“Yeah, and then you betrayed me. I want nothing to do with either of you. The papers!” He shoved her into the flat, positioning himself in the doorway so she couldn’t slam the door.

Val scooped them quickly into a plastic bag. She just wanted him gone. So far Nicole had slept through the encounter, but she couldn’t risk him turning on his daughter next.

Tony took the bag and checked the contents quickly. “If there’s anything missing, I’ll be back,” he warned. “Remember: I know where you live.”

He staggered on his way down the stairs. Val watched him go. Once he was outside, she rushed down to close the street door behind him and saw that he had forced the flimsy lock.

She hurried back up to the flat and bolted the door from the inside, then went to the bathroom. Her entire face was red and puffy, like a boxer’s. The left eye was swollen closed and her lip was cut, dripping blood onto her white T-shirt. Purple fingermarks circled her neck like a macabre tattoo, and her throat felt raw and scratchy. She got some ice from the freezer and wrapped it in a tea towel, then held it to her eye.

She knew Peggy would urge her to call the police. This was the proof of fault she needed to get a divorce—but Val hesitated. There was no phone in the flat, so she would have to run to the phone booth in the next street, and she was scared Tony might still be out there. Besides, he would deny it and there were no witnesses. None of her neighbors had come out to hear what was causing the ruckus. It was a Saturday night; maybe they were out.

What stopped her more than anything was the knowledge that Tony knew where they were. If she called the police, he would be angrier than ever and maybe he would attack Nicole next time. She would have to find another home or he could turn up any night when he’d had a skinful and was looking for a punching bag. She couldn’t live in fear of every knock on the door. They would have to move—and soon.

Chapter 22

WHEN NICOLE WOKE IN THE MORNING, SHE BURST into tears at the sight of Val’s face, which looked worse now than it had the previous evening. Her eye resembled a ripe purple plum and wouldn’t open even slightly. The cut on her lip was black and jagged, and her cheeks were swollen like a chipmunk’s. She draped a scarf around her neck to hide the fingermarks, but had to invent a story to explain the rest of the injuries to her daughter.

“Your silly mom was tidying the bookshelf when that big fat dictionary fell on top of me,” she said.

“Did you cry?” Nicole asked.

“I did a little bit,” she said truthfully.