So why not give them just the tiniest nudge? The barest flick of her fingernail could roll them together like two marbles. What would be the harm? Before she could change her mind, she started talking.

“You’ve been carrying around the feelings from that day in preschool for a long while now. Now you can begin to rewrite history. The next time you run into a sad-looking woman you may feel a strong desire to pay her a compliment…”

Ellen paused. Assuming Mary-Kate was the next sad-looking woman he saw, how would she respond? Presumably not like four-year-old Pam, but still this was Mary-Kate. Ellen actually had no idea how she’d react. Was this a crazy idea?

“And no matter how she reacts, you’ll feel good about yourself. In fact, you’ll feel great.”

Ellen hesitated. How far should she push this?

Oh, to hell with it.

“You may even find yourself asking her out. You’ll speak clearly and confidently and you’ll look her straight in the eye, and if four-year-old Alfred starts to get in the way, grown-up Alfred will take charge. You’ll ask her out for a drink. Tonight if she’s free. To the Manly Wharf Hotel, perhaps. You could sit at one of those seats right out…”

OK, now she was getting carried away. She hurriedly finished off.

“And even if this woman says no, you’ll be filled with optimism and confidence and positivity, because all that matters is you took that leap. Nod to show me you understand.”

Alfred nodded once. His head had dropped forward toward his chest. He looked like a drunk who was agreeing that someone should call him a taxi.

Well, thought Ellen. What would be, would be.

She brought him out of his trance.

“How do you feel?” She poured him a glass of water.

Alfred took the water from her outstretched hand, tipped his head back and drank deeply. Then he put the empty glass back down on the table and grinned at her. He actually had quite a nice smile.

“Good, I think,” he said. He shook his head and chuckled. “Yep, I’ve always been such a hit with the ladies. Just what every girl wants. A hairy-shelled snail. I hadn’t thought about that in years.”

“A tomboyish girl might have appreciated the snail,” said Ellen.

“But you’re not saying that was the cause of my problem with public speaking, are you?” said Alfred.

“I’m not saying anything at all.” Ellen folded her hands on her lap and smiled at him.

“It’s just—”

“What?”

“Well, it’s so trivial. It’s embarrassing. It’s not like we discovered I had a past life where I was, I don’t know, stoned to death by Egyptian monks because I gave a boring speech.”

“Egyptian monks?”

“I don’t know, I’m an accountant, not a historian! Anyway, I don’t believe in past lives.”

Excellent. That was something he had in common with Mary-Kate. They could chat about their lack of belief in past lives. Perhaps they’d been skeptical lovers in ancient Rome.

“Or at least if I’d repressed some really shocking, traumatic memory from my childhood,” mused Alfred.

It was interesting how many clients with perfectly happy childhoods longed to find something dreadful in their past.

“The most trivial incident can be traumatic for a child,” said Ellen. “And your subconscious retains those memories. That’s what we’re going to do at our next session. We’re going to reprogram your subconscious. Alfred, you’re going to be amazed at the new confidence you’re going to experience.”

As she made this pronouncement, she leaned forward and locked eyes with Alfred. She’d found that her clients remained extremely suggestible straight after they came out of a trance. It was a good opportunity for her to reinforce the session with some waking suggestions.

She looked at her watch. Come on, Mary-Kate. Don’t cancel. This could be your destiny waiting for you.

She wrote out Alfred’s receipt, and as she slowly led him down the stairs, the doorbell rang.

Yes!

“Ah! That will be my next appointment,” said Ellen joyously, as if it was a magnificent surprise to have another client show up.

“Oh, that’s … good,” said Alfred, who was probably now wondering if she had cash flow issues.

Ellen opened the door to reveal Mary-Kate’s unsmiling, dour face. Alfred stood back courteously to let her in first.

“Hi, Mary-Kate!” caroled Ellen.

Mary-Kate looked at her suspiciously. “Hi.”

“Oh!” Ellen slapped the side of her head (quite hard—she was a terrible actress). “I meant to give you … something, Alfred. If you could just wait one moment, I’ll be right back. My apologies, Mary-Kate. I won’t be long. Just, ah, take a seat, both of you.” She gestured at the two cane chairs she had sitting in the hallway next to a coffee table with magazines.

As she headed back up the stairs, she saw Mary-Kate plonk herself down and pick up a magazine from the coffee table.

Alfred coughed nervously and kept standing. He walked over to one of the prints Ellen had hanging on the wall and studied it intently like a serious buyer in a gallery.

Ellen went back into her office and found some notes on self-hypnosis for public speaking. She also picked up a relaxation CD for good measure.

Then she stood at her window and watched the ocean. Was she putting her toe across that ethical line again? They probably weren’t even talking to each other. She looked at her watch. How long before they’d start to worry that she’d collapsed or something?

She’d give them five minutes. Five minutes that could mean nothing at all in the stories of their lives, or five minutes that could potentially change everything, forever.

Which will it be, Alfred and Mary-Kate?

Chapter 16

Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.

—Buddhist quote on Ellen’s bathroom mirror

So I guess I should, that is, I mean I assume you don’t want … should I wait in the car?”

They had pulled up at the graveyard where Colleen was buried. Jack was in the backseat of the car, his head down, lips moving silently as he played with his Nintendo DS. He’d played for the whole hour and a half it had taken them to drive to Katoomba. Colleen’s parents had moved to the Blue Mountains a few years before she’d died, and they’d wanted her to be buried close to them. On the seat next to Jack was a giant bunch of Colleen’s favorite flowers (yellow gerberas) that Patrick had specially ordered and picked up from the florist that morning.