“He did, yeah. He said it relaxed him. It didn’t relax me, though. I’d be on tenterhooks wondering what fresh argument he’d come up with.”
I saw a look on her face then as she remembered. For a moment I forgot what she’d done to me and reached out to touch her arm. “Did he hurt you? Was he violent?”
She was quiet for a long time. Her face was pale, her eyes lowered. “When I lived with Tom there was always a threat in the air that was horrible to live with. He never hit me, but he hurt me in every other way you can hurt someone.”
I winced.
“It left me not trusting people. Anyone. I became hypervigilant. And”—her voice faltered—“not quite whole. For a while I felt as though I didn’t exist.”
I knew, I just knew what had rescued her. Who had rescued her. I had to change the subject fast. “Did you realize he’d drunk so much that day?”
“I hadn’t even thought of it when I went to the house. He was supposed to be working from home and I don’t think he ever drank when he was working.” She frowned, as if that thought just explained something from the past. “When I first got there he was really friendly. I didn’t even think he might be drinking. But then I heard him in the kitchen when the viewers had gone and I thought he was pouring a drink. Two, actually. The police officer checked the glass, remember? And when I . . .” She faltered. “When he was shouting at me, his face was right up next to mine.” She moved her hand so that the palm was an inch away from her face. “I could smell alcohol then.”
Involuntarily I winced. “That must have been so scary.”
She shrugged but I could see her eyes had filled with tears. “I was used to it.” She was quiet for a moment, then she said, “I thought he was coping. I thought he was okay now.” She dabbed her eyes again. “You know, he’d been lovely to me since I left. Really lovely. Supportive. Helpful. He was just like he used to be, years ago. I thought he wanted me to come back to him. I even thought I might. I could feel myself relenting. I was so lonely on my own. But then I realized what he was doing.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was pulling me in so that he could dump me. He wanted to be the one to end things. He told me that his girlfriend was pregnant.” She faltered. “I hadn’t realized he meant you.”
“I wasn’t his girlfriend,” I said firmly.
She ignored that, as though she didn’t care whether I was or not. “And when I left him, things started to happen to me. I thought someone was coming into my flat. I couldn’t see how that could happen and they didn’t do anything much, but I just had a feeling.” She swallowed. “One night when I was asleep, too. And I found he’d got hold of the spare key by pretending to be my boyfriend.”
I drew in my breath. “That must have been terrifying.”
“It was. It was part of the reason I thought of going back to him. For safety. Over the last few weeks, I’d thought he was my friend.” Her voice rose. “Why did I think that, when he hadn’t been my friend for years?”
Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything, but I couldn’t stop myself. “Ruby, for weeks he was telling me that he wanted to be with me. As a family, with the baby. He was convinced it was his.”
We sat in silence.
Eventually, she said, “And the baby’s definitely Harry’s?”
I nodded. “Thank God it is.”
“I didn’t realize you were still sleeping with him.” She looked completely crushed. “Harry said you weren’t.”
My eyes rolled nearly to the back of my head. “Of course we were. Weren’t you? With Tom?”
She was quiet, then she said, “It hadn’t happened with Tom in a long time. I think the fact we were trying to have a baby didn’t help. He saw it as a sign of failure in the end. And I learned that if I wanted him, he’d turn me down. Every single time.” She shook her head as if she wanted to get rid of that thought. “And then one day, he said something. He was so cruel.”
“What did he say?”
She shook her head, her eyes glossy with tears. “Sorry, I can’t stand to think about it.”
“Get it out into the open,” I said. “Don’t let it fester. He can’t hurt you now.”
She took a deep breath. “We were having a row at Christmas, the year before last. He always found it stressful. And afterward, I wanted to make up with him. I didn’t want a horrible atmosphere, especially not at Christmas. So I approached him, you know . . .” She faltered. “In bed. And he flinched. Actually flinched. It was automatic, he didn’t think about it, he just looked disgusted. He told me that I simply didn’t do it for him anymore. That I had, when I was younger. And that it wasn’t my looks, so much, though it was that, obviously. It was my personality. He said he’d lost all respect for me, that if he’d known this is how I’d turn out, he wouldn’t have married me. Wouldn’t have dated me. Wouldn’t have even spoken to me on the night we met.”
“Funnily enough,” I said, “that’s exactly how I felt about him.”
She stared at me, openmouthed, and then she started to laugh but within a minute she was in tears. She picked up her bag and went over to the restroom. When she returned, her face was red and her makeup had been washed away. I thought she wouldn’t say anything more but she drank her coffee, then carried on.
“I went on the pill after that. I knew I didn’t want to have a baby with him. I didn’t tell him. I was so unhappy, but I just couldn’t pluck up the courage to leave. I remember thinking I was disappearing. That one day I’d look in the mirror and all I’d see was a ghost.” She looked up at me and I swear in that moment she had forgotten I was Harry’s wife. “And when I got involved with Harry, well, he brought me back to life.”
I couldn’t help myself. “Well, that’s great,” I said, “but it was at my expense.”
Her face crumpled. I jumped up and went up to the counter to order us another drink. I had to get away from her. I was horrified at what she’d said about Tom, but didn’t want to weaken. She’s not your friend, I kept saying to myself. She was having an affair with Harry. Don’t go feeling sorry for her now. But when I turned at the counter and saw her looking so frail, destroyed, really, it wasn’t hard to understand how she’d fallen for Harry. He’s a nice guy. A sympathetic listener. Easy on the eyes. I think that’s when it dawned on me that she had a reason for the affair; Harry hadn’t.
When I sat back down she wrapped her hands around the coffee mug, as though its warmth comforted her. “Does Harry know what happened to Tom?” she asked.