Tears of relief blocked Jane’s nose.

“Unless he’s a psychopath, of course,” said the psychologist cheerfully.

What the f**k?

“In which case he could be faking empathy. Psychopaths are often very charming. But—” She sneezed again. “Oh, dear,” she said, wiping her nose. “Thought I was getting better.”

“But,” prompted Jane, aware that she was demonstrating no empathy whatsoever.

“But I don’t think so,” said the psychologist. “I don’t think he’s a psychopath. I’d definitely like to see him for another appointment. Soon. I think he’s suffering from a lot of anxiety. I believe there was a lot that he didn’t share with me today. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn that Ziggy himself was being bullied at school.”

“Ziggy?” said Jane. “Being bullied?”

She felt a rush of instant heat, as though she had a fever. Energy thrummed through her body.

“I might be wrong,” said the psychologist, sniffing. “But I wouldn’t be surprised. My guess is that it’s verbal. Perhaps a smart kid has found his weak spot.” She took a tissue from the box on her desk. She made a little tch sound. “Also, Ziggy and I talked about his father.”

“His father?” Jane reeled. “But what—”

“He’s very anxious about his father,” said the psychologist. “He thinks he might be a Stormtrooper, or possibly Jabba the Hutt, or, worst-case scenario”—the psychologist couldn’t hold back a broad grin—“Darth Vader.”

“You’re not serious,” said Jane. She was somewhat mortified. It was Madeline’s Fred who had gotten Ziggy into Star Wars. “He’s not serious.”

“Children often get caught halfway between reality and fantasy,” said the psychologist. “He’s only five. Anything is possible in a five-year-old’s world. He still believes in Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy. Why shouldn’t Darth Vader be his father? But I think it’s more that he has somehow picked up the idea that his father is someone . . . frightening and mysterious.”

“I thought I’d done a better job than this,” said Jane.

“I asked if he’d talked to you much about his father, and he said yes, but he knows it upsets you. He was very firm with me. He didn’t want me upsetting you.” She looked down at her notes and up again. “He said, ‘Be careful if you’re talking to Mummy about my daddy, because she gets a funny look on her face.’”

Jane pressed the flat of her hand to her chest.

“You OK?” said the psychologist.

“Do I have a funny look on my face?” asked Jane.

“A little bit,” said the psychologist. She leaned forward and gave Jane a woman-to-woman look of understanding as if they were chatting in a bar. “I take it Ziggy’s father was not exactly a good guy?”

“Not exactly,” said Jane.

54.

Perry drove Celeste back home after the assembly.

“Do you have time to stop for a coffee?” asked Celeste.

“I’d better not,” said Perry. “Busy day.”

She looked at his profile. He seemed fine, his thoughts focused on the day ahead. She knew he’d enjoyed seeing his first school assembly, being one of the school dads, wearing his corporate uniform in a noncorporate world. He liked the daddy role, relished it even, talking with Ed in that gently ironic, this-is-all-a-bit-of-a-laugh dad-type way.

They’d all laughed at the boys careering about the stage, wearing the big green crocodile suit. Max had the head and Josh had the tail; sometimes the crocodile seemed in danger of being torn in two as they headed in opposite directions. Before they left the school, Perry had taken a photo of the boys wearing the suit on the balcony outside the hall, the ocean in the background. Then he’d asked Ed to take a photo of all four of them: the boys peering out from underneath the costume, Perry and Celeste crouched down next to them. It would already be on Facebook. Celeste had seen him fiddling with his phone as they’d walked back to the car. What would it say? Two stars are born! The boys rocked it as a scary croc! Something like that.

“See you at the trivia night!” everyone had called to one another as they’d left that day.

Yes, he was in a good mood. Things should be OK. There hadn’t been any tension since he’d gotten back from his last trip.

But she’d seen the lightning-quick flash of rage when she’d made her comment about leaving him if he signed the petition to have Ziggy suspended. She’d meant it to sound like a joke, but she knew it hadn’t come across that way, and that would have embarrassed him in front of Madeline and Ed, who he liked and admired.

What had come over her? It must be the apartment. It was almost completely furnished now, and as a result, the possibility of leaving was always present, the question being constantly asked: Will I or won’t I? Of course I will, I must. Of course I won’t. Yesterday morning when she was there she’d even made up the beds with fresh linen, taking a strange, soothing pleasure in the task, turning down the sheets just so, making each bed look inviting, making it possible. But then in the middle of the night last night, she’d woken in her own bed, Perry’s arm heavy across her waist, the ceiling fan turning lazily the way Perry liked it, and she’d thought suddenly of those made-up beds and she’d been as appalled as if she’d remembered a crime. What a betrayal of her husband! She’d rented and furnished another apartment. What a crazy, secretive, malicious and self-indulgent thing to do.