Page 13 of The Silent Patient

“I was sitting at a bar when he finally showed up. At last, when I’d given up hope of ever finding him—in he walked, the man of my dreams. Better late than never. I thought I was going to be married by the time I was twenty-five, you know? By thirty, I was going to have two kids, small dog, big mortgage. But here I was, thirty-three-ish, and things hadn’t quite gone to plan.” Kathy said this with an arch smile and winked at the girls.

“Anyway I was seeing this Australian guy called Daniel. But he didn’t want to get married or have kids anytime soon, so I knew I was wasting my time. And we were out one night when suddenly it happened—Mr. Right walked in.” Kathy looked at me and smiled and rolled her eyes. “With hisgirlfriend.”

This part of the story needed careful handling to retain her audience’s sympathy. Kathy and I were both dating other people when we met. Double infidelity isn’t the most attractive or auspicious start to a relationship, particularly as we were introduced to each other by our then partners. They knew each other for some reason, I can’t remember the precise details—Marianne had once gone out with Daniel’s flatmate possibly, or the other way around. I don’t remember exactly how we were introduced, but I do remember the first moment I saw Kathy. It was like an electric shock. I remember her long black hair, piercing green eyes, her mouth—she was beautiful, exquisite. An angel.

At this point in telling the tale, Kathy paused and smiled and reached for my hand. “Remember, Theo? How we got talking? You said you were training to be a shrink. And I said I was nuts—so it was a match made in heaven.”

This got a big laugh from the girls. Kathy laughed too and glanced at me sincerely, anxiously, her eyes searching mine. “No, but… darling… seriously, it was love at first sight. Wasn’t it?”

This was my cue. I nodded and kissed her cheek. “Of course it was. True love.”

This received a look of approval from her friends. But I wasn’t performing. She was right, it was love at first sight—well, lust anyway. Even though I was with Marianne that night, I couldn’t keep my eyes off Kathy. I watched her from a distance, talking animatedly to Daniel—and then I saw her lips mouth,Fuck you. They were arguing. It looked heated. Daniel turned and walked out.

“You’re being quiet,” Marianne said. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Let’s go home, then. I’m tired.”

“Not yet.” I was only half listening. “Let’s have another drink.”

“I want to go now.”

“Then go.”

Marianne shot me a hurt look, then grabbed her jacket and walked out. I knew there’d be a row the next day, but I didn’t care.

I made my way over to Kathy at the bar. “Is Daniel coming back?”

“No. How about Marianne?”

I shook my head. “No. Would you like another drink?”

“Yes, I would.”

So we ordered two more drinks. We stood at the bar, talking. We discussed my psychotherapy training, I remember. And Kathy told me about her stint at drama school—she didn’t stay long, as she signed up with an agent at the end of her first year and had been acting professionally ever since. I imagined, without knowing why, that she was probably rather a good actress.

“Studying wasn’t for me,” she said. “I wanted to get out there and do it—you know?”

“Do what? Act?”

“No. Live.” Kathy tilted her head, looking out from under her dark lashes, her emerald-green eyes peering at me mischievously. “So, Theo. How do you have the patience to keep doing it—studying, I mean?”

“Maybe I don’t want to get out there and ‘live.’ Maybe I’m a coward.”

“No. If you were a coward, you’d have gone home with your girlfriend.” Kathy laughed, a surprisingly wicked laugh.

I wanted to grab her and kiss her hard. I’d never experienced such overwhelming physical desire before; I wanted to pull her close, feel her lips and the heat of her body against mine.

“I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. I always say whatever pops into my head. I told you, I’m a bit nuts.”

Kathy did that a lot, protesting her insanity—“I’m crazy,” “I’m nuts,” “I’m insane”—but I never believed her. She laughed too easily and too often for me to believe she’d ever suffered the kind of darkness I had experienced. She had a spontaneity, a lightness—she took a delight in living and was endlessly amused by life. Despite her protestations, she seemed the least crazy person I’d ever known. Around her, I felt more sane.

Kathy was American. She was born and brought up on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. Her English mother gave Kathy dual citizenship, but Kathy didn’t seem even remotely English. She was determinedly, distinctly un-English—not just in the way she spoke, but in the way she saw the world and how she approached it. Such confidence, such exuberance. I’d never met anyone like her.

We left the bar, hailed a cab; I gave the address of my flat. We rode the short journey in silence. When we arrived, she gently pressed her lips to mine. I broke through my reserve and pulled her toward me. We kept kissing as I fumbled with the key to the front door. We were scarcely inside before we were undressing, stumbling into the bedroom, falling onto the bed.

That night was the most erotic, blissful night of my life. I spent hours exploring Kathy’s body. We made love all night, until dawn. I remember so much white everywhere: white sunlight creeping around the edges of the curtains, white walls, white bedsheets; the whites of her eyes, her teeth, her skin. I’d never known that skin could be so luminous, so translucent: ivory white with occasional blue veins visible just beneath the surface, like threads of color in white marble. She was a statue; a Greek goddess come to life in my hands.

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