‘What?’ asked Daniel.
‘Quick. The remote,’ I said.
Unearthing the remote from a pile of papers on the coffee table, Daniel handed it to me. ‘Are you all right, Olivia?’
‘No.’ My heart thudded in my chest as my fingers found the rewind button.
Pausing the picture, I stopped the tape on one frame. There. Behind Emily, talking to Kate in the crowd was a familiar face, his gaze snapping back towards Emily, intent and fixed on her.
Around his neck was a red scarf, knotted casually at the throat. My hands clenched involuntarily. I knew the softness of that scarf — the suppleness of the cashmere. I felt cold, all the way to my bones. The last time Emily or I had seen that scarf it had been hanging on the newel post in the flat.
My teeth nibbled the edge of my fist, biting hard into the flesh. I felt sick, stomach churningly sick. That damp print on the carpet. Christ, he had been there while I slept.
‘My God, it was him in the flat,’ I whispered, staring wide-eyed with horror at the screen. ‘He’s been in our house!’
Daniel’s forehead creased. ‘What? Who’s been in the flat?’ he asked harshly.
I hesitated for a moment. How much should I tell him? Emily might have done the dirty on me but I didn’t feel comfortable about telling Daniel about her going on a speed-date behind his back. How would he feel?
Daniel’s expression became stern and stony faced. ‘Olivia, what the hell is going on? You never did explain the brick.’ He gave my shoulders an impatient shake. ‘What kind of trouble are you in?’
His eyes held mine, glinting angrily. ‘That broken window was no accident. You know, don’t you?’
‘I told you the married man doesn’t exist,’ I said, deliberately stalling for time not wanting to tell him the full story. Now that I’d seen Peter on the tape, I knew we should have taken his emails more seriously.
‘What’s the story this time, Olivia?’ Daniel’s voice had gone dangerously quiet.
His face was level with mine but I couldn’t look at him.
‘You’re going to have to tell me,’ he said firmly in a soft voice. I met his angry stare and pursed my lips.
Looking at his grim face, I knew this time nothing less than the truth would do. Quickly I told him all about the speed-date, Peter’s emails and the missing scarf.
Worrying at the fingernail on my index finger, I watched him with a sinking heart. I wanted to hide. I felt really small. This time he had every right to be angry.
‘Why the hell didn’t you tell anyone?’ he yelled. I’d never seen him like this before. ‘He’d thrown the brick through your window! You had to go to hospital!’
‘I wasn’t sure it was him,’ I said in a small voice. ‘There was no proof.’
‘Bloody hell. How could you be so fucking irresponsible?’ he hissed, stalking up and down the room, kicking angrily at the rug curling up under the sofa.
I’d never heard him swear quite like that before, certainly not at me and not at 95,000 decibels.
‘For God’s sake you’re an intelligent woman! What if he’d let himself in when you were there?’
I bit my lip nervously, dying to put my hand over my ears. Now was not the time to confess that Peter had once.
‘We have to phone the police. You need to get the locks changed.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Today,’ he barked, as I stood there, the remote control limply hanging from my hand.
That was the final straw, all the time he’d been shouting at me, I’d stayed calm. Now I lost it but not very convincingly. Seeing Peter had really shaken me up.
‘Don’t shout at me?’ I yelled back, my voice wobbling. ‘It was Emily’s fault.’ My voice broke slightly.
‘Leave Emily out of this for the time being,’ he snapped, ignoring the tremors in my voice.
‘I can’t you . . . you . . . big dickhead. She’s Walter Mitty, not me.’
That shut him up for a moment.
