It’s just gone seven a.m. when Jamie calls the next morning. ‘Can we see each other?’ he asks.
The memory of Nicole being in my flat last night, and everything she said to me, is still pounding in my head. I can’t blame her; Aiden is the one who has made this difficult – he is the one I have to deal with.
‘Eve? Can you hear me?’ I turn my attention to Jamie. He is the one I need to focus on now, along with Kayla of course. And now it is time to tell him about my daughter. Maybe he can help me find a way to get her back.
‘What’s happened? Is your mum okay?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, she’s all right. My sister’s there now, so at least Dad’s got some help.’ He pauses. ‘Can we meet this morning?’
‘Of course. Do you want to come over here?’
‘Can we make it somewhere central? I’ve got a lunch meeting with a client in Leicester Square. Can you be there by ten?’
I tell him I’ll see him there, and hang up, my curiosity piqued by his request to meet this morning when it’s a full working day for him.
He’s there before me, standing outside the station, engrossed in something on his phone. It surprises me that he made it here before me – I’m usually the one who arrives first.
‘Hi,’ I say, reaching to hug him.
He pulls away from me, his body tense. ‘Let’s walk.’
I know Jamie isn’t big on public displays of affection – and neither am I – but I know instantly there’s something else going on here. Nothing about his manner or body language is right. ‘Okay. We can grab a coffee and find somewhere to sit.’
‘I don’t have time for a coffee,’ he says. ‘This won’t take long.’ He’s barely looking at me as he says this.
‘I thought your meeting was at lunchtime?’
Jamie stares ahead. ‘It is. But this won’t take long.’
I stop walking and tug at his sleeve. ‘What’s going on?’
He scans the area then points. ‘There’s a bench over there. Come on.’ He walks off, and I follow, unease rapidly spreading through my body. This is out of character for Jamie. I expect this frostiness from Aiden – but Jamie?
As soon as we’re sitting, he turns to me, his eyes hard and cold. He has become a different person. ‘Did you ever want things to work with us?’ he asks, almost spitting his words at me.
‘Yes, of course I did. Where’s this coming from?’
Jamie stares at the ground, his white trainers kicking at dust on the pavement. He still doesn’t look at me. ‘I find that hard to believe.’
‘What’s this about, Jamie? I know I’ve been distant but I thought we were past that. We were going away together to see your parents before your mum got ill. I don’t do things like that lightly. You mean a lot to me and I’m sorry about how I’ve been before.’
Nothing changes in his expression, even though he must know how difficult it is for me to bare my soul like this.
‘You might be many things, Eve, but I never had you down as a liar.’ He stares right at me now, his eyes burning into me so intensely that I feel my face flushing, even though I’m not sure what he’s talking about. That’s the trouble with being guilty – it never leaves you, even if the current situation has nothing to do with what you’ve done.
‘What are you talking about? I know I’ve—’
‘Cut the bullshit, Eve. Just tell me the truth.’
‘About what?’ But suddenly I know without Jamie having to explain. He knows who I am, what I’ve done. About Kayla. There’s no way he can know the rest, though. No way anyone can.
‘At first I was angry with you because you’d lied to me. Then the more I thought about it the more I realised I could never be with a person who could walk away from their own baby. It just doesn’t bear thinking about.’ He shakes his head. ‘I want to have my own kids one day so this is just… awful. The whole thing makes me sick to my stomach. I don’t know who the hell you are.’ He turns away.
So many thoughts flash through my mind as we sit here in this tableau, frozen, while all around us the world carries on. To anyone passing we will look like a normal couple, sharing some time together. Nobody would be able to tell that both our worlds have just shattered.
There are several things I could say to Jamie right now, one of them being an apology, yet somehow I can’t manage it. ‘There are two sides to every story, Jamie.’
He shakes his head. ‘Not when it comes to abandoning a baby. There’s nothing you can say that will make that okay. What the hell, Eve? I knew you were separated, but Jesus, this has well and truly winded me. I can’t even look at you.’
One thing I’ve learned in life is that sometimes it shows strength to admit when you’re defeated. To protest and try to force someone round to your way of thinking only hurts both people. I won’t do that to Jamie, especially when, ultimately, he is right. I did a terrible thing and losing him is just another price I will have to pay. How ironic that it comes at a time when I’d just begun to let him in, when I was actually ready to tell him everything myself.
‘I’m not going to try and change your mind,’ I say, fighting back tears I refuse to let out. I won’t make him feel guilty. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.’
He doesn’t accept my apology. ‘You let me get invested in us and all the time you were holding back something so… I can’t even describe it. I thought I loved you, Eve. Ha, that’s a joke, isn’t it? Because you were never the person I fell for.’
Instinctually, I reach for his arm, but he yanks it away, moving further from me on the bench. ‘You’re right. I wasn’t. I’m sorry.’
‘Save it, Eve. I’m not even the one you need to say sorry to, am I?’ He shakes his head again, the disgust he’s feeling almost palpable.
‘Will you at least let me tell my side of the story?’
‘No. I’ve heard enough about it. The only thing that might excuse it is if your husband was abusive, but he wasn’t, was he? In fact, I hear he’s a decent guy who’s raised your daughter without you.’
I can’t argue with this; everything Jamie’s said is true. ‘Who told you?’ I ask.
He ignores me and stands up ‘It’s over, not that anything ever got started. Let’s just go our separate ways now. Don’t call me. Ever. In fact, delete my number from your phone.’
Before I can say anything else, Jamie walks away, and I’m left watching him as he disappears into the crowd of people floating around Leicester Square.
I have never been a drinker, not even on social occasions, but Jamie finding out about me has left me desolate, and I find myself sitting alone in a bar in Covent Garden, already on my third wine. I’m aware of people watching me. I’m not dressed to be meeting anyone for a business lunch, or even a date, so it’s obvious what I’m doing. I may as well have a sign plastered across my head.
Focus on Kayla, I keep telling myself. You’ve got to find a way to get her back, even if it’s not with Aiden’s blessing. But the truth is, even though I couldn’t see it, Jamie mattered too. And now there’s also the unanswered question of who told him, and what it means for me.
Even though I know it’s wrong, I pick up my phone and text Jamie, telling him that I will leave him alone but begging him to tell me who told him about me.
He probably won’t reply but I have to try. Surprisingly, though, after twenty minutes and another drink, a reply comes.
There has to be a way to find out, yet nothing comes to me, and this only deepens my anxiety.
The irony is that I was ready to tell Jamie about Kayla – and maybe there would have been a chance he might have understood if he’d heard it from me – yet it was taken out of my hands. This is not the first time fate has opened the ground beneath me, leaving me to free fall into whatever abyss lies beneath.
‘What a loser,’ I think I hear someone at another table say, but I don’t look up for confirmation that they’re talking about me.
They couldn’t be more wrong about me.
It’s dark when I step off the Tube at Southgate, teetering for just a moment because I’m unaccustomed to so much alcohol surging through me, almost paralysing me.
Yet, somehow, I make it to my road, relieved to reach my cobalt blue front door. I don’t know who decided to paint it that colour, or when they did, but it’s the only house on the street with such a brightly coloured door. I laugh to myself, even though nothing at all is funny.
I don’t know what makes me stop at my car, leaning against it even though it’s parked right outside the house and I could be inside within seconds. Something feels strange and even though I turn and am staring right at the problem, my brain takes a while to register what I’m looking at.
The driver’s side window and the front windscreen have been smashed, as if someone has battered them with a hammer. Shards of glass lie scattered by my feet – which I failed to notice before – the pavement decorated with glistening fragments.
‘What the hell?’ I say into the still night. There isn’t a single person around to hear me.
Glancing at my ground floor neighbour’s window, everything is dark and there’s no sign that she’s home. But the lights are on in the house next door, so I rush up the steps to the front door, pounding on it until a woman in her mid-fifties answers. Although I’ve seen her before, we’ve never spoken, barely even acknowledged each other.
‘Can I help you?’
‘I’m… I live next door—’
‘I know that. But why are you trying to break my door down?’
‘Sorry. I…’ I turn to the road and point. ‘That’s my car there. Did you see anyone outside this evening?’
She peers into the night. ‘Oh. Someone’s done a job on it, haven’t they? You must have really upset someone.’ She shakes her head. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to make light of it.’
‘Did you see anything?’
‘Nope. I’ve been in the back room all evening and didn’t hear anything either. Have you called the police?’
It hadn’t even crossed my mind. It’s not as if they would have a chance of finding out who did this, and there’s no CCTV around here. I look up at the other houses but no one else seems to be home.
‘Thanks for your time,’ I manage to say, carefully negotiating the steps back down because a trip to A&E is the last thing I need right now.
Back in my flat, I double lock the door. I’ve never been a paranoid person, but the chances of my car being targeted at random are slim.
Even though I live in London and crime isn’t uncommon, there was no reason for this attack – my car is a five-year-old Peugeot, with nothing of value inside.
My hands are clammy with sweat, and I rush to the kitchen for some water, the glass slipping from my hand before I’ve had a sip. Crouching down, I clean up the glass, trying to shut out all thoughts and focus only on the task at hand. It’s almost a relief to have these tiny shards to turn my attention to, and I spend longer than necessary clearing up the mess in order to still my mind.
I can’t escape this though, and my mind races. This was deliberate. An escalation after ignoring those messages, and my conviction that someone was in my flat.
It is happening. It is all finally catching up with me.