The air is thrust out of me as my back slams against the wall, Tom’s hand grasped tight around my throat. His face has changed completely. He looks demonic. Unrecognisable.

‘Tom, I can’t breathe,’ I croak, the air barely able leave my mouth. I hear the blood pounding in my ears as the edges of my vision start to turn black, and I feel my life slipping away. Inside, I’m panicking. ‘Tom. Please.’

His eyes are cold, and I see something in them that I’ve never seen before. It’s almost as if they’ve changed colour and he’s been possessed by another being.

I feel my legs start to weaken, and my stomach lurches. Just as I’m about to finally lose consciousness, his grip weakens and I hit the floor.

I lie there for a few moments, unsure what’s going on, my body adjusting back to reality. There’s a piercing screech in my ears and the taste of blood in my throat. The first thing I notice is Tom’s suitcase being wheeled in front of my face. As he speaks, his voice is distant, almost robotic.

‘I’m going to the airport now, Grace. Goodbye.’

32

I don’t know how long I lie there, but I know there’s no point in chasing him. By the time I’ve realised what’s happening, he’s left the house and has probably already got his case in the car. Meanwhile, I’m left struggling for breath, barely able to stand if I do get up, and completely unable to either run or drive after him.

On top of all of that, I’m left stunned at what just happened. Part of me thinks I must have imagined it, but I know I didn’t. It was too real.

He’s never reacted like that before. Did I say something out of order? I try to go back over our conversation, but the exact words are out of reach. We were talking about his ex and his daughter, I remember that much. What the hell did I say to make him react like that?

Another part of me tells me it’s crazy to blame it on myself in any way whatsoever. There’s never an excuse for that. But it’s so out of character for him. It’s not normal. It’s not Tom.

All of these thoughts, and plenty more, go through my mind as I slowly prop myself up on my elbows — one of them still sore from falling over at the wedding — and gradually onto my backside, before I perch on the stairs and try to recover.

My head is swimming. I’m an absolute mess. I need to do something. Am I meant to call the police now? No, that’s ridiculous. I can’t do that. It was just a stupid argument. I love him. I need to sober up. This is going to hurt like hell in the morning. I’m going to have one hell of a hangover. Tom won’t be here. He’s gone. What time is it? How can I sort this out? I need to eat something. I need to have a drink. Coffee. That’s meant to sober you up, isn’t it? I don’t drink coffee, can’t stand the stuff, but they always give people black coffee on the TV when they’ve had too much to drink. Black coffee on the TV. Heh. I think about pouring it all over the screen. Funny. No, not funny. There’s nothing funny about this. This is crazy. You need to sober up. He just fucking strangled you. Walked out. He’s gone. Might never come back. You need to go after him. Stupid. Can’t do that. No way to do it. Won’t let you in an airport now. Not now you’re drunk and bleeding. Elbow’s a mess. Head’s a mess. Life’s a mess. Need to make that coffee. That’ll help.