Tom places his glass on the table. ‘What makes you say that?’ His voice is low and I sense a menace in the air.
‘I saw your car parked up in the lane. I’d forgotten all about it, what with everything else. It’s been bugging me that I was missing something important and then it came to me, just now. Like when you’re trying to think of someone’s name and it’s on the tip of your tongue, but you can’t for the life of you get it. And then you can be lying in bed that night or in the supermarket a few days later and, out of nowhere, it pops into your mind.’ I pause and look at Tom. ‘That’s what’s just popped into my mind. I smashed your wing mirror as I went by. Your car was there. But you’ve never said. You’ve been keeping that a secret. Why would you do that?’ The sarcasm is creeping into my voice, mixing with the anger that is surfacing.
‘Clare, stop. You don’t know what you’re saying.’ It’s a warning, not borne out of concern for me, but of fear for himself.
I ignore him. ‘The only reason you didn’t want anyone to know you were there would be because you have something to hide.’ I go to stand up, but my legs are wobbly and I almost stumble. ‘That party we had at the house, when we thought we were welcoming Alice home. You and her were in the garden together. You knew then, didn’t you? You knew she was Martha. What were you talking about?’
‘Sit down, you’ve had too much to drink.’
The second attempt sees me standing, but my head is swimming. ‘What did you put in my drink?’
‘Why would I put anything in your drink?’
My legs are not co-operating with my brain but I make it to the kitchen. I grab a cup from the tree mug and switch on the cold tap so hard that the water bounces back up from the sink and sprays across the work surface; I somehow manage to fill the cup. I fling open the cupboard doors until I find the one with the food in. My one good hand fumbles with the tins and packets, knocking them over. A tin of beans hits the worktop. Finally, I find what I’m looking for. Grabbing the salt pot, I flick the lid and pour it straight into the glass of water. I need to make myself sick. Whatever I’ve ingested needs to come out – and quick.
I raise the cup to my mouth, but it’s taken from me. ‘You don’t need that,’ says Tom, tipping the contents down the sink. ‘It doesn’t have to be like this, you know.’
‘What are you talking about?’ I hold onto the worktop to steady myself.
‘We could make a good team together,’ he says. ‘You must know how I feel about you.’
I frown. ‘We’re friends, Tom. Old friends. Friends since we were at school together.’
‘We’ve been more than friends, though, and we can again.’
I shake my head. ‘That was at university. It was nothing serious. We both know that. We’ve always said so.’
Tom slams the cup down so hard on the work surface that the handle comes off in his hand. He chucks it into the sink. ‘You said so. I didn’t.’
‘But, Tom, we went on and fell in love with different people. You married Isabella and I married Luke. We, me and you, we just had a student fling.’ I rub my face with my hand. Everything is totally fucked up.
‘Every time I saw you two together, you looked more and more in love. And it just reminded me how much not in love I was with Isabella.’
‘What are you hoping to achieve by all this?’
‘Do you have any idea how much maintenance I have to pay Isabella? I have to pay for that bloody great big house she lives in. Can’t be a modest two-up two-down, can it? No, it has to be a big fuck-off house in the most expensive part of Brighton. And then there’s all the things she needs for Lottie: the private riding lessons, the one-to-one swimming lessons, stage school on a Saturday, French lessons with a private tutor. I could go on and on. And on top of that, I have to live myself, pay for this place, my car, my own lifestyle.’
‘I don’t understand. What has any of this got to do with me?’
‘Luke’s cheated on you with Martha. I showed you the evidence. Leave him and we can be together.’
I laugh. ‘It doesn’t work like that. It’s not quite that simple. What about Martha? And Alice?’
‘What about them?’
I look into Tom’s eyes and all I see is a blank space. He’s totally removed from his actions. He has no sense of empathy for what’s happened to me.
And that is the thing that frightens me the most. I need to get out of here. I don’t trust Tom and what he’s capable of. My eyes give me away as I glance at the door. Tom doesn’t miss this and blocks my exit route. I don’t wait to find out what he’s going to do next. I grab a tin of beans that had fallen out of the cupboard earlier and with all the strength I can muster, I smash it into the side of his head.
He looks at me. Unmoving. A trickle of blood comes out of his nose. He raises his fingers to his lip, dabbing at the blood, before inspecting his red-stained fingers. I’m trapped against the worktop. I’m not sure if Tom is swaying or if I am. And then he falls to the floor. I let out a cry and then there’s a silence in the room.