_OceanofPDF.com_The_Girl_on_the_Train_-_Paula_Hawkins

this in my house. I cannot have . . .” She tails off, but she’s looking back
down the hall, towards the stairs.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m so sorry, I was just really ill and I meant to
clear it up—”
“You weren’t ill, were you? You were drunk. You were hungover. I’m
sorry, Rachel. I just can’t have this. I cannot live like this. You have to
go, OK? I’ll give you four weeks to find somewhere else, but then you
have to go.” She turns around and walks towards her bedroom. “And for
the love of God, will you clean up that mess?” She slams her bedroom
door behind her.
After I’ve finished cleaning up, I go back to my room. Cathy’s
bedroom door is still closed, but I can feel her quiet rage radiating
through it. I can’t blame her. I’d be furious if I came home to piss-soaked
knickers and a puddle of vomit on the stairs. I sit down on the bed and
flip open my laptop, log in to my email account and start to compose a
note to my mother. I think, finally, the time has come. I have to ask her
for help. If I moved home, I wouldn’t be able to go on like this, I would
have to change, I would have to get better. I can’t think of the words,
though, I can’t think of a way to explain this to her. I can picture her face
as she reads my plea for help, the sour disappointment, the exasperation.
I can almost hear her sigh.
My phone beeps. There’s a message on it, received hours ago. It’s
Tom again. I don’t want to hear what he has to say, but I have to, I can’t
ignore him. My heartbeat quickens as I dial into my voice mail, bracing
myself for the worst.
“Rachel, will you phone me back?” He doesn’t sound so angry any
longer, and my heartbeat slows a little. “I want to make sure you got
home all right. You were in some state last night.” A long, heartfelt sigh.
“Look. I’m sorry that I yelled last night, that things got a bit . . .
overheated. I do feel sorry for you, Rachel, I really do, but this has just
got to stop.”
I play the message a second time, listening to the kindness in his
voice, and the tears come. It’s a long time before I stop crying, before
I’m able to compose a text message to him saying I’m very sorry, I’m at
home now. I can’t say anything else because I don’t know what exactly it
is I’m sorry for. I don’t know what I did to Anna, how I frightened her. I
don’t honestly care that much, but I do care about making Tom unhappy.
After everything he’s been through, he deserves to be happy. I will never
begrudge him happiness—I only wish it could be with me.