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