I had so many questions to ask him that I didn’t know where to start. I wanted to talk about him deleting Harry’s e-mail, to ask why he had hidden that from me. I wanted to ask him how he’d felt when he saw me drive off with my car full of bags, knowing I’d end up homeless. But really, that wasn’t what was important.
The thing I really wanted was to talk about him coming into my home. Trying to make me lose my mind. And then coming in at night, into my bedroom. Taking my scarf from my pillow as I slept. At the thought of that I felt breathless and faint. I wanted to confront him but I knew I shouldn’t. I was too angry.
While he chatted away to his boss, as though he hadn’t a care in the world, I went upstairs. I needed to calm down. To make myself think rationally. While I was here, I should take some more of my things. It would be autumn in a couple of months. I didn’t want to come back here until it was time to empty the house completely and that could be ages away.
I heard Tom move to the bottom of the stairs, clearly frustrated that he couldn’t tell me to get back downstairs.
I went into my bedroom. My old bedroom. Now it was Tom’s, of course. The suit he’d been wearing was on a wooden hanger on the back of the door and his black leather shoes were kicked into a corner. I avoided looking at the bed and went straight over to my section of the fitted wardrobes. Nothing of mine was there. Tom had taken over some of it, but the rest lay empty. I frowned. What had happened to the rest of my things? I opened the drawers I’d used since we’d had the house. I’d had to leave some clothes there when I left home. Now the drawers were all empty.
I went into the spare room, thinking he might have packed the clothes up, ready for me to take. I knew he shouldn’t have to do that, but maybe he’d thought he was being useful. My heart sank as I saw the bookcase was empty and there was no sign of any of my books. I must have had an inkling that something like this would happen as I’d photographed the shelves before I left, just in case. I could replace them, but new copies just wouldn’t be the same. I looked inside the suitcases that stood by the side of the wardrobe. They were empty. I checked under the bed. Nothing.
And then I felt a dull thud in my stomach; I knew what was going to happen now. I threw open the wardrobe doors and thrust my hand to the back of the top shelf, past the spare pillows and the woolen throw, trying to find the box. It wasn’t there.
My memory box was made of ruby red leather and bought for me when I was born by my aunt. I’d loved her and lost her to cancer years ago. My name was embossed on the box in gold lettering, and I’d used it all my life for the things that were precious to me. In it had been photos from my childhood, of my parents when they were young. A narrow silver bracelet that my first boyfriend had bought me; my first mobile phone, long defunct. Letters from my school friends when we all went off to different universities. My diaries in which I’d kept count of my menstrual cycle, so that I could work out my fertile periods. A tiny white velvet sleepsuit that I’d bought on the day we first decided to try for a baby. I used to hold it to me to imagine what it would be like to hold a child. And, tucked away in a little envelope, with nothing but the date written on it, was the scan photo of my baby, my only child, the one I’d lost when I was eighteen.
Panic surged through me. I pulled out the pillows and threw them onto the bed. I checked at the foot of the wardrobe but there was just his snorkeling gear and old running shoes.
I turned to leave the spare room, to check whether it was in Josh’s room, but Tom was standing in the doorway.
“Where is it?” I asked. “What have you done with it?”
CHAPTER 67
Ruby
For a second he looked as though he was going to carry on pretending he didn’t know what I was talking about, but then he said calmly, “Oh, it probably went out with the trash last week.”
“What?”
“You’re the one who wanted to sell the house. I didn’t see you dealing with it. I was just getting rid of things so that there wouldn’t be too much to do at the end.”
I walked toward him. I felt as though my head was about to burst. All I could feel was buzzing and tingling and I think he must have seen he’d gone too far, because he took a step back onto the landing to avoid me.
“You’ve thrown it out?” I knew my voice sounded weird. I was trying hard to breathe properly and when I spoke my voice was high-pitched and breathy.
He shrugged. “I’ve thrown a lot of stuff out.”
He had. And it was all my stuff.
By now my head was swimming. I took another step toward him. “But it wasn’t stuff. It was important to me. Private.”
“You never looked at it anyway.” He took another step backward. “It was just taking up space.”
For a moment I closed my eyes. I thought of the house and how, apart from the kitchen, you would never have known I lived there. This was something of mine and it was hidden from view, as were all my things. That box held my memories. He’d destroyed it, just as he’d tried to destroy me.
I had to say something. I had to. I’d been quiet for too long.
“I know you deleted my e-mail,” I said.
Shock flashed across his face. “Which e-mail?”
He wasn’t fooling me. “You know which one I mean.” I said nothing more but let the silence lay heavily in the air.
Then his face changed, became ugly and dark. All of his flattery disappeared and I could see what he really thought of me. I recoiled.
“Oh, Harry’s e-mail.” He mimicked Harry, then: “I’m so sorry, Ruby, but I can’t leave Emma. She’s pregnant and all I’ve ever wanted was a family. Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have deleted that.” He laughed. “Oh, and . . .”
“What?”
He shook his head, smiling at me. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
My heart pounded. I thought of him reading my e-mails, following my search for jobs, reading my draft e-mails to Harry that I’d never sent, telling him I loved him and needed him and would always be there for him. But that wasn’t what concerned me now.
My blood started to simmer. “That’s not all though, is it?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You came into my flat, didn’t you?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Are you having delusions again?”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Like all those times you thought you were pregnant.” Now he imitated me, his face twisted and hateful. “I know I’ve said this before, Tom, but I really think I am pregnant this time.”
I felt my face collapse and saw his glee. I realized then just how deep his hatred of me was.
“So you think I came into your flat? What did I do there?”
I bit my lip, frustrated. How could I say, You made a cup of coffee or You hung up my dresses or You took the scarf my lover gave me? I knew what he’d say in response.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I know it was you.”
He smirked. “Really? Really?”
“Are you mocking me?” In that moment I just lost it. “You thought you could control me!” He jumped. I’d probably only shouted a couple of times throughout our marriage. “You thought you could run my life!”
“Do you really think I’m that interested in you?” he sneered. “You think I waste any time thinking about you? I’ve got other things to think about. You’re nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
And I knew that was true. I couldn’t help myself. I reached out to strike him.
He reared back, out of the bedroom. Now we were both on the landing. “Hey!” he said. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do that.” Now it was my turn to mimic. “Do this, do that. Live like this.” I stopped and roared, “Stop telling me what to do. And stop following me.”
“What are you talking about? You’re mad.”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” I’d stopped yelling now. “And stop putting my phone number on those sites.”
“I was doing you a favor! I thought you might like some company, now that you’re all on your own.”
“Just leave me alone.” All I felt was weariness. “You try to control me with every breath you take.”
He laughed. “Are you kidding? You’re the one who left.”
“Because I couldn’t stand it anymore.”
“No. You left so that you could sleep with another man. Own it, Ruby.”
And then I realized. That wasn’t why I left. I thought I’d left to be with Harry, but actually I’d left to get away from Tom. I didn’t even really know Harry. We’d spent only two nights together. We’d never had a fight, never disagreed, even. We’d taken that to be a sign of compatibility, rather than a sign we didn’t really know each other that well.
I stopped still at that thought. All I could hear was the sound of us panting. “So why were you sending me all those messages?” There was still a part of me that wanted to believe Tom had loved me once. “Why did you say you loved me and missed me?”
“You idiot. Did you really believe I meant that?” He laughed. “You think I want you?” He shook his head. “Unbelievable.” He leaned toward me. “Every little message I sent you brought you closer to me.”
“But why? Why would you do that?”
“Do you really think you get to say when this marriage ends? That you can just leave whenever you like?” He spoke as though I was stupid. A fool. “That’s not your decision, Ruby. It never has been. I get to decide whether you stay or go.”
“I did leave, though,” I said. “And do you want to know why I left?” I reached out and pushed his shoulder.
He jumped backward. “Stop it!”
“I left because I didn’t want to be with you anymore. You and your lies and your control. Telling me what to do all the time. What to think.” I stopped, sickened. “I couldn’t stand it anymore.”
“Well, you’ve made such a success of being on your own, Ruby. All you’ve got is a man who won’t leave his wife for you. Obviously you’re too boring for him, too. Did you wait a long time that night? When did you realize he wasn’t going to show? That was so funny, watching you go off with your little bags. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice your car was full of all your things? I just wish I could have seen your face when you realized he wasn’t going to turn up.”
I screamed, “You bastard!”
He laughed. He pushed his face into mine and I smelled the alcohol, sour on his breath. “You are crazy,” he said. Spittle landed on my face and I scrubbed my skin with my hand, repulsed. “You’ve always been crazy.”
I’d had enough. I couldn’t stand to see him anymore. I could feel the blood coursing through my veins. I was struggling and knew I should leave, but I just wanted to have the last word.
“Not any longer,” I said, and reached out. I didn’t want to touch him. I just wanted some space between us.
He leaned back, holding on to the handrail at the top of the stairs. Now, later, I realize that he was on the top step, but I didn’t understand the significance then.
He seemed to swell with rage, to tower over me, terrifying me.
He said, “Why would I want you when I’ve got someone else?” His eyes were wild. “Someone beautiful. Clever. Funny. It’s such a nice change.” He reached out and jabbed me in the chest, hard. I found a bruise as dark as an olive there later. “And guess what?” He looked triumphant. “She’s pregnant.”
“What?” I couldn’t believe it. “Pregnant?”
“Yes. She’s pregnant with my child. I knew it was your fault we couldn’t have a baby.” He mimicked me again: “It’ll be so lovely to have a baby in the house.” He laughed. “Well, now I’ll have that. Unlike you, on your own in your cheap lousy flat.”
I swear I didn’t think about where he was standing, at the top of the stairs. All I could think of was that he would have what I wanted most. That he’d ruined my life and would be happy. He was right—I had nothing now. I felt a red mist rising and I swung my hand up to slap him. I wanted to slap him so hard. He could tell, and jerked back before I could touch him.
His hand loosened on the banister rail and I saw him try to grab it again. He took another step back but his foot couldn’t find the step. I saw him stagger back, his arms windmilling. His eyes were wild and he reached out toward me.
I could have grabbed him. I really could have.
But I didn’t.
CHAPTER 68
Ruby
It seemed to take an age before he reached the bottom of the stairs. There was a tremendous crack as he hit his head on the tiled floor. His body twisted in response.
All I could see was him. Nothing else.
I crouched by the side of him. The color had drained from his face and his eyes were closed. I was going to move him, to see if he’d come to, but one glance at his twisted body told me not to. If I moved him, I might make things worse.
I saw blood seeping from his ear and my heart beat fast in a panicky tattoo. What should I do? I knew I should call for an ambulance, but it might be too late.
And then I thought: I should take his pulse. I touched the inside of his wrist. My hands were clammy with sweat and my fingers slid on his skin. I couldn’t feel anything. I didn’t know whether I was doing it right so I felt again. Nothing. His other hand lay under him.
Panic rose in me. I thought the emergency services would want to know if he had a pulse. He looked like he was asleep. Okay, he’d clearly done some damage to his head, and his back looked so wrong, but surely that wouldn’t stop me finding a pulse? Desperately I tried to remember the training I’d had in first aid when I was in school; I remembered the teacher talking about the carotid artery but I couldn’t remember where she said it was. I pressed my fingers on the side of his neck. There was no pulse, no sensation under my fingers. I couldn’t feel anything except his cool skin.
Frantically I thought maybe I was touching the wrong side of his neck; maybe I should check the other side. I moved back and just then the light in the room changed. Suddenly it was darker.
My back was to the door. I looked up, into the long mirror that hung on the wall in the hallway.
I froze.
Someone was looking through the pane of glass by the front door.
She’d seen everything.
And I knew who she was.
CHAPTER 69
Emma
I was just about to knock on Tom’s front door when I heard them. A woman was yelling at a man. All the windows were shut but the glass in the hallway was the original stained glass: it was beautiful, but not soundproof. I don’t suppose they’d considered that when they moved in.
The shouting seemed to come from upstairs. I pressed closer to the window, all the better to hear. I could hear a woman yell, “You bastard!” and I thought, Oh, that sounds interesting. I could hear him try to answer back but she wasn’t having it. She was livid.
And then I saw Tom standing at the top of the stairs. His back was to me, but it was him, all right. He had a gray T-shirt on that I remembered him wearing the night we met, and a pair of jeans. He was barefoot and just before it happened, I saw the legs of his jeans were just that bit too long.
He put out his hand to whoever he was fighting with. I couldn’t see who it was. He reached over and held the rail, then let go of it and thrust his hand out again. A woman’s hand batted it away and he moved to one side. Her voice was low now; I couldn’t hear what she said, but I could get the gist of it. The tone was not nice.
This time when he tried to hold the rail he couldn’t reach it. I don’t know whether she thought he was reaching out for her because she knocked his hand away harder this time. He took a step back. And then it was like slow motion, w
here I could see his foot on the edge of the stairs, could see his jeans were too long. He turned to grab the rail and his jeans caught under his foot. His foot reached out for a step that wasn’t there. And then he twisted and fell. He crashed down those stairs, his arms and legs flailing, and there was a loud crack as he hit his head on the tiled floor.
I held my breath. I knew I should call the police, the ambulance. Someone. But I couldn’t move.
Then I saw her. It was Ruby. Tom’s ex-wife. Harry’s ex-lover. Hopefully. I’d thought it would be someone else, thought she’d moved out. I recognized her from the airport, where she was kissing my husband, the night I slept with her husband. She walked downstairs, her face pale and determined. She looked shocked, but she didn’t look upset. She crouched beside him and felt for his pulse, in his wrist first, then on the side of his neck. It was clear she hadn’t a clue what she was doing.
And as she knelt there, doing her amateur diagnosis, my first thought was: I could ruin your life, Ruby Dean. Only you and I know what happened just now, and who would believe you? Tom’s a bully and you’re a cheat. Now he’s unconscious at the bottom of your stairs. Who would believe that was an accident?
Ruby’s whole body trembled as she tried to find a pulse. With a shock I saw how thin she was now, much thinner than when I saw her at the airport with Harry, and how scared she looked as she touched Tom, as though he’d rear up and hit her. I winced. I’d seen myself as Tom’s victim; I hadn’t realized she was, too. I should have known. I really should have known.
When I looked at Ruby and Tom together, my overwhelming feeling was of relief that all this had ended. For a moment I didn’t know whether to turn Ruby in and hope she spent the rest of her days in solitary confinement, or to shake her hand. And then I felt the strangest sensation, as though my baby was making its presence felt. It was still too small for me to feel movements, but in that split second when I held Ruby’s future in my hands, I knew I needed to do the right thing. It was time for this war to end.
The Closer You Get Page 27