_OceanofPDF.com_The_Girl_on_the_Train_-_Paula_Hawkins

out, filling the space between us, the whole room; it rang in my ears, and
I felt hot and uncomfortable, my mind suddenly blank. I didn’t know
what I was doing there. Why on earth had I come? In the distance, I
heard a low rumbling—the train was coming. It felt comforting, that old
sound.
“You’re a friend of Megan’s?” he said at last.
Hearing her name from his lips brought a lump to my throat. I stared
down at the table, my hands wrapped tightly around the mug.
“Yes,” I said. “I know her . . . a little. From the gallery.”
He looked at me, waiting, expectant. I could see the muscle flex in his
jaw as he clenched his teeth. I searched for words that wouldn’t come. I
should have prepared better.
“Have you had any news?” I asked. His gaze held mine, and for a
second I felt afraid. I’d said the wrong thing; it was none of my business
whether there was any news. He would be angry, he’d ask me to leave.
“No,” he said. “What was it that you wanted to tell me?”
The train rolled slowly past and I looked out towards the tracks. I felt
dizzy, as though I were having an out-of-body experience, as though I
were looking out at myself.
“You said in your email that you wanted to tell me something about
Megan.” The pitch of his voice raised a little.
I took a deep breath. I felt awful. I was acutely aware that what I was
about to say was going to make everything worse, was going to hurt him.
“I saw her with someone,” I said. I just blurted it out, blunt and loud
with no buildup, no context.
He stared at me. “When? You saw her on Saturday night? Have you
told the police?”
“No, it was Friday morning,” I said, and his shoulders slumped.
“But . . . she was fine on Friday. Why is that important?” That pulse in
his jaw went again, he was becoming angry. “You saw her with . . . you
saw her with who? With a man?”
“Yes, I—”
“What did he look like?” He got to his feet, his body blocking the
light. “Have you told the police?” he asked again.
“I did, but I’m not sure they took me very seriously,” I said.
“Why?”
“I just . . . I don’t know . . . I thought you should know.”
He leaned forward, his hands on the table, clenched into fists. “What
are you saying? You saw her where? What was she doing?”