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He does as she asks, perching on the edge of the sofa. She sits next to him; the boyfriend folds his arms across his chest and watches, his face stern.
The energy between the two of them is odd. Adam feels the tension, a divergence. Because of him being there? He’s not sure.
“Where was she?” Romilly starts. “Had she been …”
“Jamie found her. At home.” Romilly stares at him, not understanding. “The killer took her back there. Posed her in their bed.”
Romilly’s hands go to her mouth. “Oh God,” she says. “Oh, poor Jamie. How is he?”
“How you’d expect. Devastated.”
“And how are you?”
Adam clears his throat. He looks down at his hands. “I’m fine,” he replies. “Just want to catch this bastard.”
Romilly looks at her boyfriend. “Phil, could you make us a cup of tea?” The man doesn’t move. “Please?” she asks again.
He stares at Adam, then does as he’s asked.
The two of them sit in silence for a moment. Not much has changed since Adam lived there with Romilly. The sofas are the same. The coffee table is the same. Furniture Adam helped pay for. Everything he left behind when he and Romilly split up.
He sees small differences. Books on the shelf that Romilly would never read. Tom Clancy, John Grisham. Autobiographies from sportsmen and women. A jumper left over the arm of a chair. A painting on the wall that Adam doesn’t like.
“Adam?” she tries again. “Talk to me.”
The differences in the room only reinforce how much everything has changed between them. “I’m fine,” he says again. He forces a smile. “I’m used to this.”
“But it’s our friend that’s died. Your best mate has lost his wife.”
“I’m more than aware of that, thank you.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Adam.”
“Wasn’t it?” he snaps. “Whose was it then?”
But Romilly doesn’t shy away from his tone. “You did everything you could.”
“I didn’t. I didn’t listen to you. If I had … I might have … We could have got to the house in time. And I keep on thinking, what did I miss? I should have put pressure on the lab to go faster. Allocated more resource to CCTV. What is this guy leaving behind that we’re not seeing? What am I doing wrong?”
Romilly’s still staring at him.
“Adam,” she says gently, “you didn’t abduct Pippa. You didn’t kill her. Don’t blame yourself.”
He looks at her. At the face he knows so well. Romilly is the only person he’s ever been able to be honest with. She met him at his most vulnerable. When his defenses were down and he had no option but to disclose what he was thinking. And he’d love to spill everything, right now in the place he used to call home. To share the sinking sensation in his gut, the nerves that won’t shift. How he can’t face Jamie, knowing he’s let his best mate down in the worst possible way. That all he fucking wants to do is find this guy and stick a knife in his gut.
But he hears the kettle boiling in the other room. The chink of a spoon in a mug. Romilly realizes what he’s thinking and looks in the direction of her boyfriend.
“We could go somewhere else?” she says. “Go for a walk? Get out of here.”
“No, no. I just wanted to let you know that she … that Pippa …” He stands up quickly. He feels like he’s going to cry. But he can’t. He walks quickly toward the door; he hears Romilly behind him.
“Adam …” she says as he opens the lock on the front door. It sticks, as it always had, and he pulls hard.
“Thank you, Milly,” he says. He turns, looks at her. He sees her boyfriend watching from the room behind. “I’ll be in touch.”
And he walks quickly away. From the house where he lived as a married man. From the last place he was happy, with the woman he loved more than anyone else.
He can’t let her back in. He can’t let himself trust her again, not after what she did. Nobody can be relied on, not her, not his parents. And they come back to him now, the memory of his childhood. Sitting scared, shaking in an unfamiliar room, with strangers bustling around. His mother’s words: “I will never leave you. I love you. I promise I will always be here for you, no matter what happens.”
