Kate is staring into the mirror when she hears it.
The key, scraping in the lock.
Her fingers shake as she hurries to fix her make-up, dark threads of mascara spidering onto her lower lids. In the yellow light, she watches her pulse jump at her throat, beneath the necklace he gave her for their last anni – versary. The chain is silver and thick, cold against her skin.
She doesn’t wear it during the day, when he’s at work.
The front door clicks shut. The slap of his shoes on the floorboards. Wine, gurgling into a glass.
Panic flutters in her, like a bird. She takes a deep breath, touches the ribbon of scar on her left arm. Smiles one last time into the bathroom mirror. She can’t let him see that anything is different. That anything is wrong.
Simon leans against the kitchen counter, wine glass in hand. Her blood pounds at the sight. The long, dark lines of him in his suit, the cut of his cheekbones. His golden hair.
He watches her walk towards him in the dress she know he likes. Stiff fabric, taut across her hips. Red. The same colour as her underwear.
Lace, with little bows. As if Kate herself is something to be unwrapped, to be torn open…
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