_OceanofPDF.com_The_Girl_on_the_Train_-_Paula_Hawkins

think. I keep trying to grasp at it, to hold on to it, but the harder I
struggle, the fainter and the further away it gets.
WEDNESDAY, JULY 24, 2013
MORNING
I’m woken by a soft tapping at the door. Rain batters against the
windows; it’s after eight but still seems dark outside. Cathy pushes the
door gently open and peers into the room.
“Rachel? Are you all right?” She catches sight of the bottle next to my
bed and her shoulders sag. “Oh, Rachel.” She comes across to my bed
and picks up the bottle. I’m too embarrassed to say anything. “Are you
not going into work?” she asks me. “Did you go yesterday?”
She doesn’t wait for me to answer, just turns to go, calling back as she
does, “You’ll end up getting yourself sacked if you carry on like this.”
I should just say it now, she’s already angry with me. I should go after
her and tell her: I was sacked months ago for turning up blind drunk after
a three-hour lunch with a client during which I managed to be so rude
and unprofessional that I cost the firm his business. When I close my
eyes, I can still remember the tail end of that lunch, the look on the
waitress’s face as she handed me my jacket, weaving into the office,
people turning to look. Martin Miles taking me to one side. I think you
should probably go home, Rachel.
There is a crack of thunder, a flash of light. I jolt upright. What was it
I thought of last night? I check my little black book, but I haven’t written
anything down since midday yesterday: notes about Kamal—age,
ethnicity, conviction for domestic violence. I pick up a pen and cross out
that last point.
Downstairs, I make myself a cup of coffee and turn on the TV. The
police held a press conference last night, they’re showing clips from it on
Sky News. Detective Inspector Gaskill’s up there, looking pale and gaunt
and chastened. Hangdog. He never mentions Kamal’s name, just says
that a suspect had been detained and questioned, but has been released
without charge and that the investigation is ongoing. The cameras pan
away from him to Scott, sitting hunched and uncomfortable, blinking in
the light of the cameras, his face a twist of anguish. It hurts my heart to
see him. He speaks softly, his eyes cast down. He says that he has not