Tossing his phone onto the dashboard, Luke drove a short way from the house and then slowed. He shouldn’t be leaving Claire like this, particularly now she’d told him about the bloody nutter stalking her on Facebook. Dammit! Thumping the heel of his hand against the steering wheel, he pulled over, debating whether to go back. And what then? Insist on staying to protect her? She wasn’t about to let him do that. She wasn’t prepared to hear him out. As far as she was concerned, there was obviously no going back. Luke wished he could. Wished to God he could wind the clock back, but he couldn’t. All he could do, he supposed, was try to warn her off.
What the hell he was going to do about Anna, he had no idea. He felt as if he’d been hit by a freight train when she’d eventually emerged from the bathroom, screaming about falling out of one abusive relationship into another and trying to prevent him from leaving. The woman didn’t just need counselling, she needed serious help. And, God help him, so did he.
His stomach knotted as his mobile signalled yet another incoming text, one of so many today he’d lost count. Nervously he reached to pick it up. Why was she doing this? What had he done to trigger such a volatile reaction, apart from beg her to come out of the bloody bathroom? Up until recently, he’d felt responsible for her, thinking he’d played a part in her attempt to take her own life. Guilty, that too. Now, he was angry. Furious, in fact. And frightened. He had no idea how this would end, which petrified him. Warily, he selected his messages, expecting yet more demands to know where he was, why he wasn’t returning her calls or texts, and was surprised to see the last one was from Steve.
Been trying to ring you, mate, it read. Anna’s been here looking for you. Seemed a bit weird. Everything all right?
She’d been to Steve’s house? Meaning she must have bloody well followed him there, at some point, because he’d certainly never given the address. Christ, the woman really was off the wall.
Yeah, good, he sent back. Sorry about that. Call you later.
He took a breath and scrolled down to Anna’s number. Even glimpsing the first few words of her last text had him breaking out in a cold sweat. Opening it, he scanned it in growing confusion.
Right, fine. Message understood, she’d sent. For the record, it’s me who’s doing the dumping. You should know that I’ve reported you, by the way.
Reported him? Luke’s heart missed a beat. Bewildered, he flicked to her previous messages.
Why aren’t you returning my calls? the first one demanded. Are you still with her?
The next was sarcastic. Have your fingers dropped off? Can you text me back, please? Or are you getting some kick out of this?
Growing increasingly worried, he scrolled on. You are, aren’t you?
He could almost feel her mounting rage as he read the next few messages. Are you dumping me? I mean, not replying to my texts? Really? How juvenile are you?
You’re a bastard, do you know that?
You knew I was vulnerable and you didn’t really give a shit, did you? It was all a game, pretending you cared, that you were protecting me. That your poor heart was breaking and that your wife was a frigid, unreasonable bitch. Crying all over my shoulder. All designed to get me into bed.
Nausea twisting his gut, Luke stared hard at his phone. She was completely insane. He hadn’t pretended anything. He’d been straight down the line. And there was no way on God’s green earth he would ever say anything so derogatory about Claire.
You’re just as bad as he is. An abusive bastard! I am NOT some cheap little slut you can just shag and then dump! You do not get to use me and then just walk away!
The last message was a warning. I’ll give you one hour before I pick up the phone. Don’t think I won’t.
‘Jesus Christ.’ Luke checked his watch, rammed the car into gear and drove. Fast.