She tells him all those things. But she says nothing about her fight with John that morning, or about the anger that made her decide to drive, even though he was supposed to. Nothing about the fact that she never did manage to get used to driving on the left, despite so many years in London. Nothing about the guilt that has eaten away at her every day since.

But she does tell him about the other things. Matter-of-factly, as though she were talking about someone else.

And she doesn’t sink.

Chapter 46

46

At exactly quarter past four that afternoon, it happens. Unexpectedly, like when a window is thrown open by a sudden gust of wind and threatens to slam shut just as suddenly. A way out.

A big bag, nothing else, just the bare necessities. Thinking about the large sports trunk hidden behind the garden furniture in the storage space at the back of the garage makes Aylin Ramnes’ heart race. She packed it less than forty hours ago and lugged it to the one place she could think of where he might not find it. With dazed efficiency she had moved as silently as she could between their wardrobes, the bathroom and the kitchen, straining to pick up the slightest change in the sound of his snoring. When she was done, she’d put Tyra’s wet pyjama bottoms to soak.

Now she goes over the contents of the bag yet again while staring vacantly at the tiled wall in front of her. Two changes of clothes each for the children, one for herself, underwear, medicines, painkillers, a bag of sweets, two thin books of fairy tales, an unused pay-as-you-go SIM card, an extra charger, cash. She has to remember to get the passports, hers and the children’s, from the safe. She read that on the internet, wouldn’t have thought of it herself. Of course she needs their passports. Why didn’t I think of that? And Teddy and Bunny, if I forget them, the children will . . . Her mind seizes up.

I can’t do this, she whimpers inwardly. He’s fucking right; I can’t do anything anymore.

She tears off a piece of toilet paper, wipes and checks her watch again. Seven minutes since Bo got in his car and went to the office without warning. On a Saturday afternoon. For some reason, she always pictured this happening on a workday, if it ever happened at all. A regular workday when she would have plenty of time to get it right. Now, he’s just picking up some papers and could be back in an hour if he leaves straight away, maybe even sooner if he drives fast.