The Wrong Door by Bunty Avieson

from down the hallway and ducked back to read the noticeboard. She pretended to be absorbed in a car-for-sale notice.
    ‘I finally talked to my wife, I mean really talked,’ the man told his female friend. ‘It was amazing. She was so supportive. I really thought she would leave me if she knew.’
    The man opened one of the double doors and the murmur rose. Gwennie strained her neck for a surreptitious glimpse. It looked like rows of chairs had been set out. People were milling around. She grabbed a couple of brochures and followed the couple in. Pretending a confidence she didn’t feel, she made her way straight to a seat at the back. No-one paid her any attention. The room had once been a grand reception hall. Now it was partitioned off to create smaller spaces. At one end was a table with an urn and mugs and plates of biscuits. The rest of the space was taken up with about forty chairs, placed in rows, all facing the front. There must have been twenty or so people in the room, some in pairs but most, like Gwennie, on their own. A quick scan didn’t locate anyone that resembled Clare Dalton. A nervous young woman in a lurid yellow T-shirt took a seat nearby and smileduncertainly at her. Gwennie looked away. Bunch of fruitcakes, she thought. She looked at what was in her hand. Rainbow therapy. She pretended to read it.
    A booming American voice made her jump. ‘Hi. I’m Isaiah. You’re new, aren’t you?’
    Gwennie’s heart started racing. Here we go, she thought. Do I pretend not to understand English or do I start to twitch? She nodded, gave the barest hint of a smile, and returned to her pamphlet. Rainbow therapy is a new technique developed in California by …
    But Isaiah was not so easily dissuaded. ‘And what is your name?’
    ‘Gwennie.’
    ‘Welcome, Gwennie,’ he boomed. ‘It’s very nice to have you here. Would you like to speak tonight?’
    Speak? Would she like to speak? About what? Rain bow therapy? Weight loss? Her previous life as an Egyptian peasant? Gwennie looked horrified and shook her head.
    ‘That’s just fine. You just sit back here and relax and do as much as makes you feel comfortable. How about that?’
    Gwennie nodded, wishing he would go away and she could sneak out the door.
    This had been a mistake. She couldn’t see Clare Dalton in the crowd of people and didn’t know what she would say to her if she did. She wished she were home wearing Pete’s dressing gown, in front of The Bill with a cup of tea.
    Isaiah moved to the front of the room clapping his hands and saying in his hearty manner that itwas time to get started. A pretty young woman wearing low-slung jeans and a cropped, waist-baring T-shirt rushed in and started unfurling a pile of posters.
    *
    Clare parked her car outside Susan’s apartment. She lived in a four-storey red-brick block in a suburb between the city and the university. She was in tears when Clare arrived.
    ‘I’ve just got off the phone from Mum. I can’t believe it. The terrible things she is saying about Dad … Oh it’s horrible.’
    Susan was tall, with short strawberry-blonde hair and masses of freckles. She was usually vivacious, speaking fast and loudly, the life and soul of every party. Nothing fazed Susan. But tonight she greeted Clare with her lip quivering and her hand clutching a large glass of red wine.
    Clare dropped her bag on the couch. ‘Start at the beginning.’
    Susan poured it all out. Her parents were splitting up. Her father had been having an affair for years. He didn’t love her mother and now that the children were adults, he wanted to make a new life, one that didn’t include her.
    Clare was shocked. Mr and Mrs Lee splitting up? Mr Lee having an affair? It was like being told Father Christmas hated children. Such things weren’t meant to happen. The Lee family were the picture postcard of families. They were straight off an American TV sitcom and exactlywhat Clare had yearned for all through her school years.
    There