The Devil's Wire by Deborah Rogers

surrounded by every possible cleaning product they have in the house, wiping down the skirting boards.
    "What are you doing?"
    "Nothing," says McKenzie, dipping the cloth into a bucket of steaming water.
    The furniture had been rearranged too. The bed was now on the other side of the room against the wall, the book cases were lined up next to the wardrobe, the posters gone.
    "What are those?" says Jennifer, pointing to two bulging trash bags.
    "Stuff I don't need anymore."
    Jennifer reaches inside one of the bags and withdrew a summer dress.
    "But you love this."
    McKenzie doesn't say anything and gets to her feet and begins cleaning the walls.
    "You don't need to do that," says Jennifer.
    "I want to."
    Jennifer pauses and sits down on the bed.
    "Listen, hon, I was thinking about arranging counseling."
    "Why?"
    McKenzie drags her bucket behind her and shifts to the next section.
    "It's not good to bottle things up," says Jennifer.
    "I'm not."
    "I think it will help."
    McKenzie plunges the cloth into the hot water then squeezes it out with her two red hands.
    "You go, then," she says.
    *
    A general feeling of unease stalks Jennifer all the way to work and she finds herself watching the rearview more than the road and nearly collides with some senior in a polar fleece crossing the street with her Bichon Frise. There are black pickups everywhere, waiting round corners, idling at the lights, parked up in alleyways, pulling in behind her. But none are him. This makes Jennifer more nervous than if he'd actually been following her because by now he should have received the divorce papers and she would have expected something. A phone call. A visit. But the silence is deafening.
    She reaches the clinic car park and there's no vehicles there except Rosemary's red Starlet so Jennifer locks her car and goes inside, forbidding herself to check over her shoulder. Mrs. Mendoza is already in the waiting room reading Woman's Own with a giant magnifying glass from a home shopping catalogue.
    "I'll be with you in a minute, Mrs. M."
    "No need to rush. I'm happy with my book."
    Rosemary gives Jennifer an eyebrow raise.
    "You okay, you look a bit frazzled," she whispers, handing over Jennifer's messages.
    "I'm fine."
    "You have toothpaste on your cheek."
    "God," says Jennifer, rubbing her skin with her index finger.
    "Other side."
    Jennifer tries the left cheek. "Okay?"
    "Roger that."
    "It's been one of those mornings."
    Jennifer hurries to her office, checks her email, inspects her face in the mirror for more toothpaste then returns to the reception.
    "Mrs. M? I'm ready for you now."
    Mrs. Mendoza looks up.
    "I was just getting to the good part. The girl fell from an airplane for two miles into the Amazon rainforest still strapped to her seat."
    "Tell you what – keep it."
    "I couldn't."
    "Bring it back the next time you come in."
    "Well, thank you," she says, slipping the magazine into her hessian bag.
    They retreat into Jennifer's office and Mrs. Mendoza sits down in the exam chair, her sensible navy loafers and mismatched socks peeking out from beneath her trouser cuffs.
    Mrs. Mendoza stares at her. "You have that look about you."
    "That look?"
    "You know – the 'man trouble' look."
    "Oh." Jennifer picks up the ophthalmoscope and directs the light into Mrs. Mendoza's right eye and moves slowly from left to right. "Maybe I'm menopausal."
    "Don't kid a kidder, I've been there myself."
    "How have the drops been working?"
    "He was a big rig driver and having sex with underage girls at truck stops. I found photos on his phone."
    "Any loss of peripheral vision?"
    "Even with the photos he denied it."
    "What about the dog?"
    Mrs. Mendoza stops and looks at her. "What dog?"
    "The helper dog."
    Mrs. Mendoza laughs. "I thought you were talking about my ex-husband."
    "Mrs. M, that's disgusting."
    "I wouldn't put it past him."
    Jennifer lowers the light and sits back.
    "That must have been hard on you," says Jennifer.
    "It was. At first. But after the