Chapter 19
I stop off at a pharmacy to pick up some folic acid for Ava, so I’m ten minutes late for my meeting with Owen Cutler, but it’s not a problem because there’s no one here, no cars, only Ava’s Range Rover, where I left it by the gates, and John’s car outside The Manor.
I stroll through the door and meet him in the hallway. “He’s not here yet?” I ask, motioning back to the empty drive.
“He’s running late.”
“Incredible,” I say in disbelief. He’s stalked me for weeks and then doesn’t even show up on time when I finally agree to see him. Prick. “How long?”
“He’s rearranged for four.”
“Four?” I look down at my watch like I need confirmation that that’s six fucking hours away.
“Did you take Ava to work?” he asks.
“No, she wouldn’t let me.” I can see John’s wondering how the hell she got to her office if she refused my ride and if he wasn’t there to take her. So I enlighten him. “Her Mini.” I scroll through Google on my phone for the number I need and dial. “Yeah, hi, I have a broken-down vehicle I need collecting from the NCP on Berkley Square and taking to St. Katherine Docks.” John’s head is shaking. I smile through straight lips and answer all the questions being fired at me by the man on the other end. I give my credit card details, my phone number, then thank them profusely for his help. “What?” I ask John when I’ve hung up. Stupid question, I know.
“If you’re having her old car towed and her new one is here, how is she getting home?”
“I’ll pick her up,” I say, shrugging. His eyebrows lift. “Okay, you’ll pick her up because she’s less likely to rip your head off.”
“I can’t cope with you,” he mutters, leaving me.
“Just wait until you find out we’re pregnant,” I say quietly. Although, apparently, not quietly enough.
John stops. Oh shit. Turns around. “What?”
“Nothing.” I still haven’t found the courage I need to tell John. Might never. “I’m going to get Ava’s Range Rover.” I start the long walk down the drive, passing through the trees, smiling at the newly discovered bench. I take a pew, since I have six hours to kill, and text Ava.
How are you feeling?
Better.
And that’s that. I contemplate calling her but go against my instinct and get on my way again, stalling getting behind the wheel of her Range Rover when I see someone looking through the gates. “Can I help you?” I call.
“Delivery for Jesse Ward,” he says, holding up a package.
Ah, my pregnancy book. I jog over, give him a signature, and accept the package through the railings. “Thanks.” I go to Ava’s car, jumping in and throwing the package on the passenger seat, smiling at the stitching in the headrest. Maybe I’ll have peanut’s name stitched into the rear headrest. What will we call... it? I frown and start the engine, turning in the driveway and making my way back toward The Manor. Girl or boy? If it’s a girl, she’ll look like her mother. Will she have her sass too? “God help me,” I breathe. If it’s a boy, he’ll look like me. I smile. God help the female population of his generation. I’ll take him to football. Teach him everything I know. Well, not everything. Most things. Boy or girl? I know it’s nice to be surprised, but I don’t think I can wait. Will Ava want to find out? She’s traditional, so I suppose not. Could I convince her? I laugh under my breath. Do bears shit in the woods?
I park Ava’s Range Rover next to John’s, grab my delivery and hop out, tossing her keys in my hand as I walk to my office. The piles of paperwork greet me. “Fucking hell,” I breathe, ripping the package open and scanning the book. It’s thick. Very thick. I puff out my cheeks and slip it into the top drawer of my desk, dragging my laptop over and staring at the screen like it can help me. Then before I know I’ve done it, the screen is filled with baby stores. I blink, stunned, and go for what I know, smiling when I find myself somewhere familiar. Harrods. My smile falls. Car seats, prams, cribs, sterilizers, baby carriers, monitors... “Organic nappies?” I blurt at the screen. Teats that are imitations of nipples? I scoff. “Never.” I get up close and personal with the screen and click through a few pages. The endless equipment blows my mind. I’ll call Zoe. She’ll make this a breeze.
“What are you doing?”
I reach for the lid of my laptop and snap it shut. “Nothing.”
John’s scowl is fierce as he reaches for my computer. I slowly pull it out of his way, swallowing, certain I look every shade of guilty. Fuck it.
“Open the laptop.”
“No.”
“Open the motherfucking laptop, motherfucker.”
I sneer and shove it toward him, resting back in my chair and fixing a filthy look on my oldest friend as he lifts the lid and turns the screen. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he murmurs, lifting his shades and his eyes to me. “Is this what I think it is?”
“Baby stuff?” I ask. “Yes, it’s baby stuff, John.”
“And why are you looking at baby stuff?”
“Why do you think I would be looking at baby stuff?”
John’s always hidden his shock well. He’s struggling today. Lowering to the chair, his mouth open, his gold tooth glimmers. “I’m just trying to figure out if it’s possible for Ava to fall pregnant in the time you’ve been back together.”
“We got back together on Friday, John.” Although we hardly split up. “It’s Tuesday.”
“So your plan to trap her worked?”
“Why does everyone make it sound so immoral?”
“Because it is. And she’s okay with this, considering the circumstances?”
“Yeah.” I don’t know what happened yesterday to make Ava come round, but I’m grateful. “She’s happy.”
“She’s happy,” he mimics quietly.
“And me. I’m happy too.”
“I can tell.”
“And it also means I’m not shooting blanks.”
He rolls his eyes and rubs into his frown. “How far gone?”
“I don’t know. I need to sort out a scan.”
“Well... wait?—”
“What?”
The map of lines across his head multiplies. “Is this why you’ve decided to talk to Owen Cutler?”
I look away, pulling open the drawer and getting my new pregnancy book out. “Doesn’t hurt to talk, right?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” John breathes, eyeing my new book.
“No one can say I’m not committed, eh?” I fan the pages, grinning.
He laughs at the irony, a deep, baritone laugh with absolutely no humor. John remembers as well as I do the moment I learned Lauren was pregnant. Dread. I obviously wouldn’t have changed having Rosie for the world. But... had she not been born, she would never have been taken. And I wouldn’t have become a shell of a man. I shake my head and those thoughts away. Or I try to. I would have been a shell. Rosie saved me from myself for a while. Until I let her down. I’ve been letting her down ever since too. I wince and feel at my chest.
“I suppose I should be congratulating you,” John mumbles, sounding surprisingly genuine.
“Go on then.”
“What?”
“Congratulate me.” I smile mildly. “Uncle John.”
“Moron.”
“I prefer motherfucker.”
“And have you thought about how to tell Sarah?”
“Kill the buzz, why don’t you.” I flick through the book, reading a few things here and there. Will she do something stupid again?
“I’m just asking.”
“She doesn’t need to know.” I pluck a highlighter out of the pen pot and drag it across a few things I absolutely should remember. One being information on pregnant women flying. Bollocks. That’s taken a honeymoon in the sun off the table.
“She definitely should know,” John says. “You can’t let her find that out from someone else.”
I drop the pen and my head back. “It’s none of her business.” Suddenly parched, I get up and grab a bottle of water from the fridge, waiting for John to come back at me.
“I called the security company again. They aren’t committing to an engineer visit to replace the camera,” he says, pivoting the conversation completely. His way of agreeing to disagree. Fine by me.
“Convenient.”
“Should I push or relent?”
“It’s just the one camera still out?” I ask.
“Around the side by the garages.”
It’s a small mercy. At least it’s not an internal one. “When’s the new system being installed again?”
“Friday.”
“Fuck them.”
“Okay. You should cancel the direct debit.”
“Have Sa—” Fuck my life. “I’ll call the bank.” Surely I don’t need a million numbers and passwords to simply cancel a direct debit. “Could they show up to remove the equipment?”
“They’ll be trespassing. Besides, the equipment is paid for. They can’t remove it. It’s the servicing agreement that’s ongoing.” John waves the contract that Sarah found when she was here on Sunday. “They’re not fulfilling their end of the deal by actually servicing or replacing so we stop paying.”
“Okay, good.”
John puts his shades back on, looking across more paperwork. “I was looking for the site plans.”
“What for?”
“The Manor. To check the boundaries.”
“Why?”
“I don’t fucking know,” John grumbles. “Not that it matters because I can’t fucking find them.”
I press my lips together. Sarah would put her hands on the plans in a beat, just like she did the security contract. John looks up at me, thinking the same. “I can’t, John,” I say, getting up and walking to the window. “I value my marriage and my wife’s feelings too much.”
He sighs. “Ava’s a reasonable woman.”
I cough over my laugh. “She’s also very hormonal right now. Let’s reverse the situation, shall we?”
“What?”
“If Ava came to me and told me she’d continue working for Van Der Haus after what he attempted.”
“You don’t know beyond doubt that Van Der Haus did anything.”
True, but he’s after my woman and that’s enough. “Still, I wouldn’t have it, so I’m in no position to stand in Sarah’s corner.”
“Then we struggle on.”
“We do.” I head out.
“Where the fuck are you going?” John calls.
I stall, my hand on the doorknob. “Breakfast.” I swing it open and go to the bar, snagging a menu. I don’t think I’ve ever read the breakfast menu.
“Since when do you eat breakfast?” John joins me and sits on a stool, waving Pete for a coffee.
“Since today.” It wouldn’t be very reasonable of me to force-feed Ava and skip meals myself. “Isn’t there any peanut butter on this menu?” I ask, unimpressed.
John chuckles, as if my favorite thing’s absence from my own fucking menu is funny, and Pete’s quick to pacify me. “Not on the menu,” he says. “But we keep a stock.”
“Why isn’t it on the menu?”
“Well, sir, it’s an acquired taste, you see.”
“Is it?” I ask, as John’s laughing increases. I can’t even feel grateful for the therapeutic sound.
The fucker.
“An acquired taste... like you,” John adds, and I slowly turn an evil glare his way.
“Fuck off.”
“Now, now, kids.” Drew, suited and booted, strolls into the bar.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Meeting Sam for breakfast.” He leans past John and claims the coffee Pete’s just placed on the bar. “I think he’s lovesick.”
“No shit,” I quip. “And you’re going to make him feel better, are you?”
“How you wound me.” Drew takes a sip of the coffee and grimaces. “What the fuck is this shit?”
“Black Americano,” John growls, claiming the coffee. “Get your own, boy.”
“What’s eating him?” Drew asks, taking his stool as John leaves us.
“Me, I think.”
“What did you do?”
“It’s what I won’t do,” I reply, nodding a thanks to Pete when he slides a coffee and a jar of peanut butter onto the bar. Drew raises his brows in question. “Sarah,” I answer. “He wants me to bring her back.”
“Oohhh.”
I laugh. I’m glad someone understands.
“Yeah,” Drew breathes. “That’s an easy no.”
“Is it?” I grab my peanut butter in need of a hit.
“Is she all right?”
“No,” I sigh. “Far from it, and it really fucking sucks that I’m the only person on this fucking planet who can fix that.”
“By letting her back into The Manor?”
“By letting her back into The Manor,” I mimic.
“And your life,” Drew adds quietly.
“Exactly. I can’t do it, especially not now.”
Drew’s smooth face wrinkles. “Especially not now, what?”
I chomp on my lip, trying to hold my tongue, trying to... not trying at all. “Especially now that Ava’s pregnant.”
This must be one of a handful of times that I’ve rendered Drew Davies speechless. His blue eyes blink rapidly, and then as if his brain has caught up and reminded him of a previous conversation we recently had, he gasps. “That’s fucked up, Jesse.”
Shame eats me alive. “I appreciate the circumstances aren’t ideal, but?—”
“Ideal?”
“What’s ideal?” Sam asks, appearing at the bar, looking between us.
“Are you going to tell him, or am I?” Drew asks.
Fuck me, am I on trial? I motion to Drew with a limp hand on a tired breath. “Go for it, Dad.”
“Ava’s pregnant,” he declares.
“Oh, my man, that’s awe—” A frown hops onto Sam’s forehead. “Wait.” A recoil. “She’s pregnant because you stole her pills.” A gasp. “Fucking hell, Jesse.”
I fold over the bar and bury my face in my palms.
“Yes, you hide from the judgments,” Drew says. “As you should.”
“I’m not proud,” I mutter. “I realize I’ve done wrong.”
“Do you?” Sam blurts. “Do you really?”
“I don’t think he does,” Drew pipes in.
I stare into my darkness.
“Me neither,” Sam breathes.
That’s it. Enough. “You’re both barred,” I bark, standing abruptly and marching out of the bar. “You can leave now.”
“Wait, what?” Drew’s chasing my heels instantly, Sam not far behind. “You can’t bar us.”
“Yeah, you can’t bar us.”
“I just did.” I stalk through the summer room. “Shut the door on your way out.”
“Jesse,” Drew says on a nervous laugh. “Be reasonable.”
“I’m not long off the back of a breakup, mate,” Sam says, urgency in his tone. “Have some mercy, for God’s sake, man.”
John’s still sifting through paperwork when I push my way into the office, looking for those boundary plans. Anyone would think he wants me to sell The Manor. He glances up at the three of us.
“He’s barred us,” Drew barks. “Talk some sense into him, John.”
“There’s no talking sense into that man.” He returns to his task, unfazed by my two panicked mates.
I get myself some water and text Ava again.
How are you feeling?
Better.
I roll my eyes and tip the bottle to my lips. “If you two can find the plans John’s looking for, I might reconsider.” I point to the piles of paperwork. Four sets of hands are better than one.
“What do you think of this?” Drew asks John. “Really, what do you think?” He plonks himself on the couch, sitting forward, elbows on his knees, interested.
John looks over his shades. “What do I think about what?”
“Him,” Drew practically screeches. “Stealing his girlfriend’s pill?—”
“She’s my wife.”
“She was your girlfriend when you stole them,” he says, and I pipe down, in no position to retaliate.
“I think you’re being rather judgmental,” John muses, still fingering his way through endless paperwork, “considering you restrain women with chains.”
“What?” Sam looks at Drew, stunned. “Chains? Since when?”
“Is anything around here confidential?” Drew barks, throwing his hands up.
“It’s The Manor,” John says to the papers in his hand. “Not a fucking STD clinic. Which reminds me”—he picks up more paperwork and waves it—“you two are a week late on your routine tests.”
“Oh, then you’re definitely barred,” I say, lowering to the couch and crossing one leg over the other, all casual. “Maybe I’ll reinstate you when you confirm you’re clean.”
“I didn’t think I’d need tests if I was sticking to one woman,” Sam mutters.
“But she’s dumped you for Ava’s tosser of a brother,” Drew says, making everyone in the room flinch, including Sam. Harsh.
“And what about you?” I ask Drew, making him shoot a surprised look my way. “Why are you late?” Drew is never late with his tests. Absolutely never.
“Yeah, what about you?” Sam sings like a fucking brat.
“Fuck off,” Drew spits, standing, outraged. “I’ve been...” He scowls. “Distracted.”
“By what?”
“Just... it’s...” He trips up all over his words, getting more and more worked up. “Things!” he barks, storming out, making a good job of slamming the door behind him. We all flinch at the sound.
“What’s eating him?” John asks calmly.
“He’s fine,” Sam mutters, leaving too. “I suppose I ought to go get those tests.” He stops at the door and grabs his dick, thrusting into his hand. “I’ve got some catching up to do.”
He opens and slams too, and I look at John, eyebrows high. “Think I upset them?”
“Maybe.” He returns to his search but we both look up again when the door swings open and both my mates stand on the threshold with dirty, confused frowns on their faces.
“What plans?” they ask in unison.
My bottle pauses halfway to my mouth. Do I say anything? Next to John, these two dipsticks are my best mates. I look at John. He dips his head, peeking at me. “The plans for The Manor,” John says, probably thinking I won’t. He’s right. He knows me. And saying it out loud almost feels like admitting betrayal.
Both men walk calmly back into my office and sit on the couch opposite me. Both look concerned. “I have a meeting at four,” I say, biting at my lip.
“With?” Drew asks quietly, reluctantly.
“An acquisitions manager for a leisure corporation.”
Both men’s eyes widen a fraction. “Why?” Sam asks, and I fidget, uncomfortable.
“To hear what they’ve got to say.”
“Or offer,” Drew adds.
“Look, it’s just a fact-finding meeting, okay? He was sniffing around outside The Manor and gave me his card. I stuffed it in my pocket and thought no more of it.”
Drew stands, his face irritated. “But you’ve since found out you’ve got your wife pregnant on the sly, and suddenly you’re going to be a family man, so now you’re gonna sell The Manor?” His voice gets higher the more he rants on. “You get a wife, a kid, a happily ever after, and what the fuck do we get? Booted out?”
I explode, shocking myself, shooting up from the couch in a deranged fit of fury. “Yes, I get a fucking happily ever after, Drew,” I bellow, making him cower. “What’s the problem, don’t you think I deserve that?”
“Whoa,” Sam says, coming to me, rubbing soothing circles into my back with his palm. “Let’s all calm down, yeah?”
I shrug him off and get out of there before I sink my fist into one of my best mate’s faces, nearly taking the door off its hinges when I slam it. “Wanker,” I bark, going to the changing rooms and wrestling my way out of my suit. I pull on my shorts, a T-shirt, stuff my feet into my trainers, grab a racket and some balls, and fuck off to the tennis courts where I can take my anger out on an inanimate object rather than someone I love.
As I stomp my way moodily to the courts, I notice a few more things I haven’t seen before. A bird table nestled amongst two huge rhododendrons. A gold sphere at the base of an apple tree trunk. Further proof that my eyes are wide open. That I’m seeing things for the first time in nearly two decades. I’m thinking clearly. Of course I should listen to any business offers. It’s just a talk.
I let myself through the gate and start smacking balls over the net with force, until I’m out of balls and walking the length of the court to retrieve them and start again. I’ve done this five times when I see Drew and Sam walking down the cobbled path toward the courts. Both in gym gear. Both carrying rackets. I scuff my trainers on the grass, pouting down at them, swinging my racket as they let themselves in. Drew puts himself at the back, Sam comes to the net. They bend, rocking, swiveling their rackets.
Game. On.
I chuck a ball up and smack it with power.
Right at Drew’s head.
He ducks, looking back as it hits the caging, before slowly turning his narrowed, piercing blues back onto me. “First serve,” he grates, as Sam chuckles. I grin and toss another ball up, serving again. It hits the grass just inside the box and skims Drew’s racket.
“Ace,” I muse. “Fifteen love.”
“Okay, no more Mr. Nice Guy,” Drew says, bending, getting ready. “Let’s do this.”
“I’m ready,” Sam sings.
Yeah, I’m ready too.
For anything.
It goes to five sets.“Match point,” I yell, sweating like a beast, glancing at my Rolex. Fuck me, I’ve been running around this court for nearly five hours. I get low, anticipating Sam’s serve. Low and deep. But he surprises me and goes high and wide. I break to my left, reaching and returning, skidding across the lawn before spinning on the spot and racing back to the center, just in time for Drew’s return. The fucker goes short and low, tapping the ball so it lands just over the net. “Fuck,” I curse, running to the net, reaching with my racket, aiming for a connection rather than skill, finesse, or accuracy. I hit the ball into the net.
“Deuce,” Drew sings, wandering to the back line. I can only see the back of his head but I know the fucker is grinning.
I get ready, Sam serves, and I watch as the ball hits the chalk and sails past my shoulder.
“Ace!” Sam yells.
“Match point,” Drew declares.
For fuck’s sake.
Sam tosses the ball a few times, bounces it, his eyes squinting as I sway, wait, spin my racket. He throws it up, smacks it on a grunt, going safe, getting it a good few feet inside the line. “Pussy,” I yell, returning it with an accurate backhand.
“Meow,” Drew purrs, slicing the ball, the fucker going for the same shot.
“Fuck.” I dive forward, hitting the ball with the edge of my racket. It pings, bounces off in the complete wrong direction, and hits the cage. “Shit.”
“Game, set, and match to Sam and Kinky Drew,” Sam sings, tossing his racket and spreading his legs, yelling to the heavens.
“Yeah, baby!” Drew runs at him, diving, wrapping his legs around Sam’s torso, and Sam begins to bounce him up and down as he whoops and yells.
I laugh and collect up the balls. Two against one, for fuck’s sake. And it took them five hours to beat me. “You’re so humble,” I quip.
Drew hops down from Sam’s body and leaps the net, slinging his arm around my shoulders and getting me in a headlock. “You lost, Lord.”
I roll my eyes, but I appreciate his backward apology. I throw my arm around him, and Sam comes in at my other side, joining the lineup. “I’ve not lost,” I say, as we walk back to The Manor in a row. “I’m winning everyday right now.” Except at tennis.
The boys flick fond smiles my way. I know I didn’t exactly do this conventionally, but they know me. “She’s happy?” Sam asks.
“Yeah, she’s happy. Sick as a dog, but she’s happy.”
“I’m sorry for being a cunt,” Drew murmurs quietly. “I know you need this.” They didn’t know Rosie. But they know Rosie. I smile, a little sad, a little happy, feeling them both squeeze me between them. “You know,” Drew muses. “I never thought I would say this.”
“What?”
“I’m too fucked to fuck.”
I burst out laughing with Sam, sniffing back tears.
“And you?” I ask Sam.
“Never too fucked to fuck.”
Maybe. But he’s still too smitten to fuck, unable to let go. And given I’ve been the same since the first day I met Ava, I commiserate.
The power of a good woman.