“It’s fine. She’s spat most of it out on the carpet anyway, hasn’t she? I’ll have to clean that up now, won’t I?”

Ruby hardly dared to breathe. Perhaps she ought to go outside and come in again, pretend she hadn’t heard any of it. But that other part of her, the brave part, wanted to burst through the door and punch Gregor in the throat.

There was the sound of paper towels scrubbing on the rug.

“I’m sorry I shouted, baby.” It was if a switch had been flipped. This was the voice of the Gregor she knew—gentle, considered.

“I’m sorry. I just get so angry when you ask me things that we can’t do. It’s for your safety, don’t you see? This isn’t easy for me either, having you both cooped up here the whole time. I’m trying as hard as I can to find a way she can go outside safely.”

“But we could let her go out now, if it was with Ruby.”

There was a pause then, in which Ruby silently begged Constance not to bring that up again, because of how angry he’d gotten the last time. But he didn’t shout, only sighed. It seemed that the danger had passed, for now.

His voice was kind. “It’s too risky. Some nosy old neighbor would make the connection between Ruby and this flat, and then the social worker would come sniffing around. We’d no longer be safe here. And as for the coat, I wish you’d let it go. There was never a coat. You were all but naked when I found you, drugged up on something, don’t you remember? I told you before, love. You must have dreamed it. The coat doesn’t keep you in here. Your mind does that.”

His voice grew louder as he approached the door where Ruby was standing but it was too late to make any kind of move. He opened it and stopped dead.

“Oh,” she said, “Hello.” She tried to push the fear away, to look normal, not so panicked that her smile would seem fake. She could almost hear her heart pounding; perhaps he could too.

“Hello.” He narrowed his eyes at her, patted his pockets for his phone but didn’t find it. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Sorry, I just came in. Is everything alright?”

He pulled the door shut behind him, took her to one side, whispered in her ear, his breath moist against her skin. “She’s ranting about that coat again. Will you be okay, do you think? I need to go out for a few hours. Can you keep Constance company, and make sure nothing happens? Not that it would. But just in case.”

Her skin bristled in revulsion at the closeness. She wanted to push him away; only a primitive kind of self-preservation prevented her. “Sure.”