_OceanofPDF.com_The_Girl_on_the_Train_-_Paula_Hawkins

things worse. I have to keep reminding myself that I’m trying to do the
right thing.
I stop walking and turn to face him—he’s standing very close to me.
He puts his hands on my hips. “Here?” he asks. “Is this what you
want?” He looks bored.
“No,” I say, pulling away from him. “Not that.”
The path descends a little here. I slow down, but he matches my
stride.
“What then?”
Deep breath. My throat still hurts. “I’m pregnant.”
There’s no reaction at all—his face is completely blank. I could be
telling him that I need to go to Sainsbury’s on the way home, or that I’ve
got a dentist’s appointment.
“Congratulations,” he says eventually.
Another deep breath. “Tom, I’m telling you this because . . . well,
because there’s a possibility that the child could be yours.”
He stares at me for a few moments, then laughs. “Oh? Lucky me. So
what—we’re going to run away, the three of us? You, me and the baby?
Where was it we were going? Spain?”
“I thought you should know, because—”
“Have an abortion,” he says. “I mean, if it’s your husband’s, do what
you want. But if it’s mine, get rid of it. Seriously, let’s not be stupid
about this. I don’t want another kid.” He runs his fingers down the side
of my face. “And I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’re really motherhood
material, are you, Megs?”
“You can be as involved as you like—”
“Did you hear what I just said?” he snaps, turning his back on me and
striding back up the path towards the car. “You’d be a terrible mother,
Megan. Just get rid of it.”
I go after him, walking quickly at first and then running, and when I
get close enough I shove him in the back. I’m yelling at him, screaming,
trying to scratch his fucking smug face, and he’s laughing, fending me
off with ease. I start saying the worst things I can think of. I insult his
manhood, his boring wife, his ugly child.
I don’t even know why I’m so angry, because what did I expect?
Anger, maybe, worry, upset. Not this. It’s not even rejection, it’s
dismissal. All he wants is for me to go away—me and my child—and so
I tell him, I scream at him, “I’m not going away. I am going to make you
pay for this. For the rest of your bloody life, you’re going to be paying
for this.”