Red wine—or—?
“Ryan!” she screamed. “Wake up, wake up, please, tell me you’re OK!”
Take his pulse, take his pulse, she told herself, and her shaking fingers closed around his wrist.
She couldn’t feel anything, not the faintest tremor.
“He’s dead,” Cassie whispered.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Cassie backed away into the safety of the family room, unable to take her eyes off Ryan’s slumped, immobile form.
“He’s dead,” she repeated.
Shuddering with shock, she hugged herself, remembering how his wrist had felt when she’d tried to take his pulse. It had been clammy and icy cold, like a piece of meat and not like a wrist at all. That made her feel nauseous and she swallowed hard.
She had to get help. She should wake someone.
Cassie’s brain felt sluggish with shock and fright. Doing what had to be done felt impossible. She didn’t know how to call emergency services, or who should respond.
She would have to ask someone, but not the children. They couldn’t know their father had died.
Trish. She should wake Trish.
Dread curdled in her stomach as she thought of what Trish’s reaction might be.
Cassie stumbled down the corridor and knocked on the bedroom door.
“Trish!” she called softly, realizing she was sobbing out the word. “Trish, can I come in?”
Fearing that Trish had passed out, and that any more noise might wake the children, Cassie opened the door and stepped into the room. It smelled of perfume and sleep. She fumbled for the light switch and snapped it on, as Trish sat up, blinking.
Her hair was mussed and makeup was smudged under her eyes. Cassie guessed she’d been too drunk to remove it properly, and she still seemed groggy.
“Please come quickly. Something terrible has happened,” Cassie whispered.
“What? What is it?”
“Ryan is dead. He’s outside on the balcony. I just found him there.”
“What?”
Trish jerked upright.
“You’re kidding me!”
She glanced at the empty bed beside her as if expecting to see her husband there.
“I’m not. Please, come quick.”
Trish scrambled out of bed and headed down the hall at a run, with Cassie following close behind.
“Oh, Lord,” Trish said when she saw him. Her face crumpled and Cassie felt tears welling inside her as Trish stumbled forward, dropping to her knees, grasping his wrist to take his pulse just as Cassie had done.
Trish hadn’t known he’d been a liar and an adulterer. Cassie had only ever seen him treat Trish like a princess.
What must she be feeling now?
Cassie couldn’t look anymore. She felt consumed by guilt. She went back inside and collapsed on the couch, appalled by the prospect of breaking this news to the children.
A minute later, Trish joined her.
She seemed fully alert, the earlier grogginess had gone. She looked shocked, and although she hadn’t been visibly crying, Cassie got the impression she was only managing to hold things together with a huge effort.
“I’m going to call the police. The children must stay away. Dylan’s bedroom will be best, as it’s biggest. Will you wait there with them? I’ve no idea how long it will take for the police to arrive.”
“I’ll do that,” Cassie agreed.
She detoured to her room and pulled on the warmest clothing she could find, hoping that the extra layers might stop the shivering that seemed to come from deep inside her core. She didn’t know how she would manage to console the children when she felt as if she was falling apart herself.
It took her two tries to put her top on the right way around, and she was shaking so badly she could hardly zip her fluffy boots.
When she was dressed, Cassie gently woke Madison, helped her dress in a tracksuit and trainers, and then shepherded her through to Dylan’s room.
Dylan was already awake. Cassie realized he was a very light sleeper, and she felt apprehensive as she wondered how much he’d heard.
“Dylan, can you move over? Madison’s tired. She needs to lie down.”
“Why’s she in here?”
Cassie couldn’t tell him the truth.
“Your mum told me to bring her here. She’ll explain everything soon. Try to go back to sleep now.”
“Where’s Dad?” Madison asked in sleepy, querulous tones.
Cassie looked down at her in consternation, wondering what on earth she should say.
“I think something’s happened to Dad,” Dylan said.
“What?” Madison sat up. “What’s happened?”
Cassie fought to stop herself from breaking down. She remembered the happy family times in the kitchen, the jokes that Ryan had shared with his children and how he had cooked for them. They didn’t know that he had threatened to harm them if Cassie stepped out of line. They only knew him as their dad, the center of their world.
It wasn’t up to her to break this news. She wasn’t even the right person to be comforting them now. They needed their mother. Why wasn’t she here? How long did it take to call the police?
“I’m not sure what has happened,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even, because a wobble would lead to sobs and complete loss of control.
Dylan was craning his head, peering out the window.
“I can see a car coming,” he announced, and Madison joined him, kneeling on the bed and pressing her face against the glass.
“Three more cars,” Dylan observed.
Cassie bit her lip. The more cars and the more police, the more time this was likely to take. She needed Trish to get here before the children started to panic, and already Dylan’s guess had placed her in an impossible position.
“What are they unloading?” Madison asked anxiously.
“That’s a stretcher.”
“Is Dad sick? Is he hurt?”
Cassie bit her lip.
“That van says ‘Coroner’ on the front,” Dylan said. “That means someone’s died.”
He turned away from the window and stared at Cassie.
“Isn’t that right?” he asked. “The coroner takes a dead body away, right?”
While Cassie was still fumbling for a coherent response, Madison put two and two together.
“Dad’s died. Oh, Dylan, Dad’s died, hasn’t he?”
With a scream of grief,
