Then She Vanishes(40)

I’m surrounded by mess: chopped vegetables on the counter, noodles spilling out of an opened bag, the carcass of a waxy pepper and its core. The wok is too hot and some beansprouts and chicken strips are sticking to the base, already burned, but I dump the noodles in regardless. A stir-fry. How hard can that be? Bloody hard as it turns out.

‘You’re supposed to keep stirring,’ says a voice, over my shoulder. I jump. Rory’s home too early. I didn’t hear him come in. This was supposed to be a surprise.

‘I hate cooking,’ I mumble, picking up a spatula and prodding the noodles, feeling sweat prickle under my armpits.

He laughs in my ear, wrapping his arms around my waist. ‘I’ve noticed.’ He spins me around so that I’m facing him. He’s still wearing his coat and his nose is red with the cold. I can smell rain on him. ‘But it’s the thought that counts. And you know stir-fries are my favourite.’ He kisses me.

I bat him away good-naturedly, turning back to the cooking. ‘You’re distracting me.’

‘Okay, okay. I’m going to take my coat off. I’ll leave you in peace.’ He retreats with his coat folded over his arms.

He’s in a good mood. The job must be going well. I’m going to tell him. Once I’ve finished making his favourite food and opened a bottle of wine, I’m going to be honest about everything. I know I wasn’t being paranoid earlier in Queen Square. That man had been following me, and when he saw I’d noticed he turned and went back in the opposite direction. If it is Adam, then why? What does he want from me?

We sit at Aoife’s little round table in the dining-room end of the open-plan kitchen-sitting room, with a view of the river. Rory makes a good stab at the food despite its charcoal aftertaste. He knows I’ve done this for him. He holds my hand across the table and tells me about his day in one of the tougher Bristol schools and uses words like ‘rewarding’ and ‘challenges’. All the while the food churns in my stomach and I hardly touch my wine.

Rory’s always been honest with me about what he wants. Marriage, and babies, a big, happy, bustling family like the one he came from. He wants loyalty and honesty; he doesn’t believe in lying. Even little white lies. Once, I didn’t want to go out with his university friends. It wasn’t that I don’t like them: they’re good fun and I love hearing stories about what they got up to when they all shared a house together. They called Rory Mrs Mopp because he was the one who cooked and cleaned. But on that particular night I was tired and just wanted to stay in and watch TV. I asked him to make an excuse for me, but he didn’t. He told them the truth when they came by to pick us up. ‘Sorry, mate, Jessie would rather stay in and watch Mad Men tonight,’ while I squirmed. Rory didn’t mind. He was good-natured about it and went out anyway. ‘I don’t see the point of lying,’ he’d said, when I’d questioned him about it afterwards. And I love that. Really, I do. But sometimes it’s a lot to live up to.

I take a deep breath. ‘I need to be honest with you. I’ve done something,’ I begin.

His face falls, the fork to his lips. ‘Oh, God. What have you done? Have you poisoned the food?’ He laughs.

‘Rory. Be serious. This is important.’

‘Okay, okay.’ He takes a forkful of noodles, his eyes shining.

‘I lied to you,’ I blurt out, ‘about why we left London.’ And then I tell him everything, about the phone hacking and Wayne Walker and his threats and how I think he – or someone – may be following me now.

His eyes widen and he swallows. ‘You got sacked?’

‘I was lucky I didn’t get arrested,’ I say, putting my fork down.

‘So we left London and my job – which I loved – so that you could run away?’ He puts his fork down, too.

‘More of a fresh start,’ I mutter. ‘Not running away. As such.’

‘And this Wayne guy? You think he’s followed you here?’

‘I don’t know,’ I admit. ‘I feel like I’m being followed.’

He leans back in his chair. ‘Jesus. Phone hacking. What were you thinking?’ And there it is. That look. The look I’ve been dreading. He’s seeing me for who I really am. He’s not going to want to marry me, or have babies with me, or any of the other things he’s planned and I feel … relieved.

‘It’s better that you know now … who I really am.’

His frown deepens. ‘What are you talking about? You’re not a bloody murderer. You made a mistake. Wayne Walker should never have threatened you like that anyway, regardless.’

‘But I lied.’

‘I know. And it makes me feel sad that you weren’t honest with me at the time. But, Jess, why are you telling me this now?’ And then it dawns on him. He’s not stupid, my Rory. ‘You’ve found the ring, haven’t you?’

That sodding ring. The antique ruby ring I’d stupidly admired in that boutique in Clifton during the summer. Ever since I found it nestled in his underwear drawer a few weeks ago, I’ve been waiting for the proposal. And I’m just not ready. I’m not ready to settle down and become somebody’s wife. Why can’t things stay as they are?

‘I wasn’t snooping. I was looking for some socks.’ He knows I’m always stealing his socks, even if they are too big, as one of mine always seems to go missing.