She creeps back inside. The workshop key isn’t hanging in its normal place. Her breathing sounds horribly loud. She sneaks intothe kitchen and riffles through the drawers. There are bunches of spare keys, keys for the electricity meter, window locks, and she thinks she’ll never find what she needs but she does. A single silver key on a leather fob.
She slips out into the garden again but stops right outside the back door. She can hear footsteps. They stop. A few terrifying moments pass before she takes her chances and bolts across the short patch of lawn and unlocks the workshop, eases the door open, and slips inside. She locks the door behind her with shaking hands and feels a little bit of relief, but not much.
It’s not a strong door.
She crouches down among the wood shavings and looks around the workshop. It’s dark but she won’t turn the light on. Mark and Toby would see it. She’s not sure which of them frightens her the most.
There’s only one thing visible that might be of use to her. She stands up and takes a small axe from its hook on the wall.
The wooden handle is worn and smooth from its years of use by her dad, and holding it feels as close as she’s going to get to safety until someone comes to help her. She crouches down again and tucks herself underneath the work bench, out of sight of the window that faces the drive.
And tries to remember to breathe.
Alfie starts to grizzle and it’s only moments before the grizzle turns into a full-fledged cry.
“He’s hungry,” Ruth says. “I’ll get him a bottle.”
“I want to talk to you, Ruthie.”
“Yes, but I have to feed him!”
“I’ll help.”
Ruth sees her phone on the kitchen table. She picks it up,wanting to know if Toby’s replied, bracing herself to see his response to her accusations.
He has replied. But it’s not what she’s expecting.
At Edie’s house with Imogen. Come quick.
There’s something about the text, its wording, the brevity, the mention of Imogen and Edie, that scares her.
“I have to go,” she says.
“Where?”
“Edie’s house. Something’s wrong. Toby texted me.”
“No, Ruth. You can’t. You’re drunk.”
“I’m going.”
“How about if I drive you?”
Ruth shakes her head and passes the baby to her mother, who takes him because she’s afraid if she doesn’t, Ruth will take him with her.
Flora watches, impotent, as Ruth grabs her car keys from the hooks on the wall and heads for the door.
I shouldn’t drive, Ruth thinks, Flora’s right, but this feels like the culmination of the horror of this weekend.
She has to go.
“Ruth!” her mother calls. Frantic.
Ruth ignores her. She slams the front door behind her and runs for her car.
Flora holds the baby close to her. What have we done? she asks herself. She tries to phone Toby, but he doesn’t answer. She would try to follow Ruth, but she’s got no idea where she’s gone.
Alfie is crying hard, now. Watching his mother leave has upset him.
