The Closer You Get

by Mary Torjussen

  The pull toward Tom was becoming stronger. When I was at my worst ebb on Wednesday night—I hadn’t spoken to anyone for two days by then—he sent me a message.

  Hey, Ruby, are you watching The Bridge? It’s rerunning on BBC. I’m watching it on my own and missing you—it was always great to talk through the plot together. You always saw things I didn’t notice! Hope work’s going well x

  Quickly I switched off The Bridge; I had been watching it on my laptop. I realized that Tom didn’t know where I was working, didn’t know I’d lost my job. I’d been careful not to say anything about it to Josh, and Tom hadn’t asked about work since I left.

  Another message came through. Tom again.

  Oh and have you started to read The Goldfinch? Why did we never read that at the time? I’m reading it now, hope you like it x

  I didn’t answer him. I was worried I’d call him and tell him I missed him. I did miss him. I missed the comfort and security of my home. I missed having someone to talk to. Someone to watch television with and go out with occasionally. And all those times he wasn’t nice to me, well, I thought he was stressed. I’d often wondered whether he was suffering from depression. I knew he’d wanted another child. He found living apart from Josh very tough. Whenever Josh called round unexpectedly, Tom would be so happy, as though he was whole again. Now he was living completely alone and I guessed he’d find that really hard. But then the other night he looked great. He seemed happy to talk to me. He was like his old self, the man I’d fallen in love with.

  * * *

  • • •

  Midnight was always my weak point. It seemed to be hardwired into my brain that if I wasn’t asleep then, I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I lay curled up in bed and reached under my pillow for my phone. I searched through my photos and found some of Tom throughout the years. I still reacted to those early shots, where he and I would be arm in arm and he’d be smiling at me as though he loved me. He had loved me; I knew he had. But then the later photos—there were fewer of them—they were different. There were stress lines on his face and it was clear he was unhappy. I wondered whether he’d been the same with Belinda, whether he’d grown more intolerant as time went on. I’d noticed the way she avoided him even now, years after they were together. Even in the early days she’d always had Josh ready and waiting, coat on, so that he could run out to Tom’s car. I had thought she was just good at timekeeping; it was only now that I thought there might have been other reasons behind that. He was always so nice to me then, and I didn’t think for a moment that he might have been to blame in his marriage to her. I shut down that folder. I didn’t want to think about that, especially not late at night.

  Then I searched online for a photo of Harry and found one in a local business magazine. The photo was taken when Sheridan’s first opened. It was a few years before I met him, but he hadn’t changed too much. He looked out at the camera, little realizing that one day in the future a woman would call up this photo in the privacy of a grotty rented flat and lie in bed crying at the sight of him.

  I reached out to my bedside cabinet. In the bottom drawer was a silk scarf that Harry had bought me. It had an abstract design in bright blues and pinks, and I loved it. My phone lit up that corner of the room and all I could see was the scarf and Harry’s face on the screen.

  Harry had bought me the scarf in Paris, the weekend we decided to live together. We were walking through the city late on Saturday afternoon, looking for a restaurant that was far enough away from the conference center, so that we wouldn’t bump into any of the other delegates. A row of silk scarves was on display in the window of a tiny boutique and we stopped to look at them. He stood behind me, really close. Every nerve in my body was awakened and he leaned forward and brushed my hair to one side and kissed my neck.

  The owner of the shop had been arranging a cashmere wrap on the shelf next to the window and she looked over and smiled at us.

  “Come on,” said Harry. “I’ll treat you.”

  Back home I told Tom that I’d gone out on my own to look at the shops because I didn’t want to sit with all the people at the conference. I said I was sick of listening to them talk about work by then and had bought the scarf with my savings as a treat for working over the weekend. He hadn’t taken much notice, hadn’t said a word about wasting money. He’d been a bit preoccupied and I’d quickly changed the subject, relieved he wasn’t going to cross-examine me.

  Now I held the scarf to my face and breathed in the smell of Chanel’s Gabrielle that I was wearing in Paris. I hadn’t worn that perfume since. I’d wanted it to always be associated with that trip, and now in the dark, memories overlaid memories. Harry telling me he loved me. That he wanted to be with me forever. Harry standing behind me at the boutique window, close enough to touch but not quite touching. I’d thought I would faint with excitement. We’d raced back to bed afterward.

  I put the scarf on the pillow next to me so that I could touch it while I slept. At one o’clock I reached out for my Kindle on my bedside cabinet. It opened at the copy of The Goldfinch that Tom had bought for me. I didn’t want to think of Harry while reading the same book as Tom. Instead I found my copy of Rebecca. I’d read it so many times that I could recite entire passages. It was so comforting. My life might be bad at the moment, but at least I wasn’t the second Mrs. de Winter. Before long I was asleep.

  I woke hours later. I can’t tell you what disturbed me. My arm had come clear of the quilt; the night was warm, but still I liked to be covered and I pulled it back over me. My Kindle was facedown on the bed beside me. It had turned itself off.

  And then I heard a click.

  I sat up sharply and strained to hear. Was that the front door? My mind went into a free fall of panic. It sounded like the Yale lock as the door was pulled to. Was someone inside my flat?

  For several minutes I sat like that, my body leaning forward so that I could hear better. I stayed absolutely still and could hear my breathing, my heart beating. There seemed to be no other sound in the flat. No footsteps. No whispering.

  I grabbed my phone and dialed 999 but held back on pressing the Send button. Silently I tiptoed to the bedroom door. It was pulled to, but not shut tight. Wasn’t it shut when I went to bed? I just couldn’t remember. I opened the door an inch or two wider and peeked out, my heart racing. There was nothing in the little hallway except the coat hooks, with my jackets and a couple of handbags hanging from them. The doors to the kitchen and living room were open, and the light from the lamppost outside filtered through, giving an eerie air.

  I didn’t know what to do. Should I shout, Hello? or Who’s that? One good thing about living with Tom had been that if anyone had broken into our house, he would have been on them like a rottweiler. I took a couple of steps forward and peeped down the staircase. The front door was shut. There was nothing on the doormat.

  Two steps farther and I could see inside the bathroom. That was empty; there was no place to hide there. I held my breath and took a couple of steps farther on to the kitchen. The sliding door was pushed back, just as I’d left it.

  I tried to take another deep breath but my lungs wouldn’t do it. I started to feel light-headed, as though I needed to pant. I tiptoed into the doorway of the living room and flashed on the light. There was nobody there lurking in the shadows, nobody crouching behind the sofa or under the dining table, wielding a weapon or reaching out to grab me.

  I turned quickly in case someone was behind me, but all was quiet. I went back through the flat, putting all the lights on. I didn’t know what I’d heard. I kept replaying it again and again in my mind. I was sure I’d heard my front door click. Had I dreamed it? But I thought I’d been awake just before I heard that. What had woken me?

  I left all the lights on in the other rooms and went back to bed, though I knew I wouldn’t sleep now. I took out my phone and scrolled through Tom’s texts, where he said he loved me. H
e missed me.

  I wanted to feel safe again. I wanted to go home.

  CHAPTER 55

  Emma

  Harry was staying in London overnight so after I met Tom in The Crown I went back to an empty house. I seethed all night. I had a hit list of people to blame: Harry for having an affair, Ruby for having one with him, Tom for hounding me. Ultimately I blamed myself, though. I couldn’t see one reason why I’d slept with Tom unless it was a last hoorah from my hormones, which meant it was far more likely that Tom was the father.

  I was pretty quiet at work the next day. I know Annie was worried. Midafternoon, after barely a word out of me all day, she said, “Right, come on. Let’s go to the café and have some cake. Something’s clearly bothering you.”

  Despite my protests I found myself outdoors and walking down the street to a café—not the one that Tom had taken me to, thank God—realizing that all those years of child-rearing had turned Annie into someone who couldn’t be messed with. I had a fleeting thought of my own child. Was that how I’d be in ten years’ time? I had a horrible feeling that this baby might play me like a fiddle, just like her father did. Whoever her father was.

  Annie ordered cake and I had a fruit salad and we sat outside under a parasol, enjoying the summer sun.

  “What’s up?” she asked. “Come on, you can tell me.”

  I felt terrible. How could I tell her that last Friday I’d had a DNA test on the fetus and that I was waiting to see who its father was? She’d be horrified. She was my best friend. We’d worked together for years. We shared every secret, every stupid thing we’d done. She used to say that whenever she did something embarrassing she’d think, I can’t wait to tell Emma about this. But this was way, way beyond embarrassing. And maybe if the test results showed Harry was the father, I could tell her about it and we could both cringe, but not now.

  So I just said, “I’m worried about the baby. Whether it will be okay,” and she gave me a long look as though she knew that wasn’t it, but talked kindly and firmly about why I shouldn’t worry unless there was something to worry about.

  “You’re fit and healthy,” she said. “You eat well. You don’t drink too much.” She gave a little cough. “Nowadays.” We both laughed, remembering some parties we’d been to when we were young. “Just enjoy being pregnant. If there’s something to worry about, the doctors will tell you soon enough. Don’t anticipate problems.”

  “I don’t remember you being like that,” I said, remembering her reaction when she had eaten a cracker with Brie on it then realized it was on the forbidden list. “You worried all the time.”

  “We’re not talking about me.” She finished her coffee. “And while we’re talking about you, who was that guy at your house yesterday?”

  I’d known I wouldn’t get away with that. Since she’d had children Annie was like a bloodhound, able to sniff out trouble a mile off.

  “Oh, him.” I thought quickly. “He lives down the road.”

  “What did he want? You didn’t seem very happy to see him.”

  “He was at a barbecue we went to last summer and whenever I see him now he wants to chat. I don’t like him though.”

  “Why did he call round?”

  “Oh, he does that sometimes if he sees I’m working from home. He asks if I want a break. A coffee. He’s irritating.”

  She sat back. “You’ve got a good-looking guy calling round when you’re working from home and you haven’t told me? Does Harry know?”

  “Yeah, he knows he’s a pain. I don’t let him into the house, though.”

  From Annie’s expression I could tell she had me sussed. She knew I was lying about something.

  “Emma, don’t take any risks,” she said. “You’ve got a lovely husband. A happy marriage. Don’t do anything to mess that up.”

  That was so unfair—and yet so spot-on—that I started to cry. I didn’t know whether I was crying with anger or with guilt. I brushed Annie away when she tried to put her arm around me.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “It’s just my hormones,” I said, drying my eyes. “They’re all over the place. Don’t worry, though, I’m not having an affair. That guy is just a bit of a nuisance, that’s all.”

  We walked back to the office in silence. I knew she was mulling things over. I just hoped she didn’t connect Tom with the baby I was expecting.

  * * *

  • • •

  I got home at six that night. Harry’s car was in the driveway and when I opened the front door he came to greet me from the kitchen.

  “Hi, sweetheart.” He hugged me and kissed my cheek. “Good day?”

  “It was fine. Busy.”

  “Well, that’s good. Why don’t you sit in the garden and I’ll bring dinner out to you?”

  I went upstairs to change into shorts and a tank top then came back to the kitchen. Suddenly I was starving.

  “Something smells good. What are we having?”

  “Spaghetti.” He passed me a little bowl of olives, slick with garlic and chilli. “Go and put your feet up outside. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

  I reclined my chair, enjoying the sun on my body. I’d worked hard that day, mainly to avoid answering any more of Annie’s questions. I caught her glancing over at me but just gave her a brief smile each time and focused on my work. That night with Tom had changed all of my relationships.

  After dinner Harry and I stayed outside for a couple of hours. Harry had a glass of wine and was reading a book and I was following a group of mums on a forum who were talking about their recent childbirths. It was funny, really funny at times, but was making me squirm and cross my legs. It was just as I’d hoped pregnancy would be and I could feel myself start to relax.

  Then as we were going into the house for the night, Harry said, “Oh, something came for you today.” He went into the dining room and came back with a huge box. “I’ve no idea what it is, do you?”

  “No. Are you sure it’s for me?”

  “Your name’s on the box. Have you ordered anything for work?”

  “No. I’d have it delivered there, anyway. There’s always someone who can sign for it. When did it get here?”

  “No idea. It was left with the guy next door. He was working from home and took it in. He brought it round when he saw my car tonight.”

  I opened up the box. I had to. Harry was standing next to me, wondering what was in it. His birthday wasn’t for a long time; neither was mine. I just knew this wasn’t going to be good but had no excuse for not opening it.

  Inside was a huge white teddy bear with a tartan bow around its neck.

  “Wow,” said Harry, pulling it out. “That’s nice.” He put it on the table. “Who sent it?”

  “I’ve no idea. Could it be your mum and dad?”

  “No, they’re coming to see us next week. They wouldn’t send something like this through the post. They never buy anything online anyway. Isn’t there a note to say who sent it?”

  There was nothing in the box but on the outside there was a document, taped to the box. It was facing away from Harry.

  “No,” I said. “That’s odd, I can’t see anything. Oh well, someone will call soon and claim it.” I picked up the box. “Harry, would you do me a favor and run a bath for me? And put some of that bath oil you gave me in it?” I gave him a winning smile. “I’m so tired.”

  “Of course!” He bounded upstairs and I ripped the delivery note off the box and shoved it into my handbag. Later in the bathroom with the door locked I opened the note. Attached to it was a card with a message typed on it. It said:

  For our baby. T x

  CHAPTER 56

  Emma

  I opened my eyes the next morning to find the white teddy bear staring me in the face. Harry was kneeling by the side of the bed, holding the bear up in front o
f him. He moved it toward me, to stroke my cheek with its nose. I jerked away, pushing it to the floor. He laughed when he saw my expression. “He just wanted to say good morning.”

  My stomach leaped. “Who did?”

  “The bear.” Harry sounded like I was the one that was mad. “Who did you think I meant?”

  “Sorry. You startled me.”

  I went into the bathroom to get a bit of peace. I couldn’t have that bear in the house, but how could I get rid of it? It was huge; I couldn’t exactly lose it. Even if I persuaded Annie to bring her kids round and persuaded them that they wanted to adopt the bear, I’d still know it existed. That it was meant for me.

  As soon as Harry left for work I called Tom.

  “What the hell are you playing at?”

  “Hello, Emma. How are you today?”

  “How dare you send things to my house? And that message—well, Harry didn’t see it, despite your efforts. And anything you send to me again will be sent back to you, unopened.”

  “I just thought it would be good to start buying things for the baby,” he said calmly.

  I wanted to scream at him, but I knew the power he held. He could come round to the house anytime and tell Harry what had happened. I know that Harry started all this with his and Ruby’s affair, but I was the one who was pregnant. The more I thought about it the more I realized that Harry would simply deny any involvement with Ruby. She wasn’t even working for him now. I was the only witness to their affair and I was pregnant after sleeping with another man.

  At that moment I wished I could just go to the airport and pick a flight—any flight—and just disappear and leave the whole lot of them behind.

  “If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll get a restraining order against you,” I hissed.