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.