So I called Patrick, to remind him about swimming lessons, and that’s when all this started: my habit. My “stalking” of my old life.

Because Patrick treated me like a stranger. As if Jack’s swimming lessons were nothing to do with me, when just the week before, I’d been at swimming, helping Jack adjust his goggles, talking to his teacher about maybe moving him up a class, making arrangements with one of the other mothers for a play date with her son. “It’s fine,” Patrick had said. All irritable and put out. As if I was interfering. As if I’d never had anything to do with Jack. “We’ve got it all under control.” The rage that swept through me was like nothing I’d ever felt before. I hated him. I still loved him. But I hated him. And ever since then it’s been hard to tell the difference between the two. If I didn’t hate him so intensely, maybe I would have been able to stop loving him. I know that doesn’t make sense.

If he’d just let me ease my way out of being his wife—I thought of myself as his wife—and Jack’s mother, if he’d just listened to me with the respect I deserved when I called up to remind him things about Jack, if he’d just sat down with me and let me talk and let me say how much he’d hurt me, if he’d ever just said, “I’m sorry,” and meant it, then I think I could have let it go. Perhaps then I would have eventually healed, like people do. Instead it got infected. It spread. Like gangrene. It took hold. It’s his fault. I know what I do is unacceptable. Deep down I do know this. But he started it. Mum used to say that when she met my dad it was like a perfect love story. I thought Patrick was my perfect love story. Except he’s not. He’s the hypnotist’s love story. I’m the ex-girlfriend in the hypnotist’s love story. Not the heroine. I’m only a minor character.

Or perhaps I’m the villain

No one spoke as they left the graveyard and drove toward Frank and Millie’s place.

Jack sat quietly in the backseat absorbed in his game again. Patrick concentrated on driving the winding mountain road.

Ellen tipped her head back against the car seat. The nausea was still there, but it was manageable, as long as she didn’t have to wait too long to eat once she got to Frank and Millie’s place. One dry piece of bread would do the trick.

She watched the world whip by outside the window like a movie on fast-forward. Quaint little mountain villages with cafés and secondhand bookshops and antique stores. She remembered a romantic weekend in the mountains with Jon in the very early days of their relationship. She let the memory slip away. He was getting married. So was she. Life was moving forward. She needed to keep her eyes on the road ahead. So did Saskia. So did Patrick, actually.

She wondered if he was thinking about Colleen right now, comparing her with Ellen, wondering what his life would have been like if she hadn’t died.

If only she could read his mind. She glanced at his inscrutable profile.

Of course, there was a way.

Most nights Patrick still asked for a relaxation exercise before they went to sleep. It was part of their routine. He trusted her completely. She could easily take him into a deep trance and ask him to tell her how he felt about Colleen, and then use a posthypnotic suggestion so that he would never remember what she’d asked.

But that would be wrong. Totally unethical. She couldn’t go poking about his mind without his permission. It would be like reading his diary.

And it would be unfair because he couldn’t do the same thing to her. She wouldn’t want him finding out that she still had complicated feelings about Jon.

So of course she would never do such a thing. It was the sort of thing Danny would do to a girlfriend if he were ever in a relationship.

She couldn’t believe she’d even allowed such a thought to cross her mind. It wasn’t like her. She was becoming increasingly disappointed with herself lately. She wasn’t nearly as compassionate or moral or as patient a person as she’d always thought herself to be.

But goodness me it was tempting.

“Dad?” said Jack suddenly from the backseat.

Ellen started guiltily.

“After we’ve finished lunch, can we go for another bushwalk to that same place we went last time?”

“Sure,” said Patrick. “Oh, actually, no, mate, we might have to leave straightaway because I need to go back into the office this afternoon for a few hours.”

Jack groaned.

“Next time,” said Patrick.

“You’re going into the office this afternoon?” said Ellen.

Patrick glanced over at her. “Oh yeah, sorry, didn’t I tell you? I’ve got to catch up on some paperwork. I’ve just been swamped.”

So presumably that meant she would be the one taking care of Jack. She’d been planning to catch up with Julia this afternoon. It had been ages since she’d seen her, and Julia was looking forward to hearing all about the visit to Colleen’s parents. She could hardly speak freely if she had Jack with her.

“So I’m looking after Jack this afternoon?” she double-checked.

“Well, he’s big enough, he doesn’t need a babysitter anymore, do you, mate?” said Patrick. “He’ll just do his own thing. Actually, you’ve got some homework to finish off, haven’t you, Jack?”

Ellen suppressed a sigh. Since Patrick and Jack had moved into her house, she’d experienced the pleasure of homework supervision for the first time. It was awful. It was so hard to get Jack to just sit upright at the table with his pencil in hand and his books open in front of him. He would half slide off his chair, resting his cheek on the table like he was ill, or else he’d keep running off, disappearing on unexplained errands as they occurred to him.