before the fluorescent globes caught and lit up white. The room had an unpleasant odour of damp, overlaid with lavender-scented air freshener. There was one large internal window, which faced the room where the meeting was taking place.
Maria watched an elderly woman examining a poster about child development. The woman removed her glasses, letting them swing freely from a gold chain around her neck, to stand with her nose practically touching the pictures of crawling infants and walking toddlers. The poster showed the development of children, from one-day-old to adolescence, an echo of the evolution of human beings.
Afterwards, the woman straightened and faced the window; it was clear she could not see inside. Maria enjoyed watching this unknown woman who had no knowledge of being observed.
“One-way mirror?” She kept up the charade of surprise.
“Quite right, Maria.” A shock of pleasure – she didn’t remember telling him her name. “You see him?” He tapped on the glass. “The guy with the yellow jersey? Asshole. I know for a fact he’s still using, and he’s sleeping with the woman he’s meant to be helping. She came to see me afterwards, in a state. What should she do? Should she report him? Felt guilty because she enjoyed it, not that she said so.”
“Did she?” Maria felt a quickness to her breathing, her heart beating a shade too fast. Such indiscretions.
“What?”
“Report him.”
“No, she thought it must have been her fault. She had come on to him, been too provocative.”
Before she could stop herself she looked down at his left hand, which was resting on the table. No ring, but he caught the gaze and reached for her hand, turned it palm down: “Share alike, Maria. And, no, I’m not married, nor am I involved with anyone. Not yet.”
He leaned forward then and kissed her gently, only their mouths touching briefly. Behind him there was movement in the main room: silent, less urgent, because they couldn’t hear it.
“You’d better be getting back. Are you up front again?”
“Stay here. Watch me.”
“Here?”
“Yes. Behind the one-way glass – it’ll give me a kick. Make it easier to get through the rest of the evening.” He flipped a switch, and immediately she could hear everything in the other room: the shuffling of people sitting down, muted conversation, a woman’s high-pitched laugh.
“Okay. I’ll watch you, Lionel Lightly.”
Should she have walked out then? Gone back to her seat and left immediately after the meeting? In retrospect, that is precisely what she should have done. Even after Lionel had resumed chatting to the audience, she could have stood up, walked out of the observation room and left the building, got into her car and driven home. There is a point in any love affair when both options are open, to leave or to stay, neither choice fraught with difficulty. That hour, though it felt much shorter, sitting behind the one-way glass, watching Lionel, was the window period for her escape – intact, free from hurt. Maria should have been wiser and less impressed by his authority, his charisma. She should not have been taken in by the covert glances through the one-way glass towards her, the discreet wave, the wink directed her way. Any man who insists you watch him, admire him, even when he cannot see you, can only be trouble.
She finishes her coffee. Still no Zac, nor a response to the SMS she sent Lionel. Her next patient is due in forty minutes. As she’s dialling Zac, she sees him coming towards her, holding the computer under his arm. She stands to meet him.
“No luck, I can’t crack the bugger. You sure you don’t remember the password?”
She hesitates: “It’s not actually my machine. Belongs – belonged to my mother.”
Zac raises his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Can’t say I’m shocked,” he says. “I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been asked to hack into other people’s machines. Anyway, let me keep it a few more days, I’ll give you a call.”
She thanks him, turns to go.
“Shit, M, hang on, I almost forgot to give you this,” he says, slapping his forehead. “Losing my brain. If it wasn’t screwed in –” He hands her a silver disc with no label.
“Here, found it in the computer. Reckon it’s your mom’s. I’m gonna spend some more time with this baby. I’ll ring you, M,” he says, waving a hand as he leaves.
The car guard appears pleased to see her again. “See, mama. Everything is alright.” She roots around in her bag, finds a coin and puts it in his cupped hand.
Her fingers are trembling slightly as she slips the disc into the car’s CD player. The first communication since Claudia’s death. What is she imagining – that she’ll hear her mother’s voice saying goodbye, and explaining why she jumped to her death? It’s probably not even audio, but only a blank CD, or perhaps birth charts – for clients desperate to receive good news. There is half a minute of silence. Then it starts up, the notes rising and echoing, discordant and creepy. Rothko Chapel. Kristof’s music. What the hell? Her hands are slippery on the steering wheel, but she forces herself to listen to the entire piece, hearing it as if for the first time. The instruments make sounds like trapped screams, reaching out from far, far away.
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