_OceanofPDF.com_The_Girl_on_the_Train_-_Paula_Hawkins

Rachel sighs and gets to her feet. “You know this isn’t just about an
affair, Anna. I know that you know.”
“We don’t know anything,” I say, and it comes out in a whisper.
“She got into the car with him. That night. I saw her. I didn’t
remember it—I thought at first it was you,” she says. “But I remember. I
remember now.”
“No.” Evie’s sticky little hand presses against my mouth.
“We have to speak to the police, Anna.” She takes a step towards me.
“Please. You can’t stay here with him.”
Despite the sun, I’m shivering. I’m trying to think of the last time
Megan came to the house, the look on his face when she said that she
couldn’t work for us any longer. I’m trying to remember whether he
looked pleased or disappointed. Unbidden, a different image comes into
my head: one of the first times she came to look after Evie. I was
supposed to be going out to meet the girls, but I was so tired, so I went
upstairs to sleep. Tom must have come home while I was up there,
because they were together when I came downstairs. She was leaning
against the counter, and he was standing a bit too close to her. Evie was
in the high chair, she was crying and neither of them were looking at her.
I feel very cold. Did I know then that he wanted her? Megan was
blond and beautiful—she was like me. So yes, I probably knew that he
wanted her, just like I know when I walk down the street that there are
married men with their wives at their sides and their children in their
arms who look at me and think about it. So perhaps I did know. He
wanted her, he took her. But not this. He couldn’t do this.
Not Tom. A lover, husband twice over. A father. A good father, an
uncomplaining provider.
“You loved him,” I remind her. “You still love him, don’t you?”
She shakes her head, but there’s no conviction there.
“You do. And you know . . . you know that this isn’t possible.”
I stand up, hauling Evie up with me, and move closer to her. “He
couldn’t have, Rachel. You know he couldn’t have done this. You
couldn’t love a man who would do that, could you?”
“But I did,” she says. “We both did.” There are tears on her cheeks.
She wipes them away, and as she does so something in her expression
changes and her face loses all colour. She’s not looking at me, but over
my shoulder, and as I turn around to follow her gaze, I see him at the
kitchen window, watching us.