I didn’t feel an immediate sense of relief. I didn’t really know what to feel.
Sam was alive, for now, but he was coming home to this, to Donovan, to the horror and violence that had invaded our sanctuary.
The station announcement had said his train was at South Kensington. So call it, what, twenty minutes on the Tube? A five-minute walk after that?
And then Sam would be here.
I knew I had to do something, but I didn’t know what I could do.
My body was bent and bowed, my teeth hurt, my lip stung, my skull was throbbing and I was so anxious I felt as if someone had stamped on my chest.
But I was concentrating as hard as I ever had. I was desperately looking for a way out.
Which is when Donovan brushed past me into the living area, closing Sam’s keys in his fist and then slipping them into his right trouser pocket.
Not good.
When Sam got home, he wouldn’t be able to let himself in. He’d have to ring the doorbell, the same as John, and Donovan would be ready for him.
Which I guessed was his intention.
I stared at the door, wondering if whoever was following Sam would come in and join Donovan, too. Then I turned and looked up towards the landing. Bethany was up there in the attic. Alone. Was she OK? Would she be OK?
‘Sit down, Lucy.’
‘I want to check on Bethany first.’
‘No. Enough delaying. Sit.’
He took up a position in front of the sofa facing the coffee table, gesturing at the statement chair to the left of the fireplace.
The chair was an accent piece with cream bouclé fabric nestled next to a potted cheese plant. Sam and I had chosen it together from a furniture shop on Tottenham Court Road, close to the shop where I’d been working when we’d first met. Sam hadn’t been sure about the colour to begin with. He’d thought it might stain too easily.
Coldness rinsed through me as I imagined the sticky bleed at the back of my skull mingling with the cream fabric.
I looked up towards the landing one last time, hating the idea of leaving Bethany up there alone, then turned and walked stiffly into the living area, moving past the chair Donovan had suggested and perching on the arm of the chair closest to the bay window instead.
Donovan stared at me flatly, as if my minor rebellion didn’t surprise or bother him a great deal.
‘So, the party. Tell me about the roof. The details. Everything you remember.’
Everything I remembered.
I drew another cramping breath, running my tongue over my aching teeth, a sudden, dizzying lightness filling my head the way I sometimes get if I skip lunch.
For a while now I’d tried never to think about that night. I’d done everything I could to move on from it.
That was when a digitized ping cut through the air.
I stiffened as Donovan raised his phone and checked the screen.
‘What is it?’ I whispered. ‘Is that a message about Sam?’
‘The lab I sent your DNA to confirming receipt. They’re going to run a rapid test.’
I stared at him.
I could feel my blood draining out from my extremities, pooling around my heart.
My mind flared momentarily, the same way it had when my head had hit the sink.
‘Why are you doing this to us?’ I asked.
‘Talk,’ he said, sitting down on the green velvet sofa across from me. ‘About the party. Start now or you and I are going to be taking a trip back next door to see John again before Sam gets home, and this time I won’t be nearly so civil.’