ she asks.
‘Your key to the flat; can you leave it please?’
‘Oh, yeah, sure. Sorry about that.’ She places it on the kitchen counter with a click. ‘I’ll let myself out,’ she adds, pausing for a moment. ‘But if you want to talk, just message me, okay? I’m not happy with what you did, but you don’t deserve what he’s done to you.’
I don’t reply.
Eventually, she leaves the living room. I don’t even watch her go. I can’t seem to get up off the sofa. Her preposterous words are swirling around my head, like a kaleidoscope of horror. I need to get control of myself. I place my hands either side of me on the sofa and take a few breaths. This girl, this ex of Laurence’s, has simply come round to unsettle me. To take her revenge, that’s all. She’s obviously lying. Stirring things because she’s upset. Jealous.
The front door closes and I sink back against the sofa, a tear squeezing out from the corner of my eye. I knew seeing Francesca would be awkward and uncomfortable, but I never thought it would be quite so traumatic. So ...disturbing.
Her accusations are vile. That my best-friend-turned-boyfriend would mess with my mind to get what he wanted. That he would purposely ruin my life to enhance his own. Those would be the actions of a psychopath.
Why, then, is there this tiny seed of doubt burrowing its way through my mind?
I try to think logically about everything. Laurence was my friend for years. He’s known me with boyfriends and without. Why wouldn’t he have simply made a move on me back when I was single? Why wait until I was about to get married? It doesn’t make any sense.
Although ... he did admit that, while he’d been in love with me for years, it wasn’t until I told him about Seth’s proposal that he realised how much he loved me. That he was terrified he’d left it too late to tell me. Could that have been the trigger to make him act? I can’t believe I’m actually entertaining Francesca’s crazy accusation.
I stand shakily and start pacing the living room, examining her theory. After Laurence ended things with Francesca, he moved in on me so quickly. He didn’t wait for the dust to settle after she moved out. Within three weeks we’d slept together, and then a weeklater I moved in. But that was my choice as much as his, wasn’t it? I mean, I put up some resistance, but not much.
And, since then, if I’m totally honest with myself, things haven’t been quite as wonderful as I was expecting. Laurence has shown small signs of becoming ... not necessarily controlling, but not as easy-going as I’d expected. Not as relaxed. Not the same fun, kind person as when we were just friends.
But do those things mean he’s capable of manipulating my mind in order to sabotage my life? I shudder and find that my feet are taking me out of the lounge. I’m heading along the hallway towards Laurence’s office. I turn the handle and open the door. It makes a swishing sound as it brushes over the grey carpet.
Laurence’s office is the larger of the two bedrooms. It’s spotless. An impressive wooden desk occupies the wall to the right of the window, behind which sits a black leather swivel chair. In front of the desk are two chairs – one a simple straight-backed wooden seat, the other a more comfortable-looking armchair. Laurence says he likes to give his clients a choice of seating. An arc lamp hangs gracefully over the left side of his desk. The opposite wall has been given over to a floor-to-ceiling bookcase. Behind Laurence’s desk, his many qualifications have been framed and hung on the wall. I walk over and peer at the wording on all of them. There are no hypnotherapy certificates hanging here, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.
Sitting in Laurence’s chair, I marvel at how comfortable it is. At how it seems to hug my body. Straight ahead of me, a framed photograph of me and Laurence sits proudly on the desk next to his laptop. The picture was taken at a music festival a few years ago. A group of us went for the weekend, but this photo is of just us two smiling into the camera, his arm slung around my shoulder. I wonder if it’s a recent addition to his desk. And whether it replaceda photo of Francesca. I wonder what she thought of it when she broke into the flat with her key and saw it.
I open Laurence’s silver laptop. His lock screen is also a photograph of me. Before today I would have been touched by his devotion, but right now I feel embarrassed thinking of Francesca seeing all these reminders that I’m his girlfriend now.
The password box sits in the centre of the screen, and I type in ‘Volition91’ with a capital ‘V’.
It tells me that the password is incorrect, those bold red letters mocking me. Hopefully, Francesca made the whole thing up. I type it in again, but the same red denial flashes up. I’m not trying it again. I close the laptop with trembling fingers and leave Laurence’s office.
