Scott rose to his feet, the notebook clutched in his hand. Whatever was happening here, he needed to tidy this place up before Casey got home. Then he’d figure out a way to get the answers he needed.

If Casey discovered this mess… He couldn’t think about the things she’d do to him. His hand throbbed, healing from the Aga, but still tender. His body was a patchwork of bruises and cuts. His heart thumped when he envisioned Casey walking into the wrecked bedroom, finding her designer clothes torn and soaked from toilet water.

He’d have to take the clothes to the bin; she wouldn’t notice. She never wore the same outfit twice anyway. Then he’d figure out how to reattach the leg to the vanity unit. He was sure there was some glue downstairs, in the same cupboard as the cleaning supplies.

He turned.

Casey gripped the frame with both hands, weaving slightly, as if finding it difficult to keep her footing.

“Somebody’s been a bad boy.” She looked sick, eyes glassy, cheeks pale, her words coming out slurred. “Bad boy, snooping where you shouldn’t. Do you know what happens to bad boys?”

Scott raised the notebook, as though it could protect him. “Please.”

Casey took a few shaky steps. When she sighed, it was with resignation, like everything had been leading there: to whatever she was about to do.

“Please,” she repeated, and it was like she was honestly begging even as she mocked him. “Please, please, please. Oh, Scott. I do love you in a way.”

46

GARY

Gary opened the drawer as quietly as he could. There it was: the lockbox. He quickly took it, feeling like he was robbing a bank. When he and Scott had first met, before he had a wife and kids, he probably would’ve found this funny. But now his nerves were taut, his hand trembling slightly.

“I’m so sorry about this,” Lauren said, speaking loud for Gary’s benefit.

Markus replied, quieter, “Accidents happen. Let me get the dustpan and brush.”

“Please, let me.”

“It’s fine–”

“Oh, sorry.”

Gary imagined Lauren crowding Markus in the kitchen, purposefully getting in his way to make the delay last longer. Gary winced as the lockbox struck the drawer. He quickly tucked it under his arm and went to the display cabinet, ignoring Polly’s staring eyes.

Except the key wasn’t there.

Gary cursed under his breath, standing on his tiptoes to try to see the top of the cabinet; maybe he’d put it there instead.

The cabinet was too tall.

From the hallway, Gary heard a cupboard open and then close.

“Are you sure I can’t do it?” Lauren said.

“It’s fine. No harm done.”

Gary kept searching the drawer; then another.

Fuck it. He had the lockbox. It would be easy enough to break into; he didn’t need the key.

He quickly returned to his chair, tucking the box under his jacket, then winced when he saw it: the open drawer. Cursing himself silently, he moved to the drawer, leaned down and began to close it.