She needed help and she knew it. A therapist maybe - a psychiatrist even. But how could she? There were so many things she didn't want to share with anyone. No she really daren't. Still, if she didn't talk to someone she'd go mad - over the top mad. But maybe if she heard herself say it out loud, it would help. Worth a try anyway. She walked slowly upstairs, went into Ollie's room and switched on his tape recorder.
'I hated boarding school,' she began. 'But it never seemed worth telling them that, as home was even worse. I always felt second best, as if I wasn't what they wanted. They didn't correct me all day like some. No, they just ignored me mostly. They didn't seem to want to a child at all, last of all one like me. Any feelings I had, good or bad, were of no interest to them, indeed to anybody else, so I just blocked them. I learnt to do that early on. A useful skill perhaps, but it can get out of hand. Okay, you don't get the down side, but you end up in a fog. Well, I did anyway. I never really needed tranquilizers or alcohol - or not much. That's why I kept my looks. Fog's all right. It helps. The only trouble is, it can turn so suddenly into dark night. I was having an affair with Didier. I didn't really like him, but he was good looking in his own way. We travelled round as Mr. and Mrs. Gaillard. He had false papers made. Didier was rather good at things like that. We met in London and Paris mostly and I managed to to keep a lid on things for a while. I knew about the other women. Of course I did. I didn't mind that. You can't have everything. But he was inclined to talk down to me. He was contemptuous even, acting as if I didn't count. I'm human aren't I? I don't know, I never really know anything much, but I think, I imagine, I believe, that that's why I shot him'.