_OceanofPDF.com_The_Girl_on_the_Train_-_Paula_Hawkins

met in a crappy coffee shop in Ashbury and talked for twenty minutes—
half an hour, tops. OK?”
He puts his arms around me and pulls me towards his chest. I try to
resist him, but he’s stronger than me, and anyway he smells great and I
don’t want a fight. I want us to be on the same side. “I’m sorry,” he
mumbles again, into my hair.
“It’s all right,” I say.
I let him get away with it, because I’m dealing with this now. I spoke
to Detective Riley yesterday evening, and I knew the moment we started
talking that I’d done the right thing by calling her, because when I told
her that I’d seen Rachel leaving Scott Hipwell’s house “on several
occasions” (a slight exaggeration), she seemed very interested. She
wanted to know dates and times (I could furnish her with two; I was
vague about the other incidents), if they’d had a relationship prior to
Megan Hipwell’s disappearance, whether I thought they were in a sexual
relationship now. I have to say the thought hadn’t really crossed my mind
—I can’t imagine him going from Megan to Rachel. In any case, his
wife’s barely cold in the ground.
I went over the stuff about Evie as well—the attempted abduction—
just in case she’d forgotten.
“She’s very unstable,” I said. “You might think I’m overreacting, but I
can’t take any risks where my family is concerned.”
“Not at all,” she said. “Thank you very much for contacting me. If
you see anything else that you consider suspicious, let me know.”
I’ve no idea what they’ll do about her—perhaps just warn her off?
It’ll help, in any case, if we do start looking into things like restraining
orders. Hopefully, for Tom’s sake, it won’t come to that.
After Tom leaves for work, I take Evie to the park, we play on the
swings and the little wooden rocking horses, and when I put her back
into her buggy she falls asleep almost immediately, which is my cue to
go shopping. We cut through the back streets towards the big
Sainsbury’s. It’s a bit of a roundabout way of getting there, but it’s quiet,
with very little traffic, and in any case we get to pass number thirty-four
Cranham Road.
It gives me a little frisson even now, walking past that house—
butterflies suddenly swarm in my stomach, and a smile comes to my lips
and colour to my cheeks. I remember hurrying up the front steps, hoping
none of the neighbours would see me letting myself in, getting myself
ready in the bathroom, putting on perfume, the kind of underwear you