Chapter 24
I pull into the car park at Lusso and park, setting my helmet on the ground and perching on the seat of my bike, looking up at the face of the building. I need to call the police, the insurance company. I don’t know where I’ll find any of my documents. I breathe in some patience and call the Aston dealership, who put me through to their customer call center. I tell them my car’s been stolen, they ask me if I have a crime reference. “I don’t have a crime reference yet,” I grate. “I just need you to tell me where my car is.”
“Okay, let me see what we can find out,” the lady says, sounding happy and passive. Both are inappropriate. “Can I take the vehicle registration?”
I inhale my patience and answer every question thrown at me, my responses getting shorter and sharper with each one I give. I don’t have fucking time for this. “Last known location is Grantly Lane, in Surrey Hills.”
I breathe out, starting to lose it. “That’s my business address. What time?”
“An hour ago, sir.”
“Well, it ain’t there now.”
“Oh?”
Fuck, I haven’t got time for this shit. I hang up, squeezing my mobile in my hand, thinking. I unclench my hand then dial before I can second guess myself. “I need to speak to the practice manager.”
“I’m afraid she’s busy right now. Can I take a name and number and I’ll have her call you back?”
“You told me that already and she hasn’t called me back.”
“Let me take your details again.”
I take in air. Breathe. “Jesse Ward,” I say, this time giving her my real name, thanking her for her help despite my ready-to-burst frustration.
John pulls up, slipping out of his Range Rover with two coffees. “Who was that?” he asks.
“A surgery in Aberdeen.”
He passes me the caffeine. I could do with something stronger. “Why are you calling a surgery in Aberdeen?”
I don’t hold back. I’m out of strength. “Because that’s where Lauren’s dad works or worked.”
The falter in his expression is telling. “Is this something to do with you seeing her?” he asks, so normally. Sarah. Did she tell him? “Yes.” John answers my silent question, and I scrub a hand down my face. It was probably part of Sarah’s justification process, her reasons for needing to save me from my fate with Ava. Ava’s making me crazy. No. My past is making me crazy.
I laugh to myself, sipping my coffee. “I know it wasn’t her,” I say. “One woman I fucking chased so I could be sure of it.”
“But you needed to check?”
“It would settle me to know where she is, yes.”
“Still locked up, I expect. But we’ll find out for sure.”
I nod, smiling my thanks. No judgments. John knows I’ve been straddling stable and unhinged for a while now. Like... since I met Ava. “The dealership said my car’s at The Manor.”
He snorts, and we both sit, silent for a while, until John breaks it. “Are you going to sort this shit out?”
“Which shit?” I ask on a smile.
“A car can be replaced,” he says, as serious as John can be. Which is deadly serious. “A human can’t.”
I flinch, swallowing, staring at the concrete beneath my boots. So true. Ava doesn’t know my truths ... but does she really loathe the idea of being my child’s mother so much that she’d destroy it? At least that explains why she was so distraught when she finally confessed she was pregnant. Guilt. She hadn’t wanted me to know. And yes, I see the irony—she hid something from me. But it hurts. I just didn’t see that coming. Not from Ava. “I feel let down, John,” I admit, whether I have the right to feel that way or not. It’s how I feel, and I can’t help it.
“If she knew about Rosie, maybe things would have been different.”
Maybe. Or maybe she would have run. Or, worse, gone through with it. I look at John, smiling through my tight lips. “Jake said the same thing this morning.”
I expect him to whip out a straitjacket and bundle me into the back of his motor. But instead, surprising me, he chuckles. Like it’s funny that I’m having merry old chitchats with my dead brother. I won’t mention my daughter. Even I know that’s pushing the boundaries of acceptable levels of crazy.
“You need to get in touch with the police,” John says. “Sounds like the tracker’s been deactivated.”
“What about the CCTV?”
“I haven’t checked yet. I jumped straight in my car when I heard yours roaring down the driveway. We know the camera by the garage is down, and your car was by the garage.”
“But one of the other external cameras might shine some light.”
He nods, sipping his coffee, quietly pensive. He’s wondering too. Who would steal my car, because this sounds like more than a planned theft. It sounds like a vendetta. “I’ve got Cook looking into Van Der Haus.”
“Thought you would,” he replies, easy as that.
At the same time, both of our mobiles ring. Neither of us look particularly thrilled. I leave John to take his call while I connect mine, wandering away from him and my bike. “Yes?” I say in answer, sounding harder than I intended. Jake and John are right. Ava doesn’t have any context. And bottom line, I trapped her. I realize she acted out of spite and anger. I realize she was trying to get some control back in her life. Still, it’s a really fucking hard pill to swallow.
I expect an apology. A plea for understanding. I expect her to ask if we can talk, sort this out. I get none of that. “Nice drive?” she asks, her tone curt.
She’spissed with me? “What?”
“Are you having a nice drive?”
“Ava, what the fuck are you talking about?” I snap, irritation rising. “And when I send John to fetch you, get in his fucking car.”
“I’m talking about you following me,” she says, impatient.
“What?” Following her? Like a complete idiot, I circle on the spot, as if to remind myself I’m at Lusso and not following Ava. “Ava, I haven’t got time for fucking riddles.”
“I’m not talking in riddles, Jesse. Why the hell are you following me?”
“I’m not following you, Ava.” I look to the heavens and take more caffeine.
“So I suppose there are hundreds of Aston Martins driving around London, and one just happens to be following me.”
My coffee cup halts at my mouth, a rush of cold sweeping through my body. “You’re driving?”
“Yes. I’m driving around in bloody circles, and you’re following me. You’d make a shit detective.”
“My car’s following you?” I ask on a murmur, looking around the car park blankly, my mind struggling to absorb the information being given and what that could mean.
“Yes,” she yells, angry.
“Ava, baby, I’m not driving my car,” I say quietly. “I’m at Lusso.”
She’s silent for a few worrying moments. “But it’s your car.”
Realization slams into me with such force, I drop my coffee. My stolen car is following my wife? “Fuck!” I kick the cup away and stalk to my bike, my stomach dropping over and over, my throat clogged with apprehension. “John,” I yell. The big guy looks over his shoulder, his phone still at his ear. His glasses are pulled off his face the second he registers my disposition.
“Jesse,” Ava says. “What’s going on?”
“My car’s been stolen.” I make it to my bike, hearing Ava talking but not hearing her, John pacing over in long, heavy strides. “My car’s following Ava,” I say, and he withdraws, his stoic face falling. “Where are you?” I ask Ava, as John goes straight to his phone and ends the call, heading to his car.
“I’m on the embankment,” she says quietly. “Driving toward the city.”
“John,” I call. He looks back. “The embankment. City bound. Call her in two.” John nods, gets in, and pulls away. Together. Calm. Collected. Makes one of us. “Baby, listen to me.” I swing my leg over my bike. “Just keep driving, okay?”
“Okay,” she whispers.
“I’ve got to put the phone down now.” I stare at the handlebars of my bike, praying on anything I’ve ever believed in to watch over my wife and baby until I can get to them. Beg.
“I don’t want you to.” Her voice cracks, her fear thick. “Stay on the phone, please.”
“Ava.” I try to inhale some calm. “I’ve got to put the phone down. John’s going to call you as soon as I hang up. Put it on loudspeaker and place it in your lap so you can concentrate. Understand?”
Silence.
“Ava, baby. Tell me you understand.”
“I understand.”
I start the engine of my bike and hit the throttle, gripping hard to stop my shakes, taking a few needed deep breaths before I pull away. I see John in the distance, swerving in and out of traffic, running red lights, overtaking anything in his path. More than once, I’m forced onto the other side of the road, and more than once I feel something—a car, a bus, a moped—brush my arm or knee. The rushing air is hitting my eyes brutally, making me constantly squint and, as a consequence, hampers my vision. Fuck. I don’t have a death wish. I’m not wearing a helmet, any leathers. One clip will have me coming off my bike and then I’ll never make it to her. So when I finally catch up to John, I fall in line behind his Range Rover and follow his lead, using him as a barrier between the world and my bike. And he isn’t fucking about, not slowing down for anyone or anything. We fly past Tower Bridge, London Bridge.
Closer.
And then John’s brake lights come on and stay on, his Range Rover slowing down. I pull out and see the traffic has come to a standstill in the distance. No oncoming traffic too. People are getting out of their cars. “Fuck,” I breathe, knowing all the signs of a car accident are in front of me. My heartbeats become painful, my breathing strained, as John moves onto the other side of the road and picks up speed again. And when his hazards start flashing but he doesn’t slow, I pull out again.
And I see it. My Aston up ahead in the road. And not far away from it, Ava’s Mini. The bonnet is crushed up against a metal barrier.
“My God.” I feel the blood drain from my face, my eyes on her car, searching the inside from a distance. She’s not in there? And then I see her standing in the middle of the road, motionless. Shocked. Fuck. The Aston screeches away, and John goes hell for leather after it.
The moment I’m near Ava, I slam on my brakes and hop off my bike as soon as it’s slow enough, leaving it skidding away across the concrete. I run, feeling like it’s taking an eternity to make it to her, the world slowing in every element. Her face is blank. I scan her body the closer I get, checking for marks, for grazes, anything. I reach her. Her empty eyes look up at me. There’s nothing in them. Nothing—no fear, no anger, no grief, no emotion whatsoever. I feel her cheek, hoping my touch might shock her back to life. It doesn’t. An ambulance pulls through the traffic up ahead, two police cars coming from the other direction. Endless cars around us damaged, buried in walls, streetlamps.
“Ava? Jesus, baby.” I pull her close and try again to take in the carnage surrounding us. She feels heavy and limp. “Fucking hell,” I whisper, losing myself in her hair for a brief moment. Escaping the madness.
She’s alive.
She’s okay.
What the fuck is going on?
As if hearing my question, my phone rings and I free one arm from Ava to take his call. “John?”
“Isn’t it fucking typical that you would own one of the fastest commercial cars on the motherfucking fucking planet?” he snaps.
“Where are you?”
“Trying to keep up. How’s the girl?”
I will Ava to snap out of her daze and hold me. Give me some sign that she’s okay. “In shock I think.”
At those words, she stirs, breaking away, and starts gazing around. More police, another ambulance. Her mind is finally processing what’s happened. She’s starting to shake.
“Don’t stop until you’ve found out who’s in my fucking car,” I say to John, hearing his foreboding grunt before the line goes dead. “Look at me, baby,” I order gently, encouraging her gaze away from the carnage to me. Her eyes are empty.
“Where’s your helmet?” she murmurs on a frown.
“Fucking hell,” I breathe, kissing her, squeezing her cheeks. If she had just got in the fucking car with John. “Why do you refuse to play ball?” I ask, smothering her. “I sent John to get you, Ava. Why didn’t you let him take you to work?”
“Because I wanted to shred Matt,” she says. I look down at her. She went to see him? “But you beat me to it.”
“I was so angry, Ava,” I say quietly. Matt had to take the brunt of my rage or I was likely to self-combust with the pressure needing out.
“I would never have seen it through,” she says on a sob. “I wouldn’t have killed our baby.”
Thank. Fuck.
She has no idea how much I needed to hear that. No fucking idea. “Shhh.” I do my best to comfort her, hold her, and this time she holds me back tightly, sobbing into my shoulder.
“Excuse me, sir.” A copper approaches, taking us both in. “Is the young lady okay?”
“I don’t know.” I haven’t checked her properly or closely. “Are you okay?” I feel at her arms, check her face again, her fingers, her wrists, even her dress for rips. Nothing.
“I’m fine,” she says quietly, looking past the officer. “What about the other drivers?”
“Just a few cuts and bruises. You were all very lucky. Shall we get you checked over before we run through some questions?”
“I feel fine,” Ava protests. “Honestly.”
Dear God, help me. “I’m going to take that fine in my palm and slap you all over the arse with it.”
“I’m fine,” she reiterates, taking in her mangled Mini. The Mini she shouldn’t have been driving.
“Ava, don’t defy me on this, please,” I say, taking on a begging tactic rather than a full force demand. She’s delicate. Still in shock. “I have no problem pinning you down in the ambulance so they can confirm you’re okay.” I tilt my head and see her flick a nervous smile at the officer. “Are you going the easy way, or the hard way?” I ask.
“I’ll go,” she breathes, and that’s the only reason I release her. “My bag.”
I check she’s stable on two feet before I let go of her. “I’ll get it.”
“My phone’s on the floor,” she calls after me. The closer I get to her Mini, the colder I feel. How differently this could have played out. It’s chilling. I thought an attempt to drug her was low enough. This? I need to get us out of town for a while. Make a few calls, and maybe now actually get the police involved.
I retrieve Ava’s bag and phone and hurry back to her, holding her hand as we’re led through the crowds to the ambulance. I help her into the back.
“Sir,” the copper says, armed with a notepad and pen. “While she’s being taken care of, do you mind answering a few questions?”
Now? “Yes, I do.” I snort, eyes on Ava as she looks down at me and the paramedic fiddling with a machine beyond. Blood pressure? Heart rate? “You’ll have to wait.” They should know she’s expecting. I need to tell?—
“Sir, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
I turn a death stare his way. Yeah, I’m sure. Problem is, answering his questions isn’t a priority right now. Not to mention the fact that I have no fucking clue what to tell him. “My wife and child are in the back of that ambulance,” I say, pointing blindly to Ava, seething. I expect I’ll get told he has a job to do. Well, so do I. “The only way you’re going to stop me from seeing to them is if I’m dead.” There’s a fucking time and a place for questions, and now isn’t it. “So fucking shoot me.”
He backs off, and I return my attention to my wife. She’s standing just inside the ambulance doors while the paramedic continues to fart-arse around behind her. What, there’s no rush because she’s walking? What the hell does someone need to do to get a little urgency around here? I shake my head in despair, drop my eyes, take a breath, and have a quiet word with myself before I upset the medics as well as the?—
I frown when a see a trickle of blood appear from beneath Ava’s dress, and my eyes follow its path over her smooth skin down her leg. “Baby, you’re cut,” I whisper, running my fingertip through the trail.
She fists the material of her dress and shifts it up, looking down at her legs. “Where?” Her dress gets higher. Higher. No cut. I step back, looking at my finger covered in blood, understanding creeping up on me. I gaze up at Ava with worried eyes, hoping she’ll diminish my fears.
Her face is blank.
No.
I act without thought, moving back into her, taking her dress and lifting it higher, trying to find the cut. There has to be a cut.
I lose my breath when I see the blood-stained lace of her knickers, my body locked tight.
“No,” Ava yells distraught.
Her distress realigns me. “Oh, Jesus.” I pull her dress into place and get into the back of the ambulance, hauling her into my body, feeling her vibrate against me. “Fucking hell, no.” Surely God can’t be this cruel. I clench my eyes closed, because I know He can be. And the familiar surge of grief hijacks me as I hold my wife, squeeze her, try to protect her from this injustice.
“Sir?” The paramedic looks at me with concern.
“Hospital,” I demand, my vision hazy. “Now.”
I sit Ava on the stretcher and put myself next to her, gritting my teeth when she retreats into my chest, her tears soaking through my T-shirt. “I’m sorry,” she croaks.
“Shut up, Ava,” I snap, angry, not with her, but with the fucking world. I pull her out of my T-shirt and find her eyes. I’m fucking crushed, even though I probably deserve this endless serving of grief. But Ava? She does not. And I have to ask myself now, when she’s losing like I have lost before, if I can stay. My punishments are my own. Ava shouldn’t have to face them. Knowing she will always be hunted by my horrid fate. Knowing she’ll always suffer loss if I remain in her life.
Can I stay?
“Please,” I beg her, as she sobs and shakes, apologizes over and over. “Just shut up.” I try to wipe her tears away, but they’re coming too fast. “I love you,” I whisper, pushing my finger into her lip, trying to stop it wobbling. She swallows and curls into my side, making herself so small.
“Pregnant?” the paramedic asks.
“Yes,” I answer, even if that’s not the case now.
She nods and gives me a sympathetic smile, and I cuddle Ava that little bit closer, hearing her mumbled apologies. I can only hold her. Until the paramedic explains we can’t leave until Ava’s lying down on the bed. So I release her, watching as they ease her to her back. Watching her silently crying, her chest jumping.
How much more do I have to sacrifice before my dues are paid?