Ruby blinks at this information, tries to absorb it. There have been so many revelations coming at her these past two days, she can hardly keep up. It hasn’t even been that long since she found out my name and now—
Alice Lee pops into her head with a startling clarity and Ruby stops, remembers why she came here tonight. She takes a long swig of wine, shakes Josh off for the time being.
‘Thank you for that. I think. But … there was something else I wanted to talk to you both about, actually. Something happened yesterday.’
Taking it slow, Ruby tells Lennie and Sue about meeting Tom. About how he showed up at the exact place she found my body, and how charming he was at first, before he kept trying to turn the conversation back to the murder, even when she made it clear she didn’t want to talk about it.
As Ruby goes over their encounters, she thinks of Detective O’Byrne, and the last time she had tried to explain what happened down by the river. How he’d said it can take time to remember details ‘better’， especially the important ones. She is conscious of getting the details she does remember about Tom in the right order, wants to give her friends the clearest account she can. Still, she pauses over Tom’s comment about ‘pictures’。 Struggles to describe that particular detail, and all that came after it. The unwanted kiss, and Josh’s message. Meeting Noah. The gift of his stories about Alice. She knows that each beat of the story is bursting with significance, but what if she’s reading the signs all wrong? When was the last time she knew something to be completely true?
Ruby suddenly sees Josh holding out his phone like a bunch of flowers, my smiling face filling the screen.
Taking a deep breath, she carries on, finally able to admit just how uncomfortable Tom made her feel, the way he kept pushing himself on her, and onto me, too.
‘There’s something this guy seems to know that he shouldn’t,’ she adds, arriving now at the place she started, coming up the stairs to Sue’s apartment tonight, her confusion held out in front of her, and her fear, too, that her friends might shut the door in her face. She feels exhausted to have come this far, and from the looks on Lennie and Sue’s faces as she finishes her story, they are right there with her.
‘Oh my God, Ruby. Do you really think …’
But for once, Lennie is lost for words and she trails off, looking to Sue for help. The older woman is silent, thoughtful, as she refills each of their wine glasses almost to the rim. If Ruby didn’t know better, she’d swear Sue’s hand is shaking.
‘That man, whoever he was, had no right to make you feel that way, Ruby.’
Sue is indeed trembling, though not from fear. From rage.
‘And Alice, that poor, poor girl. She was basically the same age as my Lisa. What happened to her makes me so mad. The entitlement of these fucking men who destroy lives, just because they can.’
‘I’ve never, ever heard you swear—’ Lennie starts, then stops. ‘You’re right. It makes me fucking mad, too. And scared.’
Wine slops over Lennie’s glass, she watches it spill onto the table, before she turns back to Ruby, her dark eyes wide.
‘Do you really think he could have done it? This Tom guy.’
Still, Ruby doesn’t know for sure. How could she. Reading true crime threads and wandering around the internet with her imaginary magnifying glass could never prepare her for this. Not even seeing the machinery of a murder investigation up close, those forensic investigators, Jennings, her clumsy interview with O’Byrne, could give her the tools she needs to determine Tom’s motives down at the river yesterday, or any of the days before. How do you crawl into the mind of a murderer, and would it look any different from that of any other man, when you got down to it?
‘For all I know,’ Ruby answers slowly, ‘Tom is a great guy. Just a little forward. And a bit weird about Alice. That’s not enough to make him a murderer.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ Sue responds. ‘And so what I’d like to ask you is this. Something we don’t ask ourselves enough. Do you trust your instinct, Ruby?’
The question feels as large as the room, and all three women pause to consider it. Thinking about the nights they’ve crossed the road to avoid a parked car with its lights still on or pretended to make a phone call when someone walks too close behind them. Remembering the times they have shifted seats on public transport, or said no, thank you, to that offer of a drink. Self-preservation as a replacement for instinct, because being right would be the real danger here.