The Closer You Get

by Mary Torjussen

  “No, I wasn’t here then. I’ll have to ask around.” She sounded panicky now, exactly how I felt. “I’m really sorry, Ruby. The message was sent from your e-mail address. I had no reason to believe it wasn’t from you.”

  “I know. Don’t worry.” I just wanted to get her off the phone now. “I’ll sort it out.”

  “Was anything taken?” she asked. “Have you noticed anything’s missing?”

  “I don’t know.” But as I spoke my eyes rested on my bed, on the pillows. The scarf I’d been holding that night, that I’d put on the pillow beside me before I slept, had gone.

  * * *

  • • •

  I ended the call quickly, wanting time to think, and then Sean banged on the door to ask whether Gill had agreed to the locks. All the while I behaved like usual and thanked him when he’d finished. As soon as he got into his van, I bolted the front door and hurried up the stairs to my flat. I checked every room. I didn’t feel safe. I didn’t think I ever would again.

  Despite the heat of the day I was cold and shivering. I lit the gas fire in the living room and crouched beside it, my mind in free fall.

  Tom had been in my flat. I knew that now. He’d got himself a key and come into my home. He’d moved my clothes and made coffee, knowing it would drive me crazy. I shuddered. He’d been there in the middle of the night. He’d come into my bedroom. He’d taken my scarf, taken it from my pillow. What would he have done if I’d woken?

  I took out my phone and scrolled through the blocked numbers. There were so many of them. Calls asking for sex. Shaming me. Was Tom behind that, too? He’d never admit it. I knew now he hated me. I think I knew that even when we were together. He must have been furious that I’d left him. And he’d sent messages again and again, lovely messages, as though he cared for me, while I was getting those calls from strangers. I was so glad I hadn’t told him about them, so glad he’d never known how much they’d upset me.

  I had no one to talk to. No one to confide in. Tom’s work was done. He’d isolated me from people, made me think I was going mad. He told me he loved me but did everything he could to hurt me.

  I found his number on my Recent Calls list. I couldn’t trust myself to speak to him, so sent him a message.

  Tom, are you working from home today? I need to talk to you.

  I hesitated, then added a kiss at the end of my message.

  CHAPTER 63

  Emma

  The next night, Harry came home later than usual. I was sitting at the table typing an e-mail to a client and he leaned over and gave me a quick kiss.

  “What are you up to?” he asked.

  “Oh, nothing. Just confirming a finish date.”

  Quickly I closed the laptop lid and stood up. It would be just my luck to get a message from the DNA clinic while Harry was sitting next to me.

  “I was driving back from Birmingham this morning when I had a call from Henry Mathers in Nantwich,” he said. “He asked if I’d call in for a chat. His office is in the market square right next to a cake shop so I bought some cakes for people at work.” He put a box tied up with ribbons on the kitchen table. “And I couldn’t miss you out.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.” Eagerly I opened the box and looked down at the beautifully glazed strawberry tart, the perfect pastel macarons, and the chocolate éclair with fresh cream spilling from it, but instead of my mouth watering with anticipation, I turned from them.

  “I thought they were the ones you liked,” said Harry.

  “They are.” I pushed the box away from me. “They look gorgeous. Thanks for bringing them. It’s just this sickness. I can’t wait for it to stop.” I couldn’t tell him that now I felt sick because I was being bullied by Ruby’s husband.

  I got up from the table to pour some water from the fridge. Iced water seemed to be the only thing that helped the nausea. Harry stood, too, and wrapped his arms around me. I breathed in the safe familiar smell of his cologne, felt his heart beating against mine. He kissed me on the cheek but somehow it seemed automatic. I pulled back to look at him. His face was pale and strained and he looked distracted. It reminded me so much of how he was before I discovered I was pregnant, and my heart fell. Was his recent change of mood over? I couldn’t bear to go back to the way we were.

  “Are you all right?” I asked anxiously. “Everything okay at work?”

  “I’m fine.” He stretched out his arms and sighed. “It was just a busy day. All I want to do is to relax.”

  “Come and sit down. Fancy a beer?”

  We sat at the kitchen table and he had a beer and I had water while he ate one of my cakes. That was inevitable. All I could think of was my phone, on vibrate in my jeans pocket, as I waited for an e-mail to come through about the DNA of my baby. I knew it was too late for them to contact me but I couldn’t turn it off just in case. I had to know the very second there was news.

  When my phone did vibrate I nearly collapsed.

  “Is that your phone?” asked Harry. He took another beer from the fridge. He had no clue what that message would mean for us.

  I kept my face as still as I could and took the phone from my pocket. It was a message from Tom. Immediately I switched off my phone.

  “Just work stuff,” I said. “I don’t want to think about it now.”

  He gave me a quizzical look because I’d never shown such a lack of interest in work and would always answer messages in the evening.

  “I’m tired,” I said. “It can wait.”

  When Harry was in the shower later on, I took out my phone and stealthily checked the message. Tom had sent so many that I’d ignored: He wanted to come to the scan with me, he would be at the birth. He sent me links to cots and buggies and clothes and teddies, asking what I liked. He wanted to share everything with me.

  He told me that I didn’t have to worry, he’d always be by my side.

  CHAPTER 64

  Emma

  My eyes snapped open when Harry’s alarm went off the next morning. Today was the fifth working day after I’d been tested and I knew the results could be in that day. Though our backs were to each other, I felt him reach out to turn off the alarm. He’d changed the alarm ringtone so it played a new song every day and there was always a reference to babies. This morning it was “Baby Love” and he laughed as he heard it and rolled over to hug me. I wanted to shake him off, to warn him not to get too excited, that the baby might not be his, but how could I? I might as well let him have this one last morning of ignorance. So I lay still, pretending to be asleep, and he edged away quietly and crept out of the room, leaving me to have a bit more time to myself.

  As soon as I heard the bathroom door shut, I scrabbled for my phone and checked my e-mails. Of course there was nothing. Nobody would be at work for a couple of hours at least. I wondered about the staff who worked in a clinic like that. If they sent back DNA results to say that the alleged father wasn’t the father, did they wince as they e-mailed the results, knowing the damage it could cause? Were they totally unsympathetic, thinking the woman had brought it on herself?

  At that thought I hastily got up and pulled on my dressing gown. I couldn’t lie there thinking about anonymous people judging me. There would be enough people I knew doing that soon enough. Downstairs I put the radio on and started to make coffee and toast for Harry. At last I wasn’t feeling sick at the smell, though I wouldn’t be able to touch it myself. He seemed preoccupied, too, and sat at the kitchen table in silence while I made a pretense of gathering everything I needed for work. I needed to go to work early today. I knew that once I had the results I would be fit for nothing.

  Harry hugged me as he said good-bye and kissed my cheek. I moved to kiss him, but stopped short. The last thing I wanted him to remember was my traitorous kiss. So I hugged him hard and told him I loved him. I do. I always have. And then I watched him go out to his car and drive away, knowing that
the next time I saw him, everything would be different.

  * * *

  • • •

  The e-mail came through just before two o’clock that afternoon. I’d been deep in work, forcing myself not to think about it. This was the earliest day I could expect a result; I might have to wait for a few days longer. Annie was on the phone to a client and I was busying myself with e-mails when a notification slid up from the bottom of my screen. It slid down again, but not before I’d seen the words Paternity Test in the heading.

  My heart banged so hard I thought Annie would hear it, but when I turned to look at her, she was still deep in conversation, making notes as she talked. She wasn’t taking any notice of me. Clumsily I picked up my phone. I couldn’t read the message here. I needed to go somewhere private. I picked up my car keys. I would read the e-mail in the privacy of my car.

  Annie glanced up at me. She put her hand over her phone and whispered, “Don’t forget I’m going home in a minute. It’s the last day of term and the kids are finishing early.”

  I nodded and waved. I walked downstairs instead of waiting for the lift, feeling dizzy with fear. This was the moment. Now I would know.

  I got into my car and opened the e-mail tab. The message appeared at the top of my in-box. I took a deep breath. I wanted to delete it without reading it, to stick my head back in the sand and act as though none of this was happening. I wanted to drive to Harry and hold him tight and tell him everything. I wanted him to say it didn’t matter, it really didn’t matter who the father was. He would be the baby’s real father.

  But I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t do it to him.

  I saw Annie hurry from the building and drive her car out of the car park. I knew that one day I’d be doing that, racing to pick up my child, and I’d be doing it no matter what the results of this test said. That gave me the courage to open the e-mail. I quickly scrolled down the screen, desperately trying to understand what it said. It seemed as though it was written in a foreign language; then I realized it was written in a way that might be used against someone. In court.

  I read the e-mail three times. I don’t know how long I sat there before I understood what it said. I went back to the office to pick up my bag.

  I needed to talk to Tom.

  CHAPTER 65

  Ruby

  Through habit I parked in my usual place by the side of the road. Tom’s car was on the driveway. Just as I reached the front door, a black BMW pulled up onto the drive, blocking in Tom’s car.

  A man in his fifties jumped out and opened the doors for a younger couple who were sitting in the backseat. I had no idea who any of them were.

  “Can I help you?” I asked.

  Just then the front door opened and Tom came outside. He was smartly dressed in a suit and tie and beamed at the visitors. “Hello, John, it’s good to see you again. Is this Mr. and Mrs. Sampson?” He shook their hands. “Nice to meet you. Come on in.”

  I stood there like a fool while all of them backslapped one another, then the couple turned to me, as though wondering why on earth I was there.

  “I’m Ruby Dean,” I said.

  They did a double take, then turned as one to Tom for verification.

  He came over to me and kissed my cheek. “This is my wife,” he said to them.

  Then there were effusive hellos in my direction and they trooped into the house.

  “I wasn’t expecting them to get here this early,” Tom whispered to me. He smiled. “I’ll show them round and then we can talk.”

  It seemed he thought we were going to have quite a different kind of chat.

  “Let’s start with the kitchen,” said Tom to the potential buyers.

  I couldn’t bear it. The kitchen had been my domain. My home, really. I’d bought every single thing in it; everything was the way I wanted it. I couldn’t stand to see someone else go into it and judge it.

  “I’ll wait in the living room,” I said. “You don’t want too many people around.” I stood in the doorway and looked around. Everything in this room was Tom’s: The cameras and books on photography. The pictures he’d bought and put up without any thought of consultation. I liked some of them, but that was irrelevant. I’d learned not to tell him if I liked something; I’d known it to disappear. Whenever I said I liked something there’d be a silence or worse, laughter. “You shouldn’t take it personally,” he’d said. “It’s not a reflection on you that you don’t have good taste.” I thought that’s exactly what it was.

  While they wandered the house I sat down in my usual place on the sofa by the window and I listened to the murmurs of approval and exclamations of delight, and the soothing sounds of the estate agent and Tom, who seemed to be in harmony with each other as they showed Mr. and Mrs. Sampson around my home. Meanwhile my stomach was tight and knotted and all I could think was, You have tried to destroy me.

  By the time they left, I felt as though I was ready to explode.

  CHAPTER 66

  Ruby

  The front door shut behind them with a click. Tom shouted that he was just going upstairs to get changed, and within a couple of minutes I heard him back in the kitchen.

  I was on full alert and strained to hear what he was up to. I heard the kettle being filled with water, then a click as it was switched on. I heard mugs being placed on the counter, a spoon taken from its drawer. The noises were so familiar; they were the soundtrack to my life there. I could picture Tom as he moved about, staring into the garden while he waited for the kettle to boil, his back straight, his hands on the edge of the counter.

  And then I heard something else and leaned forward to hear better. It was the sound of a cupboard door opening in the utility room. I knew it was the cupboard where we kept our drinks. There was the clink of a glass on the granite counter and then a glugging sound. The glass was lifted for a couple of seconds, then put down again. The sounds were repeated. Then the dishwasher door opened and shut.

  I frowned. Was he drinking alcohol at this time of day? We kept the wine in the fridge or on the wine rack. I hadn’t heard the click and hiss of a bottle or can opening; he couldn’t be drinking beer. That cupboard held the spirits and liqueurs. What was he drinking? My mind flashed back: Had he always drunk like that, sneakily, without my knowing? It was as though the veil was slowly being lifted, as though I was seeing him for what he truly was.

  I guessed he was wondering why I was there. Did he think his little romantic messages had done the trick? Did he think I’d fallen for his charms, unable to resist him? I used to think he thought I was stupid; now I knew he did.

  * * *

  • • •

  When he came into the living room I saw he’d changed into his old gray T-shirt and jeans. He was barefoot and looked happy and carefree. He carried a tray in with the coffee. He’d used the better crockery, the stuff we kept for guests. I supposed I was one now. On the tray was a plate of biscuits and I realized he was trying to impress, as though a well-presented tea tray would make up for trying to drive me crazy.

  He poured coffee from the French press and passed me a mug, then sat down on the sofa opposite me.

  “It’s good to see you, Ruby,” he said, as though he was used to me dropping in. As though we had no history between us. As though we weren’t at war. “How’re things?”

  I said nothing. I took the coffee, more for something to do, and sipped it. He could never make a good cup of coffee, and this was no different. I would have been better off with the vodka, or whatever it was he’d been fortifying himself with. But I was glad of the warmth and wrapped my hands around the mug. I hadn’t realized until then how cold my hands were.

  I wanted to say something, to accuse him, but I was frightened of breaking down.

  “John seems to think that couple will make an offer,” said Tom.

  Distracted, I said, “Who’s John?”

  “T
hat guy who was here just now. The estate agent. Mind you, he’s said that before.”

  I tried hard to keep my tone civil. “Have many people shown an interest in the house?”

  He shrugged. “A few. Some were time-wasters. Others wanted to knock too much off the price. The Sampsons have just come back from living in South Africa and they’re cash buyers.” He took a biscuit and drank some coffee; he looked like he was enjoying it and I resented every mouthful he took. “If they offer a reduced price, what do you think? Shall we just go for it? How far should we go? Five percent?”

  I nodded. The sooner it sold, the sooner I could get away from here. The way I felt at the moment I would have sold it for half the price.

  He finished his coffee and I noticed when he put his mug down on the tray, his hands were shaking. I wondered whether that was the drink or whether he was nervous. And then he leaned forward and said in his most sincere voice, “Is this what you really want, Ruby?”

  I spoke carefully, trying to control myself. “Yes. Let’s just sell up and call it a day.”

  “It doesn’t have to be like this, babe,” he said. “Can we talk about it? Can we try again? We’re both at fault, really. Can’t we patch things up? What do you think?”

  For twelve years I’d managed to hide my feelings, but that moment was an exception. He saw my reaction and flushed a dark red. He started to speak, but then his phone rang and he picked it up, his eyes still on me.

  “Hi, Gary.” I knew this was his boss at work. “Yeah, all good, thanks.” There was a pause, then he said, “Sure, do you want to go through it now?”

  He reached out to grab a pen and paper from the coffee table, and I stood up and left the room. I could feel his eyes on me as I left. I could hear Tom talking and thought he’d be busy for a while. His boss wasn’t one for short conversations and it sounded as though Tom was going through some sales figures with him.