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Tom sees it, then, in the man’s hand, a sharp blade, a camping knife, the edge serrated and vicious. ‘Take whatever you want,’ he says. ‘I don’t care. Please, don’t hurt me.’
He badly needs to sit down. The dizziness has returned. It’s impossible to stay upright any longer. He doesn’t care what this guy does so long as he leaves Tom intact. All he wants is his life with Nicole. He turns to walk back to the sunlounger, each step harder than the last. His body feels as if it’s as broken as the house system, no signals getting through, stubbornly malfunctioning. He staggers, half falls, and rights himself.
He hears the man’s footsteps approach but can’t bring himself to look behind him. It doesn’t feel possible, physically. He stares at the ground to keep himself upright, watches his feet land flat-footed on the decking. Raising his head is out of the question.
The man’s feet appear in front of him. ‘Please,’ Tom says. ‘I’m not feeling so good.’ He steps to the side, but the man mirrors his movement, blocking his way. Tom sees the knife dangling from his hand and knows he should feel fear, or terror, or something in that realm of emotion, but all he feels is terribly vulnerable and extremely sad.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ the man asks.
Tom forces himself to look up, to meet those bloodshot eyes. He touches his hairline. ‘I hit my fucking head,’ he says. He makes a gesture of frustration. ‘I was hiding a sheep.’
‘What?’
‘Help me,’ Tom says. ‘Take what you want but help me sit down.’
He feels as if the scaffolding of his body is collapsing. He’s going to fall, hard.
‘I’m a nice guy,’ he says. ‘Don’t hurt me. My wife.’
He can’t get another word out. He collapses towards the man, falling forward, seeing the knife rise in the other’s hand, and shuts his eyes. Whatever’s coming next, he doesn’t want to see it.
When he next opens his eyes, he’s lying on the sunbed in full sun. He groans. It’s very bright. He shuts his eyes, and for a few moments they flicker open and shut until he can stand the light and the blueness of the sky, the chalky whiteness at its edges.
Swivelling his head is painful. His brain is soup. The Three Tenors are still singing. A dark shadow blocks the light to his left. Someone. Sitting on the sunbed. The man? Tom feels an urge to talk, to explain. He has something he wants to get off his chest.
‘You see, we did win the lottery,’ Tom says. ‘Recently. And it changed everything, but I also realised it changed nothing because we already had that thing, that thing where you can be happy anywhere if it’s just the two of you. Nicole doesn’t see it like I do. She’s looking for other ways to be happy, she wants to be thinner, she wants to have a house that other people admire, she’s not ready to listen to me when I tell her none of it matters.’
He squints at the silhouette. Is it the man? A dragonfly hovers above his face and Tom tries to bat it away. It hurts to stare into the brightness, so he shuts his eyes again.
He wants to talk more, to share the things he’s been thinking about. ‘The thing is,’ he says, ‘I love her. She’s all I want. They can take the pool and the Maserati, the smart house, the golf clubs, the cinema room, they can take it all. You can take it all. All I want is Nicole.’
Why isn’t the man replying? Is he even there?
‘I think I need to go to A&E,’ he says. ‘Now.’
He touches his face. It’s wet with tears.
65
FRIDAY
Jen
Jen sits in the car rental office with a young man. The place is on an industrial estate on the outside of Chepstow.
‘I was here when he brought the car back yesterday,’ he says.
‘Do you remember what time that was?’
He checks the computer. ‘He brought it back at six, just before closing.’
A few hours after we told him to leave the Barn, Jen thinks. She wonders what Patrick did in the meantime.
‘Did you speak to him?’
‘No, but I saw him.’
‘Did any of your colleagues speak to him?’
