Chapter 44
I order two beers and a water, settling down at the bar on one side of Drew, Sam on the other. He’s quiet, staring into his beer. Coming to terms with his fate. After a few minutes, he swipes up the pint and necks it, slamming it down and ordering another.
Three pints in, we’ve not moved, and Drew’s doing some serious venting. Coral’s been called every name under the sun. She didn’t even deny it, and although Drew’s well aware he’s firmly in the frame, he still wants a test when the kid’s born. Wise. I don’t blame him.
“So there’s no chance of a proposal, then,” Sam says in jest. It’s not appreciated, Drew slowly turning a dark glare his way. I laugh and get up when John calls, excusing myself and stepping away.
“Where are you?” he asks when I answer.
“Consoling Drew.”
“Why?”
“Coral’s baby. It’s his.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Indeed. What’s up?”
“Okay.” He drags the word out, like he’s psyching himself up. It’s odd.
“John?”
“Don’t lose your shit.”
I still, staring at my shoes, my muscles becoming uncomfortably tense. All early warning signs that one is at risk of losing one’s shit. “Is that a request or a demand?”
“A request.”
“Spit it out, John.”
“Ava’s received some anonymous warnings.”
My lungs deflate on the spot, draining. “What?” I wheeze, eyes darting.
“When I took her to a meeting, a courier was outside her office. On a bike. He or she gave her an envelope. Inside was a message.”
“What message?”
“It alluded to the previous warning to stay away from you and some shit about Ava not knowing who you are. It got delivered with some dead flowers.”
“Jesus Christ,” I breathe, moving on unsteady legs to a nearby chair and dropping to the seat. “She had a warning to stay away from me? When?”
“I don’t know when she got the other one. She tore it up.”
I growl in disbelief. “She did what?”
“I said don’t lose your shit,” John warns.
“I’m not losing my fucking shit. Send me a picture of it,” I demand, hanging up and dialing Cook, standing, needing to feel my legs. Not so much the burn in my gut. She tore it up? And why the fuck didn’t she tell me? Cook doesn’t answer, so I try again. And again. And again.
He eventually picks up on a hushed, impatient hiss. “I’m in an operation debrief.”
“It’s important. I just found out Ava’s been getting threats. She didn’t tell me, tore the first up, but I have the second.”
“What did they say?”
“I don’t know exactly. Some rubbish about her not knowing who I am.” Fuck, she didn’t know who I was. “They told her to leave me. You need to talk to Coral Seymour.” It’s her—it’s got to be. It’s another dimension of shit for Drew to deal with too, but so be it. If he’s unlucky, his kid will be born in jail. If he’s lucky, he’ll get full custody so Coral will be out of his life.
“I’m nearly done here,” Cook says, sounding thoughtful. “I’ll head over to The Manor. You said you have the message?”
“I have a picture of the message. I’ll send it. John has the original.”
“I bet his hands have been all over it already, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Call him and tell him not to touch it again.”
“Okay.” I hang up and text John rather than call him, just as the boys clock me sweating pure stress nearby. Both turn on their bar stools, ready to come check on me. I hold a hand up, keeping them back from the blast that might happen. I dial Ava.
Breathe, breathe, breathe.
It rings and rings, and I see her in my mind’s eye plucking up the courage to answer.
Breathe, breathe, breathe.
“Please don’t shout at me,” she cries when she answers.
Breathing has not worked. “What the fucking hell were you thinking?” I ask, seeing Sam and Drew lean back on their stools, eyes widening. “You stupid, stupid woman!” I get up and start pacing, up and down, arms flailing. “I’ve been pulling my fucking hair out trying to work with Steve Cook and figure this shit out, and all along you had a handwritten threat? And you tore it up? Evidence, Ava. Fucking evidence.” I gasp for some air, hearing her quiet, emotional apology, willing myself to calm the fuck down before I send the bar up in smoke. Or burst my wife’s eardrums. She shouldn’t be stressed.Her blood pressure can’t get high. “Fuck,” I whisper, mentally punching myself in the face. “Tell me you’re not leaving that office this afternoon.”
“I have a meeting with Patrick,” she rushes to remind me. Yes. At two. It’s nearly two. “I’ll speak to him about Mikael.”
I move to a nearby table and rest a palm on the wood, leaning into it, my head hanging, my eyes closed. So now she’s keen? Now she appreciates the danger? “This isn’t the work of Mikael, Ava.” She said it herself yesterday. “Steve confirmed Mikael has been back and forth to London over the last few weeks, but completely legit.” Maybe I should have shared this news as soon as I learned it. I didn’t because maybe I thought that would be the excuse Ava needed to never tell Peterson she can’t work with Mikael. “He couldn’t have drugged you and he couldn’t have been driving my car because both of those times he was in Denmark.”
There’s a beat of silence. “What about the man in the CCTV footage?”
And that’s a point. It was definitely a man. Definitely not Coral. But did I see the suited guy who looked like Van Der Haus actually put anything in Ava’s glass? No. I just assumed it was him because he resembled Van Der Haus. It could have been anyone in that bar. Even Coral. My head banging, I rise and rub at my temple. Sarah’s standing on the threshold of the bar observing me having a meltdown. I turn my back on her, uncomfortable. “I don’t know, Ava. My car was found yesterday. Steve’s looking into it. The tracker’s been deactivated.”
“Should I come to The Manor after work?” she asks quietly, so willing.
“No,” I say, as Sarah passes me, settling with some gents on a table in front of me, now able to see my face again. I turn and walk out of the bar. I’m not surprised when Sam and Drew follow me and meet me on the steps, both concerned. “John will take you home as soon as you’ve spoken to Patrick,” I say. “I’ll meet you there. Given this new information I’ve just found out, I’ve got Steve swinging by. Don’t leave that office, and once John’s taken you home, you stay put. Do you understand me?”
“I understand,” she says quietly.
“Good girl.” Fuck, I shouldn’t have yelled at her. “I’ll speak with Steve, but I’m out of here the second I’m done.” She needs a hug. I need a hug.
“I love you,” she blurts in a panic.
“I know you do, baby.” I look to the heavens, praying for some answers soon. I can’t say I will ever relax completely when it comes to Ava and the babies, won’t bother even trying to convince myself I will, but knowing who’s responsible for all this shit will obviously take the edge off. “We’ll have a bath when I’m home. Deal?”
She agrees, and I hang up. Sam’s on my left, Drew’s on my right. All of us staring down the driveway. “Ava’s been getting threats,” I say, almost robotically, like drama is all I have to give today. It is.
“Coral said she didn’t drug Ava,” Drew murmurs. “Or run her off the road.”
I look at him, shocked. “You asked her?”
“In the heat of the moment, yes.” He rolls his shoulder, pouting moodily. “I wasn’t thinking straight, I’m sorry.”
Don’t lose your shit.
“What did you expect her to say?” Sam asks, laughing. “Oh, yes, baby daddy,” he squeaks in a pathetic female tone. “It was me, it was me.”
“For fuck’s sake, Drew.”
“I’m sorry.” He shrugs. “Is it bad I want to fuck?”
“Why would you think it’s bad? It’s your go-to.”
“But I’m possibly going to be a dad.” He flinches at the very words. “Best-case, it was Coral, mystery solved, she gets banged up, and I get the kid,” Drew says.
“Best-case?” Sam asks.
“I’ll get a nanny. It’ll be fine.” He puffs out his chest. “How hard can it be?”
“You won’t be able to fuck willy-nilly,” I say.
“Who’s willy-nilly?” Sam asks, and Drew and I burst into laughter, bending at the waist. “What?” Sam asks. “What did I say?”
“Nothing.” I chuckle, the laughter feeling good. A brief reprieve from the nightmare. But... back to the nightmare.
I sigh, turning and heading back inside. “Jesus, who would have thought, eh? Me, married with twins on the way, Sam settling down and departing from The Manor, and Drew being used as a sperm donor.”
“I’m not changing,” Drew grunts. “It’s who I am. What I do.”
I believe it. I poke my head around the bar door, seeing Sarah still holding court with the table of guys, so I head to my office and wait for Cook, calling John.
“You didn’t listen to me, did you?” he grumbles. “I could see Ava from across the road at her desk trembling.”
I grimace. I’m not proud. “Cook’s coming over now. Ava’s in a meeting with Peterson, then she’s leaving. Can you take her home? I won’t be far behind.”
“Sure. Listen, I took her to that meeting earlier.”
“At Lansdowne Crescent?”
“That’s it. A woman.”
“Ruth Quinn?”
“I don’t know. Ava mentioned something about being admired.”
Fuck me, don’t tell me I’ve got to fend off women as well as men? I’ve known John a long time. He doesn’t make somethings out of nothings. He’s not wired that way. Ava’s mentioned this Ruth Quinn is hard work, but she never mentioned she might have the hots for her. “Do you think I need to step in?” My wife’s going to have no clients left at all.
“Look, she was familiar. And I got chills. I haven’t had chills for years. Not since . . .”
I frown. “Not since what?”
“Since Lauren was in your life,” he says softly.
I laugh, a little uncomfortable. “Lauren?”
“Yeah.”
“But she’s dead.”
“Yeah.” He huffs, slightly amused, slightly uncomfortable. “I’m just. I don’t know. She looked like Lauren.”
“I’ve seen women on the street before who looked like Lauren.” I stopped one. She was understandably startled. “And I got chills too.” I get it.
John hums his agreement. “I think maybe you ought to step in.”
Yes, Lauren’s dead but, like I’ve said, John doesn’t make somethings out of nothings. So I will be stepping in. “I hear you,” I say, as another call comes in. A quick glance tells me it’s Cook. “I’ve gotta go, Cook’s calling.” Walking to the couch, I lower. “Steve.”
“Hey, so here’s one for you,” he says. “I’m on my way, by the way.”
“Hit me.” What’s he found out?
“I have a friend of a friend of a friend who got hold of Haskett and Sandler’s inventory. Clients, businesses they’re valuing and selling, that kind of thing.”
“And?”
“They’ve recently valued the company Ava works for.”
“Rococo Union?”
“Yeah.”
My brain is clearly on the lag. “Peterson’s selling?”
“And the company he’s using to sell have been checking Van Der Haus’s financial records.”
It hits me like a brick to the face. “Fuck, no,” I breathe, rising slowly up from the couch. “He’s?—”
Stay away from my wife.
I might find that impossible.
“Oh my fucking God.” I feel like I’m in a flat-out panic, not able to get anything to work. “Are you saying Ava’s boss is selling to Van Der Haus?”
“I’m saying the information I have certainly points to it, but I can’t confirm.”
My phone dings, announcing another call. I ignore it. “She’s in a meeting with her boss.” I inhale. Is Peterson telling them he’s selling up? “Fuck!”
“Could he also be introducing them to the new owner?” Steve asks.
I freeze. Hell, no. My phone dings at my ear again, and this time I look. It’s John, and I have a horrible feeling I know what he’s going to say. I quickly switch the calls. “John?”
“Van Der Haus just went into Ava’s office. What do you want me to do?”
I snatch my keys off the desk and head out, nearly taking Drew and Sam off their feet as I steam past them, the floor shaking under my feet. “I think he’s bought Rococo Union,” I gasp, out of breath, not that I’m running. I’m just... breathless.
“What?”
“I think Van Der Haus has bought the company my wife works for.” I swing the door of the Aston open and fall into my seat.
“What?” Drew and Sam yell in unison, both of them in the way so I can’t close my door.
“Move,” I bark.
“No.” Drew shakes his head. “Never, no way. You’ll fucking kill yourself driving in this state.” He points to my hand on the door handle. It’s vibrating so much, it’s almost a blur. “You need to calm down.”
“Calm down?” I ask.
“Tell me what’s going on,” Drew demands. “How do you know this? Where’s Ava? And Van Der Haus, where’s he?”
I look at him, feeling spaced out, trying to remember every question he just threw my way. Can’t.
“Fucking hell.” He snatches my phone from my hand, looking at the screen. “John,” he says, walking a few paces away while Sam keeps guard of me and the car door. “It’s Drew. He’s losing his mind. What’s the deal?” Drew listens, looking my way, as I try and fail to cool the rage. “You need to get her out before Jesse spins on in there like a Tasmanian Devil and leaves irreparable damage in his wake.” Drew nods, hanging up, and hands me my phone. “Take a few deep breaths before you make your next move.”
I listen to him, breathing in and out, while Sam cups my shoulder and rubs firmly and I clutch the steering wheel. “I’m calm.” I can’t be shouting my mouth off again to Ava. “I’m calm,” I reiterate, holding my hand out for my mobile. I dial Ava. She doesn’t answer. I don’t try again, not prepared to waste any time, calling John back instead.
“She’s not answering,” I breathe. “Are you in there?”
“She’s fine,” John says, a little breathless too. He’s acted. Gone in there to check.
Then suddenly I hear Ava down the line, sounding small and unsure. “Jesse?”
“What the fuck is he doing there?” I ask, feeling Drew’s and Sam’s disappointed eyes on me. The fuck was really quite unnecessary, and the very reason Drew’s right. Keep me away. But the question? Totally necessary. I need to know if Steve’s hunch was right.
“He’s bought the company,” Ava says, all so matter of fact.
Lord, hold me back. “Get your bag,” I hiss, raging. “Get John, and leave.” I release my grip of the wheel, my hand sweating. “Do you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Do it now while I’m on the phone.”
“Okay.”
I hear Peterson’s questioning voice. Then Ava’s assertive one. She sounds so together. It’s more than I am.
“I’m sorry, Patrick,” she says, a rustling sound coming down the line. Packing her bags? “I can’t work for Rococo Union anymore.”
She’s right. She can’t. And I don’t have the capacity or sense to be happy about that right now. Yes, I wanted her to be a lady of leisure, to enjoy her life, not graft for someone else’s gain. Yes, I pushed it. But I never pushed her out. Van Der Haus has pushed her out.
Peterson starts a confused babble of words, pressing Ava for sense and reason. “Mikael has assured me that you’ll be made a profit-sharing director.”
My jaw goes lax, and I look at the boys. “The cunt’s trying to buy my wife.”
“Serious?” Sam asks.
“Fucking lowlife,” Drew mutters, as I get back to listening, hoping John’s ready to step in if necessary. Van Der Haus would be buried in the plaster of a wall if I were there. No doubt.
“Sal,” Ava says, her voice getting quieter by the second. I’m struggling to hear her. “He’s been using you to keep tabs on me. I’m sorry.”
And there goes my jaw again. The woman he was with? It was Sally? Ava’s work colleague? My God, is there anything he wouldn’t do?
“What now?” Sam asks.
“He was dating Ava’s work friend to keep track of Ava.”
Both boys mirror my disbelief.
“Are you so desperate that you’d destroy someone as sweet as Sally?” Ava asks, still quiet, but I detect the edge of disgust. “Are you so desperate to get revenge on—” I lose her, and I squint, listening harder, pushing the phone into my ear.
“Revenge on that womanizer is just an advantage.” Mikael’s distant, grainy voice takes me from disbelief to borderline psycho. “I’ve wanted you from day one.” I fucking knew it. Of course he’d want her. Who wouldn’t? “He doesn’t deserve you.”
I inhale, flinching at the reality of hearing someone else say what I’ve known all along. I don’t deserve Ava. I don’t deserve happiness. I don’t deserve another chance. Amalie’s words stamp all over my mind. It’s not your fault. So many people have said it to me. But for the first time today, I considered believing it.
“I’m sorry, Patrick,” Ava says, and I hear footsteps past the rustle of her mobile rubbing with her bag, her clothes. I don’t know. She’s leaving. I sink into the leather of my seat, swallowing.
“Ava?” Van Der Haus says, gentle.
Hearing him call her name hardens every muscle again. I stare at the steering wheel, waiting for what he might say next. It’s nothing Ava won’t know, but can I relax?
“He fucked other women when he was with you, Ava,” he says, and I cough. “He doesn’t deserve you.”
“He does deserve me!” Ava shouts, sounding deranged, the volume and sheer distress making me jump in my seat. I look at Sam and Drew, who are still standing by, waiting for updates or to stop me leaving. “No one gets to pass judgment on him,” she goes on, not letting up. “Except me. He’s mine!”
The words ring in my ear, reverberating and sinking deep. I’m hers. She owns me. Only her judgments matter. Only Ava’s feelings matter. How she cares for me, loves me, sees me—that’s all that matters.
“Did you drug me?” she asks.
“Ava, I would never hurt you.” Van Der Haus’s voice is so soft. So pacifying. It just reaffirms what I always feared. He truly wants her, not just for revenge, but because she’s beautiful, talented, spirited, and driven. “I’ve bought this company for you.”
“You’re consumed with the need for vengeance. You don’t even know me. We’ve shared no intimacy, connection, or special moments. What’s wrong with you?”
“I know a good thing when I see it, and I’m prepared to fight for it.”
Fight? Can’t he see it’s over? Is he going to hang around for me to fuck up again, hoping Ava sees the light and leaves me?
“You’ll be fighting in vain,” Ava says. “And even if you succeed in your attempts to break us, which you never will, you couldn’t have me afterward.”
“Why?”
“Because without him, I’m dead.”
I release the breath I’ve been holding and feel my heart thrash in my chest. Not anxiety. Not fear.
Life.
The doors of John’s Range Rover shut. Has she forgotten I’m here on the end of the phone?
“Jesse?”
What do I say to her? I don’t know, so I leave the line quiet for a while. Stunned. “I don’t deserve you, he’s right.” I clench my chin in my hand, for the first time uncertain whether I agree with myself. “But I’m too selfish to give you up to someone who does.” And that someone isn’t Mikael. But it might be me soon. If I can accept myself. Forgive myself. “We’ll never be broken.” My fucking voice is cracking, God damn me. “And you’ll never be without me, so you’ll be living forever, baby.”
“Deal,” she murmurs, sounding emotional, tired, but at the same, I sense relief.
“I’ll see you in the bath.”
“Deal,” she says again.
I hang up, start the car, and look at the boys. “I’m fine, and I need to get home.”
They both nod, and I buckle up, send Steve a message to let him know I’ll call him later, pulling away calmly to demonstrate my stability. I’ve never felt so stable and, weirdly, a desire to kill Van Der Haus isn’t dominating my emotions.
I pull out of the gates of The Manor, letting the window down, and A Man’s, Man’s, Man’s World comes through the speakers. I laugh lightly at the irony. “True,” I muse, thinking, reaching into my pocket and pulling out my picture of the babies. I smile, setting it on the dashboard so I can look at it often, driving sensibly through the country roads on my way back to the city. Calm. Thoughtful. She’s left her job, she’s all mine, and I will make sure she’s content and fulfilled. Whatever she wants, she can have it. Ironic that after spending the best part of my relationship and marriage to Ava trying to convince her she doesn’t need to work, it’s the fucker who tried to ruin me who made it happen. A weight feels like it’s left my shoulders, despite learning about the threats Ava’s received. She won’t be leaving my sight, and now she doesn’t need to.
My phone starts ringing, cutting the music, and an unknown number illuminates the screen.
Scotland?
I frown and tentatively accept the call. “Jesse Ward.”
“It’s Alan.”
I stare at the road, at a loss. “Alan...?”
“Pierce.”
“Oh,” I breathe, my stomach turning. “Alan.”
“I heard you’ve been trying to get hold of me.”
I wonder how, but I don’t ask. “Yeah, um—” Shit, how the fuck do I explain that? I thought I saw his dead daughter. I thought I’d check with him to see if she’s still incarcerated. Miles away from me and my new wife. “I’m sorry for your loss, Alan.”
There’s a beat too long of silence. “My loss?”
I falter, his genuine confused reaction to my statement confusing me. “Lauren.”
“Yes, I’m sorry too,” he says, his words a tired exhale. “I’m sorry I ever thought I could fix her.”
I wince. The site of my scar twinges. Could I have fixed her by loving her? “Can I ask...” I stall. Fuck. “Can I ask how?” Why do I want to know? It’s warped and, actually, will do me no favors in my own recovery process. Could bring on more guilt, more stress.
“How what?” Alan asks, the confusion back.
And now I’m with him. “How she died?”
“Lauren’s not dead, Jesse,” he says, so clinically. Detached.
The fuck? An underlying panic rises. “You told?—”
“I told people I’d lost my daughter, because I did.”
Every scrap of air leaves my lungs. “What?”
“She’s not dead, Jesse. She was in a psychiatric hospital for years. They released her. They shouldn’t have. Her mother and I had to step away before she killed us, whether that be in a fit of rage or because she made us ill.”
Ice creeps into my bloodstream.
“I’m just sorry...” He’s clearly struggling. I’m with him. But for me, it’s my breathing. It’s diminished. “I’m very sorry about what she did to you, son.”
I stare at the road disappearing under the wheels of the car.
Paralyzed.