Now, it seems ridiculous that I was so terrified I barricaded myself into the sitting room. You’re going mad, says a sing-song voice in my head. You are going mad.
I carry my tea through to the sitting room. The window I tried to climb out of is still open and, as I go to close it, I realise that it could have been me that set off the alarm, not Matthew. The thought that it might have been joint effort – me with the window, Matthew with the front door – makes me start laughing and it feels so good I don’t try to control it. As I walk towards the other window, the one that looks onto the front of the house, I’m still laughing, a laugh that I recognise borders on hysteria. I pull the curtains back – and the laughter dies in my throat. Because standing in the road outside is the man, the man I saw before, walking past the house, the man that could be our new neighbour, the man that could be my silent caller, the man that could have murdered Jane. We stare at each other for a moment and then he walks away, not towards the houses at the top of the road but in the other direction, towards the woods.
The little strength I had left drains from my body and I walk into the kitchen, not to fetch my computer but
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to swallow down some of my pills. They make the rest of the day just about bearable. I spend it huddled on the sofa, only stirring an hour before Matthew gets home.
And when he does, we have the most silent dinner ever.
WEDNESDAY AUGUST 12th
The sound of relentless rain drags me from my sleep. My limbs feel heavy, as if I’m wading through water. I force my eyes open, wondering why everything is so difficult, and remember the pills I took in the middle of the night, like a child sneaking a midnight feast. It’s amazing how quickly they’ve become my crutch. I’d already taken two yesterday, swallowed down hastily with my cup of tea as soon as Matthew had left for work, because I knew I couldn’t afford a repeat of the previous day, when I’d barricaded myself in the sitting room. They did the trick because when my silent call had come in, I didn’t go into a blind panic, I had answered, listened and hung up. In short, I had done what he required of me. It hadn’t stopped him from phoning back, but by then I’d been too drowsy to make it to the phone and after I’d been in such a deep sleep that I wouldn’t have heard it ringing anyway. When I eventually woke, just Title: The Breakdown ARC, Format: 126x198, v1, Output date:08/11/16
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before Matthew got home, I was shocked at how easy it had been, once again, to sleep away the day and I vowed not to take any more pills.
But then, last night, there’d been an update on Jane’s murder. The police now think she picked up her killer before arriving at the lay-by – which means that he would have been in the car when I drove past.
‘So she did have a lover,’ Matthew said when the update came to an end.
‘Why do you say that?’ I demanded, trying to hide the agitation I felt. ‘Maybe she was just giving somebody a lift.’
‘Not unless she was out of her mind. I can’t imagine any young woman being foolish enough to stop and pick up a total stranger. I mean, would you?’
‘No, I wouldn’t. But it was a terrible night and maybe he flagged her down.’
‘Maybe he did. But I think that once the police have delved a bit further into her background they’ll find that they were right the first time and that she had a lover.
So whoever killed her wouldn’t be after anyone else. As I said before, it was personal.’
Even though I still didn’t believe that Jane had had a lover, his words had calmed me. ‘I hope you’re right,’
I said.
‘I know I’m right. You can stop worrying, Cass.
Whoever’s responsible will be behind bars before you know it.’
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But then Jane’s husband had come on, hounded by
a reporter who asked him if he could confirm that his wife had had a lover. In his refusal to answer he was quietly dignified, just as he was at his wife’s funeral, and the terrible guilt I feel whenever I think of Jane was magnified a hundred-fold. It pressed down on me, crushing me with its intensity. We’d gone up to bed but the thought that, as I was driving past Jane’s car, the killer was watching me through the window, made sleep impossible. I was so wound up that I’d had to go downstairs at three in the morning and pop a couple of pills just to be able to get through the rest of the night.
Which is why I’m feeling so sluggish.
I look at Matthew lying beside me, his face relaxed in sleep. My eyes fall on the clock; it’s eight-fifteen, which means it’s Saturday otherwise he’d already be up.