Page 173 of These Tears

To my hand.

To the ring.

‘Well…’ she says with a voice as mild as the coffee steaming between us. ‘You are here.’

The lie coils tight around my finger. It suddenly doesn’t feel like mere jewellery, but something closer to evidence.

My gaze hooks to the milk carton as I curl my fist, then rub at my knuckles as if the cold has suddenly found its way beneath my skin. ‘Indeed.’

‘I became a social worker because of him, you know.’

I almost choke on the next intake of air. She says it so casually, then adds, ‘Before the shelter thing.’

‘Really?’ I ask, trying not to be too interested as I steady the mug in my hand.

She nods with a smile and takes a sip of her coffee, then flinches. ‘Ooph, more milk for me, please?’

Picking up the carton, I tilt it over the rim where she holds it close, letting the silence stretch while my pulse beats so hard it feels as if it’s about to run off with my sanity.

‘Jakob is a good man,’ she tells me quietly.

The milk container buckles slightly beneath my fingers.

‘We understand. We’re close to him. Well, as close as he’ll let us,’ she starts chattering again. ‘It hasn’t been easy for him. I’m hoping one day he’ll open up.’

I’m tempted to ask her if he’d opened up to her and how many times that had happened, but it’s just the demons Elias recognised earlier – the ones Ron had left behind in me.

I grind my molars to banish at least one of them.

‘That bitch really did a number on him,’ Inga says.

The carton finally slips from my hand and knocks against the enamel.

My blood roars straight into my ears as I begin to straighten the small disaster.

For someone who works with people who have been hurt, she says it with terrifying certainty.

I clear my throat and mop the remaining spatters of milk from the table, reminding myself that I’m supposedly Elias’ fiancée. I should know these things.

‘Yes,’ I say simply, not wanting to push too far and show her just how little I know about Elias Crane – Jakob Halvorsen.

‘You know, I’m just happy she retracted the allegation before it did more damage, or else I swear I’d be taking the first plane…’ She is still speaking. But my ears are ringing too loudly to catch the rest.

Then one word cuts through.

‘Rapist?’ Inga scoffs, as if the word itself is filth she refuses to leave on him. ‘Jakob?’

I swallow the bile that rises within a heartbeat.

‘I’ve never known a gentler soul. He wouldn’t hurt anyone,’ she might have said.

I can’t focus.

She works herself up until she has crowded me away from the table without seeming to notice, taking over the mugs and rearranging them with restless hands.

‘I always felt like she wanted something from him,’ she adds, her eyes narrowed.

Her words keep coming, but they no longer arrive as sentences.