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“Will!” I gasp, throw back the duvet, and stumble to my feet.
“Will, mate...” Gary laughs. “We were wondering when you’d be home.”
“Yeah? I’m not really into threesomes.” My lungs freeze as stone-cold realisation drops like a bucket of ice water. He thinks I slept with Gary last night. Oh! Holy! Shit!
“Mate, we were just... I stayed over because I was pissed. I slept on the sofa.”
“Looks like it.” He nods at the coffee on my bedside table.
“You can’t be serious?” My hands are trembling, my voice barely there. This can’t be happening. Not again.
One look at Will’s face tells me that it is. It is happening again, and my heart goes into shutdown until I don’t feel anything but numb. The survival instinct kicks in strong, and I know my brain won’t let me chase him. My heart will have to live with it. I’ll get over it one day. Just like I did before.
“I’m going to collect Mae,” he says, his face stony when he looks at me. “I would suggest you don’t follow.” Gary moves towards Will, and I grab his arm before Will stalks out the door.
“Don’t.” Gary frowns at me questioningly. “I can’t do this again. If that’s what he thinks, let him.” I can’t ever go back to that. Not for anyone. I’m sick of trying to prove myself. I shouldn’t fucking have to.
“Sweets.” He reaches for me and wipes the tears with his thumbs before holding me tight. I tremble against him until the front door closes, and an engine rips to life and takes off down the lane, adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream like the lifesaver it is.
If Will doesn’t know me well enough to know I’d never do that to him, then we shouldn’t be getting married. Hell, we shouldn’t be together at all.
In that moment, I can see everything crystal clear. If Will really believes that I could do that, we’re over. It has to be. I’ve been down that road before; it leads to a hospital bed. Or the morgue, if the medical team doesn’t manage to keep you alive.
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“You sure you’re okay?” Gary asks again as we stand on the doorstep a few hours later.
“No.” How can I be? My fiancé thinks I’m a cheat. I give him a weak smile. “But I will be.” Because I have to be. I won’t ever go back.
“Do you want me to talk to him?”
“No. Please don’t. He won’t believe you anyway, and if you two get into it, I’ll end up hating him. Let me keep some good memories.” After a few moments of searching my face, he kisses my forehead and walks down the garden path to his car, glancing back every few steps. I force my lips to smile and my arm to raise in a wave.
I turn and call out to Summer, “Let’s go, sweet pea.” My voice is tight and hoarse. Thick with unshed tears, but I refuse to fall apart over this particular issue again. Or ever.
***
When I arrive at E:Vents just before ten, the door is still locked. I pull out my key, fumble it into the lock, and twist until the door creaks open. The lights are off too. I flick the switch and notice a thick envelope on my desk. I close the door behind me and walk over, rounding the desk, and sit heavily. Is it me, or has this day been going on forever?
I rip open the thick white paper and slide the contents out. A set of keys lands on the polished wood. I pick up the top sheet and read. And read it again. I put it down, then pick it up. Put it down again, rub my eyes, and read it for a third time.
It still makes zero sense. What the hell?
I hit Bells on speed dial and get her voicemail. “Bells? It’s me. I got your...letter. I don’t understand. You want out? You want me to buy you out? Are you okay? Is it the baby? I...call me. Please. Let me know you’re okay.”
I sit still and try to think straight. Could it be a problem with the baby? Or something else? I don’t bloody know! But there’s no point speculating. I don’t have time for that. I stand and retrieve the diary from Bells’s side of the office, unlock her top drawer, collect another pile of post to go with the stack I already have to deal with, and sit back at my own desk.
I check today’s appointments and note the only thing I have to worry about in the next few hours is an eleven o’clock. And the client is coming here, which makes my life easier. I start to methodically tear open envelopes, recycling them and the junk mail, and respond to anything that needs it before I recycle that too. I’m about halfway through the pile when I pick up a small brown envelope with my name on it, marked: private and confidential. I rip it open and read.
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Dear Ms Adams,
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Your contraceptive implant is due to expire in two months. Please make an appointment with your GP or your local Family Planning clinic to discuss your options, or fit a replacement.
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Sincerely,
Family Planning
––––––––
I frantically search for the date on the correspondence. And my heart thumps to a dead stop.
March. Fucking March! Four fucking months ago? Literally? No!
My head is spinning and my stomach is heaving, for a whole other reason. I dash to the ladies and throw up my vile coffee.
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When I make it back to my office, having bought some peppermints and water at the rooftop café, Gary is standing, legs wide, in the centre.
“He—”
“What. The. Fuck. Did you do?”
“Wha—?” Gary’s eyes are wild. His breathing heavy and forced. His teeth clenched. I’ve seen that look before...I know what happens next.
“Tell me!” he roars, and rushes at me. I jump backwards, out of reach. Out of range. My heart rate is through the roof, my brain scrambling for an exit plan, my limbs leaden. “What? You fucked up your own relationship, so you thought you’d fuck up mine too? What the fuck is wrong with you!”
“Gary... I don’t—”
“Save it. Just. Don’t fucking bother, Eva. And to think, I felt sorry for you. I actually felt fucking sorry for you!” he screams, before storming out of the door and slamming it so hard bits of plaster rain down on my head, and the frame cracks.
“... know what you’re talking about,” I tell the door, through streaming tears and hard-won breath.
I lock the door and force myself to inhale and exhale in a steady rhythm. It’s essential. I fold down to my knees, my hands flat on the floor, stretching out my chest.
After a while, I shift my weight, leaning back on the door with my knees in my eye sockets, my mouth wide as I fight for oxygen, my imagination left to come up with the only explanation possible. Will told Bells. She believed him. And Gary has lost his pregnant wife and needs someone to blame.
This is all a bad dream. It has to be. I’ll wake up any minute now. It’s just a dream.
Tap! Tap-tap!
“Eva? Is everything okay?” the deep voice of the building’s security guard asks.
“I’m fine, Daryl. It’s nothing.”
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When I eventually lower my knees to the side and open my eyes, I’m still sitting on the floor in my office. Definitely not a dream. And now I have to deal with it. Adapt or die, as my dad would say. For a moment, the idea of just sitting here and waiting for option two flits through my brain. But only for a second, before Summer’s little face fills it instead, and I know I have no choice but to move forward. Keep moving forward. Don’t stop until I’m somewhere better than right here.
I need to start. Just make a start. An attempt at getting through this, and things will be easier. The first thing I need is a pregnancy test. I grab my bag and head for the stairs.
I hitch the strap higher on my shoulder and dig through for my sunglasses, before stepping out onto Covent Garden and directing my feet to the nearest chemist.
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I smile my thanks at the cashier fifteen minutes later and stash the test at the bottom of the bag, before turning around and walking as slowly as possible back the way I came.
***
Another fifteen minutes later, I’m sitting on the toilet, lid down, and staring at the white stick in my hand, praying that it’s negative and watching the lines form that confirm it’s not.
“Fuck.” My palm comes up to my forehead, thumping again and again. “Fuck!” I yell.
Okay. It’s okay, Eva. You have choices. You don’t have to have a baby. Two little pills and the problem is solved. It’s just a cell cluster that needs to not be there anymore. “One of the fucking problems,” I grumble to myself as I shove the test in my bag and flick the lock back.
I wash my hands, exit the ladies and trudge across to our office. My office. May as well get used to it.
I lock the door again and march right to my desk. I dial the GP, then hang up. She knows my mum. I grab the bloody letter and dial the Family Planning number at the top.
“Hello. Can I help you?” the third person I’ve spoken to, in the last ten minutes, asks.
“Yes. I’m under twelve weeks pregnant. I need to come collect some mifepristone and misoprostol.”
“You’re medical?”
“Yes.” It’s half-true.
“It’s not usual to...”
“I know. I know it’s not. But I...need this. I can’t...I can’t do this.” There’s a long pause. I can hear her clicking a mouse. I know what she’s doing. She’s reading my medical notes.
“I’ll have it waiting for you at reception within the hour, Ms Adams,” she says in a hushed voice.
“Thank you.” I let out a big breath of pure relief and hang up, only to pick the receiver right back up when the phone rings.
“Eva. Your appointment is here.”
“Thanks, Claire.” The show must go on, right? I don’t get to crumble, because I’m a big girl now.
***
“Good morning, Scott. Can I get you a tea or coffee?” I offer the client waiting in reception the following day.
“I’m good, thanks.” He smiles and follows me into the office.
“Take a seat,” I wave an arm towards the empty seat and walk around the desk to take my own chair. “What can I do for you?” The words are almost a sigh. Fatigue has turned my muscles to lead.
“I’ve heard you’re the best.” He tilts his head, his eyes flicking over my face when I don’t respond. He was expecting a reaction? Speak, Eva!
“Oh, um. Thanks?” He chuckles in an easy way and leans back in the chair, stretching out his legs.
“I’ve just bought a salsa club. I want to launch it right.”
“Wow. That sounds fun. When do you want to launch?” I love salsa!
“Well, the refurb should be finished in six weeks. Can you work with that?”
“We’ll call it eight, to be on the safe side. What kind of thing are you hoping for?” I reach across for my pad and pen.
“Fun. A real party atmosphere. Great Mexican food...tequila and...All. Night. Long. Sssalsa.”
When I glance up at him, he’s watching me intently. “Do I know you from somewhere?” I ask him, mirroring his head tilt. He seems kind of familiar.
“No. I’d remember if we’d met.”
“Oh? You have a memory for faces?”
“Something like that.” A slow smile spreads over his lips, and I drop my gaze to my pad. “I’ve never seen eyes that colour before.”
“No? I see them every time I look in the mirror.” He laughs, a genuine laugh, not forced. I like him already. “Well, it sounds pretty straightforward, Scott. When can I come see the venue?”
“We can go right now, if you’re not busy?”
“Unfortunately, I am. Until about eight o’clock.” I open the diary and flick through.
“I can do just after eight, if you want, or we can make it another day.”
“Let’s get it done. Next week doesn’t look much better than this one. Do you have a card?” He shakes his head.
“Not yet. Here, I’ll write the address down for you.” He reaches across and pulls the pad over towards himself. “Can I borrow your pen?” He holds out his hand, and I drop it into his palm.
“And my number, just in case,” he says as I pull open my top drawer and rummage through for a card, which I place on top of the pad for him. “Will you be driving?” I glance at the postcode.
“No. I’ll probably walk.”
“Walk!”
“Yes?”
“I’ll pick you up.”
“There’s no need.”
“You shouldn’t be walking around London alone at night.”
“I can take care of myself. Thanks, though. I’ll see you there when I’m done.” I stand, ending the conversation. He’s frowning as if he wants to say something else. I really hope he doesn’t.
“See you later.” I smile and walk to the door, holding it open.
“If you’re sure?”
“I am.” I nod encouragingly.
***
When I arrive at the address Scott has given me, just after eight, he’s pacing up and down like an expectant father.
“Hi,” I call, trying to muster a smile.
“Hi.” He sounds relieved as he turns to hold open the door.
“Wow.” I stop a few paces inside and take it all in. “It looks like it was a church or something,” I assume out loud, my eyes moving over the exposed brickwork and vaulted ceilings in the huge, open space.
“It was. Isn’t it cool!” I glance at my client, who’s grinning like a small boy.
“It certainly is.”
“I’m having a sprung dance floor laid next week.” I nod and walk further inside, and feel my jaw drop at the sight of the massive stained-glass window. “You like it?” Scott asks, right beside me.
“I really do. But now I’m thinking we’re going to have to do the building justice with our event. You’ve just upped the pressure.”
“How about a drink, to take the edge off?” He looks at me all hopeful, and I don’t have the heart to say no.
“Sure. But just a soft drink. I still need to work when I get home.” And I’m pregnant. For now. He nods, and I follow him out to the kitchen, which is about half the size of the main area. There are boxes of spirits and mixers piled high in here.
“So, why salsa?” I ask as he hands me a glass.
“It’s my favourite dance. And it’s one everyone can do, and have a great time.” He gestures to the boxes. “What would you like?” My eyes skip over the various options.
“Diet coke, please.” My brain is running off in tangents. But the recurring theme is carnival.
Eight weeks from now is when? I pull out my phone and navigate to the calendar. “So, eight weeks from now is...mid-August. Hmmm.”
“Hmmm, what?” Scott raises a questioning eyebrow as well as his can of coke.
“Well...I’m thinking a carnival would be amazing...and the biggest Latin-themed carnival I know is The Day of the Dead, but that’s probably an additional eight weeks or more away...”
“The second of November,” Scott confirms between swigs.
“Right...so...hmmm.” He chuckles, and so do I. “Sorry. I’m just thinking...Maybe go for a soft launch in eight weeks and a bloody big blowout for the carnival?”
“Sounds interesting.”
“Let me think on it, and I’ll come back to you with a firm plan and a schedule with costings.” My brain isn’t up for too much more of anything tonight. I put the glass down and drink straight from the can.
“Sounds like a plan, Eva.” He flashes me a smile. “Come sit. Or would you rather dance?”
“Sitting is good.”
“You don’t dance?”
“Sometimes.” I shrug. Like on dusky lawns in the arms of a beautiful man...or in the pouring rain with thunder rattling my bones... “It’s just been a long day.”
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Scott is pretty easy to sit and chat with, even for me, and before I know it, it’s almost ten.
“Oh! Crap. I’m sorry. I really have to go.” I jump up from the cardboard box I’m using as a seat and look around for my bag. Scott hands it to me.
“Please don’t tell me you’re thinking of walking anywhere now?”
“Only to the station.”
“I’m coming with you.” I smile and accept his offer of company.
I text Mum to let her know I’m running late.
“Everything okay?” he asks. I throw the phone back in my bag and walk through the door as he holds it open.
“Thank you. Yes. It’s just my mum; she’s looking after my daughter and I’m late.”
“You have a daughter?”
“I do.” I smile as Summer’s antics dance around my head. Then Mae’s. And my brain whispers, Maybe you have another one now. And I shake my head. “Do you have kids?”
“No. Not yet. So...are you married?”
“No. I think I’m allergic,” I scoff.
“Bad experience?” He smiles.
“Yeah. Something like that.”
“He’s an idiot,” he says softly.
“Who is?”
“Your ex. Whoever he is.” I give him an awkward smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“It’s fine. Are you married?”
“No, I didn’t think I’d ever get married...”
“Sounds like there’s a but in there to me.” He glances at me and shoves his hands in his pockets. I get the feeling it’s a sore point, so I change the subject. Maybe he’s recently divorced? Could explain why he’s opening a new club. “Do you live in London?”
“Yeah, above the club, for now.”
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Scott doesn’t leave my side until I’m safely installed on the train. I think, at one point, he was considering coming with me, judging by the way he kept looking at the empty seat beside mine.
“Thank you for your bodyguard services.” As unnecessary as they were. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” He nods, appearing reluctant as he turns around and shoves his hands back in his pockets.
***
When I drive up the lane to The Nook with Summer asleep in the back, I can’t stop yawning. And Will’s car is parked outside with the boot open.
My hands are shaking as I release my seat belt and reach for the handle to push the car door wide. I can’t make my feet move, so I close the door and take a few seconds, breathing deep, leaning against the car with my eyes shut.
“I didn’t know you’d be here.” My eyes spring open, and Will is loading a box stuffed with his and Mae’s things into the boot. The image hits me like a truck.
“What are you doing?” He slams the boot shut and turns to face me; the cold look on his face makes my stomach sink.
“What does it look like?”
“Will...” I step forward, towards him, and he steps back holding up both hands.
“Don’t. I just came for our stuff. That’s all I want.”
“Please don’t do this.” My voice is little more than a whisper, forced out through my closed-up throat. “Please. Will! You know I love you.”
“Yeah? You love me so much you fucked Gary the first chance you got?”
“Is that really what you think?”
“What the fuck am I supposed to think, Eva? You haven’t called. You haven’t even denied it.”
“Would you believe me if I did?” He looks at me hard, his jaw working under his skin.
“No.” I take a deep inhale, hold it, and close my eyes against the world, waiting for the pain to stop.
“Okay.” I nod and step back.
“That’s it? Okay?”
“What do you want me to say, Will? You want me to tell you that you have it all wrong? That I’d never do that to you? That I love you? That I really thought...” I shake my head and swipe the traitorous tears away. “What would be the point? You already said you wouldn’t believe me. And if you loved me, if you knew me at all...you wouldn’t have to think.”
The heartbreak I’d staved off with constant activity has just crept up behind me with a sledgehammer, and I need to not be standing in the street. I negotiate Summer’s floppy body into my arms and clunk the car door shut.
I turn away from Will without even saying goodbye and refuse to let my feet run inside, my lips clamped together, desperately trying not to fall apart. Not for another ten seconds. I jog up the stairs and lay Summer in bed, counting down in my head. Five, I creep out of the room, pulling the door halfway closed...Four, I run full pelt to the bathroom...Three, I lock the bathroom door and rip a towel from the rail...Two, I ball it up and bury my face in it...One, and scream until I can’t anymore.
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When I’m too exhausted to have any option but sleep, I allow myself to crawl into bed, and I’m out cold before the latest tears are dry.
I feel the mattress dip and automatically reach out for Will. “I’m sorry. I know I’m being stupid. Insecure...Forgive me?” His arms stretch around me, and he kisses my hair as I snuggle against him, my head on his chest and tucked under his chin. His fingertips skate up and down my upper arm, shoulder to elbow, and back again until I’m relaxed and breathing deeply.
“I love you,” I mumble before sleep sucks me under again.
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It’s not quite light yet when I stir. Foggy memories probe at my consciousness, and I jolt awake, throwing myself around to face Will. But he’s not there. I reach out a hesitant hand, already knowing that the pillow will be un-slept-on cool when I touch it, but it still stings when it’s confirmed.
As I lie there in the predawn light, the full force of fucked up hits me square in the chest. I’m pregnant. With the child of a man who believes I’m sleeping with Gary. Again!
And I realise I forgot to stop by the clinic for the pills. I make a note, somewhere in my brain, to call in on my way to work.
But this time, it’s not just Will who believes it. Bells does too. And Gary is blaming me. Davey is away, sunning himself in Mexico, which means...I’m fucked.
No! No, it doesn’t. It means I’m alone, sure, but it’s not like I haven’t been there before, right? And at least Will hasn’t tried to kill me. But he doesn’t know about the baby, my brain reminds me.
Should I tell him? He deserves to know. The thought makes my stomach turn, and I physically flinch away from it. If I were a braver woman, I’d tell him. But...last time...
He’s not Dan! my brain sneers again. Maybe...maybe if I told him, he’d have to talk to me. To let me explain...no! No! I will not ever explain that again. I’ve tried. Repeatedly. It seems it’s just too impossible to believe that I wouldn’t fuck Gary any chance I got.
I concentrate on slowing my breathing and realise that I’m more angry than hurt. Right now, lying here in my bed with my fists and teeth clenched, I am angrier than I have ever been in my life. How bloody dare they? How dare they accuse me of that?
After everything! They really think...? Fuck it. Fuck them all. I don’t need them. Not anymore. I throw back the duvet and stomp to the shower. Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it.
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When I’m showered, I pull the office diary out of my bag and flick through while the kettle boils.
Holy fuck. I can’t! I can’t do all of this. I can’t physically be in all of these places. So, what are my options? Cancel? Hire in? Agency? The chef from the launch runs through my brain, and that option is struck out.
I reach for my phone, pad, and pen. I take them through to my tiny home office and go back to make tea once the kettle is boiled. Then I suck in a breath and prepare to prepare. I need to just dive in. I sit and run through each appointment booked, reschedule what I can, and arrange to call rather than physically see some for updates and catch-up meetings.
Even after several hours of shuffling things around and jiggling things about, I’m still stretched pretty thin over the coming months. I’ll be working every day and night from eight ‘til eight. If I’m lucky. Which means I’ll be knackered. My hand drops to my belly, rubbing at the queasiness, and I grab my keys. I need to stop by the clinic on my way to the office today. And I need to not be here tomorrow for Summer’s birthday. I need to take her away somewhere. I decide I’ll book a last-minute thing (when I get five at work today) and slam the front door closed.
I’ll pack when I get home tonight. And I’ll ask Mum to keep Summer until morning.
***
The Nook is deathly quiet when I get in. Was it really only a few weeks ago that it was full of fun and laughter? Fairy wings and face paint? It seems like a lifetime ago.
I flop onto the sofa and grab a cushion as something to wrap my arms around. It’s a poor substitute. The pain hits me again from nowhere, making me gasp out loud as it slices through my heart. My stomach shrivels and squeezes in on itself, and tears blind my eyes.
“I don’t think I can do this,” I gasp. “What the hell am I still doing here?” I dash away the tears. Keep moving forward, Eva. Keep moving.
I need to pack. I throw the stupid cushion back on the sofa and jog up the stairs to get started. And quickly realise my holdall is at Escape. Shit!
Well, I can’t very well pack without it, can I? So I grab my car keys and leave before I can change my mind.
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When I pull up in Escape’s car park, I’m really questioning my own sanity. But I’m here now. There’s no point leaving without it.
I pull out my key card, surprised when it still opens the main door. And I make my way quickly through the foyer and the dimly lit rooms to the stairs, and grip the banister tight, my hand leaving clammy smears on the shiny wood.
I tap on the door to Will’s suite, not wanting to wake Mae, but there’s no answer, so I knock louder. He must be there. Or maybe he’s working? I try the card again, and the lock clicks. I step inside and rush through to the lounge. And freeze.
Will’s shirt is thrown over the back of the sofa...His boots are discarded on the floor. With his jeans. And there’s a red dress beside them.
No. No! This can’t be fucking happening. The bedroom door clicks open, and I look up sharply. It’s not Will. It’s a stunning, statuesque blonde...searching for her dress. I clamp my lips together.
Don’t scream. Don’t cry. Don’t throw up.
“Who the hell are you?” she demands.
“I...I just needed to collect something I left here. I...” Will comes into view, sauntering towards us in his boxers. I notice he has several bruises on his torso.
Don’t react. Don’t react. Don’t react.
“Eva,” he slurs, and throws an arm around the woman. “What do you want?” He’s drunk. His eyes are unfocused.
“I left my holdall.”
“I’ll get it.” But before he does, he pulls her close, his hands on her arse and kisses her deeply. When he lets her go, she stumbles, dazed. I know that feeling. And it’s knowing I will never have it again that shatters my soul into sharp shards where I stand.
“Here,” he spits, holding my luggage out to me. I keep my eyes downcast when I reach out for it, but I can smell the alcohol. Will doesn’t let go. “No!” he yells, making me jump. “You don’t get to look like that! You ripped my fucking heart out, Eva! So, you don’t get to look like that when I fuck someone else too. I don’t like double fucking standards,” he snarls.
I stare up to pure hatred, in the eyes that used to hold the world. “No, I didn’t. You did that to yourself.”
“Why can’t you just admit it? Why do you have to keep on lying?”
“Can I have the bag, please?”
“No! Not until you answer me!”
“I’m not lying, Will. I would never...I loved you so much.”
“Liar!” he roars again, with such ferocity that I can’t take it anymore. I turn around and run. The bag lands in the foyer before I do, and I snatch it up and keep running.
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I have to pull over just outside the gate. To breathe. To cry. To scream. To hit something. He’s in there now. The love of my life. In the hotel we launched together, screwing another woman, while I sit here and fall apart, carrying his baby. Oh yeah, and he hates my guts.
What the fuck has happened to my life?
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When the sun is coming up, I drive back to The Nook and stumble through the door. I don’t think I’d survive the stairs if I tried, so I make my way to the garden and fall onto a sun lounger for a few hours of sleep, my heart destroyed and my head hanging on by a thread.