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, where 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.