Leonie shuffled off, back toward the box.

When Ruby turned to Constance, she was gazing intently into Ruby’s eyes. The kettle was loud. “You’re the girl from over there,” said Constance, pointing at the drapes. “I saw you.”

Ruby went cold. “Yes, you’re right. I wasn’t spying or anything. I’ve got insomnia, so I’m up at funny hours. Sorry if I—”

“And is what he said right? You’re a musician?”

“Yes. Do you like music?”

On the stereo, the Elgar reached a crescendo at the same time as the kettle, and Constance leaned in.

“What’s he told you about me and Leonie?” She spoke with an edge of, what, panic? Desperation? Ruby felt accused, as if she’d been gossiping.

“Nothing, really,” said Ruby.

“Nothing?” Constance made a face indicating that she clearly didn’t believe her. “He didn’t say anything about where I came from? About the sea?”

She couldn’t tell Constance what he’d said to her about the beach party and the one-night stand that resulted in the pregnancy—it suddenly seemed so personal.

“We didn’t talk for long. He just said that you were together, and now you’re not, but you live together for the baby’s sake.”

Constance closed her eyes momentarily, as if the revelation pained her somehow. When she opened them, they were clear and full of determination. She reached out a hand and placed it on Ruby’s wrist, gripping her, holding her there when Ruby recoiled, tried to pull away. The concerto ended just as the kettle clicked off, so that the only sounds were Leonie dropping wooden bricks from the box onto the floor, and in the other room, the pouring of water from kettle to mug. “Did you believe him?” Almost a whisper now.

From the kitchen: “Do you take milk, Ruby?”

Ruby kept her eyes on Constance. “Do you take milk?” “Did you believe him?”

“Yes,” she said, to both of them, though when Constance’s face fell, she wasn’t sure anymore that it was the right answer.

CHAPTER

14

NOW

Joanna

Saturday, December 22, early morning

THE MOMENT SHE was out of Mrs. Stefanidis’s flat, Jo tried Ruby’s new number. In the seconds before it connected, hope soared in her breast, only to be crushed by the recorded message: This person’s phone is turned off.