Chapter 8 #2
‘Not bad. I’m just having a couple of hours’ break before I get started on dinner. Are you all right?’
‘Mmhmm, sure. Are you enjoying your break with Jackson?’
Sandy scoffs. I imagine her rolling her eyes at the phone. ‘That’s really none of your business, missy. Get back to work.’
‘Enjoy the rest of your break,’ I sing, receiving a puff of air before Sandy hangs up.
My iPhone rings. Quickly grabbing it, I see a number I don’t recognise. ‘Scarlett Heath,’ I say.
‘Scarlett, it’s Amy here. Would you like me to make you dinner this evening?’
‘Oh, hi, Amy.’ I try my best not to let my disappointment show. ‘Erm, no, gosh, it’s fine. I’ll make myself something.’
‘Scarlett, darling, this is my job. Now, what would you like? I do a mean fish pie?’
‘A mean fish pie sounds wonderful, thank you.’
‘Excellent, I’ll leave it in the oven so you just need to reheat it whenever you get home. Pop it on 180 for half an hour; that should do it.’
‘You’re a star, Amy.’
‘I know,’ she chuckles. ‘I’ll most likely be gone when you get home but you can get me on this number if you need me. Otherwise, I’ll see you in the morning.’
Is this what life with Gregory would be like? Me completely dependent on him, tracking his movements, dealing with his staff?
A last-minute meeting drags me away from staring at my silent phone. It’s almost eight fifteen by the time I get back to my desk, so I do a final check of my emails and decide to call it a day. I text Kenneth and he’s waiting outside when I step out into the blustering wind and rain.
Following Amy’s instructions, I set my mean fish pie off heating in the oven and take a shower, coming back to the emptiness of the lounge that now feels bigger than ever, and curling up on the sofa in my oversized jumper to eat my dinner.
Everywhere I go, my iPhone comes with me.
Still nothing. The feeling of unease I have is increasing and it’s not just because I’ve not heard from Gregory.
This is the first time I’ve been in the apartment alone for any length of time.
I’ve never stayed here alone and my mind is beginning to wander to the spot of the floor which was covered in a crimson pool on Saturday night.
I used to feel like this as a child when my dad was working the night shift. What I wouldn’t give to know Sandy was in the bedroom next to me tonight.
I squeal when my phone beeps to announce a text.
How’s my girl? I miss you.
Biting my bottom lip in an attempt to slim the excessively wide smile spreading across my face, I reply.
Your girl is missing you too. I’m wishing it was Friday already.
Me too, baby. I’m heading out for a run before breakfast. Sweet dreams, don’t let the mites bite.
I laugh to myself.
I think you mean bed bugs, baby. The saying is don’t let the bed bugs bite.
There better be nothing biting you except me.
Bolt upright in bed, I pant, my palm instinctively feeling my chest. There’s no hole, no blood, no bullet.
My nightdress is soaked, my hair stuck to the back of my neck.
Glancing around the dark bedroom, I realise I’m alone, I’m safe.
My shoulders stop heaving as my diaphragm regains control, expanding and contracting with my lungs in a regular pattern.
Retrieving my phone from under the pillow, I learn it’s after five in the morning.
There’s little chance of me going back to sleep and I’m not sure I can face it.
I take myself to the bathroom and splash cold water over my face and in my dry mouth.
Then I find my gym clothes in my section of the walk-in; we really are going to have to do something about expanding my space if I stay here.
Clad in Lycra, I slot my phone around my arm in a holster and traipse to the gym room.
The cross-trainer and treadmill feel a little ambitious in light of my lack of sleep, so I opt for the spin bike; at least I can warm up a little first. Ne-Yo’s ‘Closer’ fills my ears and my legs begin to find life.
Ten tracks into my workout playlist, my legs are most definitely awake, sprinting to the chorus of each track and keeping a steady pace to the verses.
A bead of sweat tickles my face as it rolls to the end of my nose.
I’m happily too tired to think about anything other than turning my legs to the beat in my ears.
When I hit sixty minutes, I climb down from the bike and cross my foot over my opposite knee, bending to stretch out my glutes.
‘Couldn’t sleep?’
Jackson stands in the doorway dressed in sports shorts and a vest.
I wipe the back of my hand across my brow to mop up the influx of sweat. ‘Not the best night’s sleep I’ve ever had,’ I admit, switching legs to stretch the other side.
He flicks his head to the lat pulldown machine on the non-mirrored side of the gym. ‘Do you mind if I join you?’
‘Not at all.’ I finish my leg stretches and lie down on the spongy gym flooring to do some bums and tums.
Jackson grunts on each yank down of the bar. After his set of ten, he smacks a fist into the punch bag that’s suspended from the ceiling by a metal frame. His lats look fierce.
‘How’s the leg?’ I ask, making my way over to him.
He looks at his injured thigh with pursed lips. ‘I’ll let you know later. I’m going to try some exercise on it today.’
‘Jackson, I was wondering if you would teach me some stuff. Just some punches, that kind of thing, on the bag.’
Jackson eyes the bag, then me.
‘I’d just feel better if I knew how to defend myself a little.’
He nods twice, then shakes his head. ‘He’ll never let anything come near you again, trust me.’
I sigh. ‘I appreciate that he thinks he can control everything, Jackson, but there are some things he can’t stop. We’ve seen that. I know Pearson’s gone. I know that’s over. But I’d just feel better.’
‘Come on then. Show me your fist,’ he says, standing on the opposite side of the punch bag to me, holding it still.
I clench my fist and hold it up.
‘You’ll break your knuckles if you punch like that, kid.
You do it like this.’ He demonstrates, forming his own fist, then takes my attempt and adjusts my thumb position.
‘That’s better.’ He resumes holding the punch bag.
‘Let’s try a hook. You need to swing from your shoulder, that’s where you’ll get the power. ’
I swing my hardest punch at the bag. Jackson holds it still.
‘Lift your elbow a little and punch through the bag, not at it. Carry your arm right through the impact.’
‘Like this?’ I throw my hook at the bag, shaking my fingers after the impact to stop the sting.
‘Atta girl! Nice hook! D’you want to wear the gloves?’
I nod quickly with a giggle. ‘Yes, please.’
My cardiovascular system has had a serious workout by the time we finish.
I collapse in a heap on the spongy floor with Jackson looking on, laughing.
My face feels like the savannah in the heart of summer.
Even if I had the strength to do it, I don’t ever want to move again but a hand pulls my arm, forcing me to stand on my jelly legs.
‘You need to stretch those arms and your back.’
‘Jackson, I can’t. I can’t breathe.’
He laughs but lifts my arm across my chest. ‘Stretch.’
Another man to boss me around. Jackson and Mr Controlling are a good pair.
‘He cares for you, Scarlett.’ Jackson’s voice is low but he’s staring at me intently.
‘Do you really think so?’
‘He’s crazy about you, kid. But I’m not sure he knows it yet.’
‘How can he not know whether he cares for me? I don’t understand him. One minute, I feel like I’m just in his way; the next, he says he’s missing me.’
‘This is new to him. Now there’s so much other shit going on too but give him time to work it out and he’ll get there.’
I really hope so, but there’s as much chance of Gregory deciding he cares for me as there is of him deciding he doesn’t care enough.
His words come back to me: so she can move on.
What does that mean? Does he want me to move on or is he really just afraid of letting me see who he really is?
He said he wishes I wanted to leave but he won’t tell me to go.
I don’t want him to be with me through obligation, through owing me a debt.
I want us to be in this together. But sometimes, it feels like he pushes me away.
If we weren’t in this position, would I be contemplating damaging my career by not going to Dubai for a man who really might not want to be part of the same team?
‘Sandy seems happy,’ I say, desperate to change the subject and my wayward thoughts as I move to a tricep stretch. ‘You make her happy.’
Jackson looks at me with eyes lit like I’ve never seen on him before, wide, sparkling espresso browns, just a shade darker than his glistening skin.
‘I try,’ he says, trying to be all butch, but there’s no mistaking the slight curl of his lips. ‘How’re you holding up with everything?’
‘I’d be lying if I said well. I can’t stand the thought that I’ve killed a man but what’s eating me up more is watching Gregory suffer for my wrong.’
‘You know, Scarlett, he doesn’t see it like that.
He dragged you into all this and he wants to fix it for you.
Darlin’, that man’s mind has been black as long as I’ve known him.
But not with you, for the first time. I don’t know whether he’s more afraid of losing you, getting you caught up and hurt in his next mess, or you feeling the way he has for years. ’
‘I don’t want him to blame himself.’
‘I know, kid, I know. He’ll fix this case. It won’t go to trial but he needs your help with the rest.’
‘The rest?’
‘If he’s going to stop hating himself for what he thinks he made you do, you need to show him you’ve accepted it.’
‘But I haven’t. I don’t know if I can.’
He takes my hand and encourages me to sit on the weight bench beside him.
‘I’ve killed, Scarlett,’ he says. ‘In the forces. It was my job but don’t think it’s easy to kill a man and not have guilt follow you around like a black dog. Especially the first one, that takes some getting over.’
I’ve never really delved into Jackson’s past but I suddenly feel an overwhelming desire to know more about Gregory’s protector and Sandy’s new love. ‘How did you get over it?’
‘By reminding myself why I did it. I killed not just for my country but to save the men I was serving with and to save myself. That’s how I live with it. In that situation, to kill was the only option.’
I know I killed Pearson to save Gregory. What I don’t know is how much of me took that shot in revenge. For Gregory. For my dad. For me.
The only thing I’m sure of is that having Gregory with me gives me the justification I need.
One more day until he’s back. One more day closer to the ballistics report that will prove a murder took place in this apartment.
Day five.