‘You’re not wandering around on your fucking own, lady.’ he grates, his tone full of authority, making me feel younger, or him older – I’m not sure
‘What’s it got to do with you?’ I spit. I’m boiling mad and bobbing up and down as he strides back to his car.
‘Apparently, nothing, but I do have a conscious. You’re not leaving here unless it’s in my car. Do you understand me?’ He places me on my feet, grasps my elbow and guides me into his car before slamming the door and getting into my Mini to move it to the side of the driveway.
I smirk as I watch him yank the lever to slide the seat back as far as it will go, but even at its furthest away from the wheel, he still struggles to cram his tall, lean body in. He looks pretty stupid. I want to yell at him some more when he wheel spins and skids to a stop. My poor Mini has never been so ill-treated.
He huffs his way back and throws himself in his car, giving me a ferocious scowl before he starts the car and roars off.
The journey home is painfully silent and frighteningly fast. The man is a menace on the roads, and I wish he would at least put the radio on to rid the car of the awkward silence.
I begrudgingly admire the interior of his DBS. I’m cradled in the seat, with acres of black, quilted leather surrounding me, as I stare out of the window the whole way home. I feel his eyes fixed on me every so often, but I ignore it. Instead, I concentrate on the guttural roar of the engine as it eats up the road ahead. What has just happened?
He pulls up outside Kate’s, after I direct him in with short, sharp instructions, and I let myself out.
‘Ava?’ I hear him call me, but I shut the car door and race up the path to the house, cursing out loud when I realise he’s got my bloody car keys. I turn to make my way back down the path, but I hear the roar of his engine burning off down the road.
I screw my face up in my own private disgust. He’s done that on purpose so I have to call him. Well, he’ll be waiting a long time. I would rather go without my car. I traipse back up the path and bash on the door.
‘Where are your keys?’ Kate asks when she answers the door.
I think quickly. ‘My car’s having some new brakes. I forgot to remove my house keys.’
She accepts my excuse with no further questions. ‘There’s a spare door key in the pot by the kitchen window.’ She runs back up the stairs and I follow, immediately opening a bottle of wine before rummaging through the fridge for something to eat. Nothing takes my fancy. Wine will do.
‘Yes, please.’ Kate comes breezing back into the kitchen. She’s already jimmy-jammed up, and I can’t wait to join her. I pour her a glass, while trying to morph my face into anything other than the shocked expression that I know is still visible.
‘Good day?’ I ask.
She collapses into one of the mismatching chairs around the chunky, pine table. ‘I spent most of the day collecting cake stands. You would think people would be kind enough to return them.’ She takes a sip of her wine, gasping in appreciation.
I join her at the table. ‘You need to start asking for a deposit.’
‘I know. Hey, I have a date tomorrow night.’
‘With who?’ I ask, wondering if this one will make it past the first.
‘A very yummy client. He stopped by to collect a cake for his niece’s first birthday – a Jungle Junction cake. How sweet is that?’
‘Very sweet,’ I agree. ‘How did that come about?’
‘I asked him.’ She shrugs.
I laugh. Her confidence is charming. She must hold the world record for first dates. The only long term relationship she’s ever had was with my brother, but we don’t talk about that. Since they split and Dan moved to Australia, Kate has been on endless dates, none of them progressing past the first.
‘I’m going to get changed and give my Mum a call,’ I get up, taking my wine with me. ‘I’ll meet you on the sofa soon.’
‘Cool,’
I really need to speak to my Mum. Kate’s my best friend, but you can’t beat your Mother when you just want comfort. Not that I can tell her why I need comforting. She would be horrified.
Once I’m changed into my baggy pants and a vest top, I flop onto my bed and dial my Mum. It rings once before she answers.
‘Ava?’ Her voice is shrill, but still soothing.
‘Hi, Mum.’
‘Ava? Ava? Joseph, I can’t hear her. Am I doing it right? Ava?’
‘I’m here, Mum. Can you hear me?’
‘Ava? Joseph, it’s broken. I can’t hear anything. Ava!’
I hear my Dad’s mumbled moans in the background before he comes on the line. ‘Hello?’