This Man Confessed(40)

I stop writing, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. I don’t have anything nice planned for the weekend, apart from nursing my breaking heart, but before I can really consider what I’m about to say, I come right out and say it. “No, nothing much.”

“Me either!” She’s going to do it again. I know it. “We should do drinks!”

My forehead hits the desk. She either can’t, or simply won’t, take a hint. I pull my heavy head up. “Actually, Ruth, I said nothing much, but I’m visiting my parents in Cornwall. It’s not much really, not fun, anyway.”

She laughs. “Don’t let your parents hear you say that!”

I force myself to laugh along with her. “I won’t.”

“Well, have a nice weekend doing nothing much with your parents. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Thanks, Ruth.” I hang up and glance at the clock. Another hour and I can escape.





I drag my exhausted body up the stairs to Kate’s flat and head straight for the kitchen, opening the fridge and being immediately confronted with a bottle of wine. I just stare at it. I don’t know for how long, but my eyes are fixed on the damn thing. It takes the sound of a very familiar voice to pull my eyes away, and I turn, seeing Kate, but hers wasn’t the familiar voice that caught my attention. Dan walks in, and they both look as guilty as sin.

“What’s going on?” I ask, slamming the fridge door. Kate flinches, but remains quiet. My brother doesn’t, though.

“None of your business,” he snipes, slipping his hand around Kate’s waist and kissing her cheek. This is the first time I’ve seen or spoken to him since my wedding, and it’s not playing out to be a happy reunion  , either. He frowns at me. “Maybe I should ask you what’s going on. Why are you here?”

I freeze in position and flick wide eyes to Kate, catching her very faint head shake. She’s not told him. “Just swinging by after work.” I return my eyes to Dan. “When are you going back to Australia?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs, brushing off my question rapidly. “I’m off.”

“’Bye,” I spit out, turning and reopening the fridge to grab that bottle of wine. Kate is asking for trouble, and I’m liking my brother less and less by the day. I never thought I’d be glad to see the back of him. I ignore the exchange of good-byes going on behind me and focus my attention on pouring a big glass of wine.

By the time I’ve sipped half, I hear footsteps going down the stairs, and I turn to face my stupid, redhead friend. “Are you fucking mad?” I wave my wine glass at her.

“Probably,” she grumbles, sitting herself down on a chair and signaling for some wine. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine!” I grab another glass and pour some, passing it over the table to her. “You really are getting yourself in a mess.”

She scoffs and takes a quick slurp. “Ava, shall we reevaluate the situation here? You’re the one who’s been married for less than a week, left your husband, and is knocked up.”

I recoil at her harshness as she eyes up the glass I’m clenching. I’m instantly on the defense. “I’m a few weeks. Some women don’t find out until they’re three months.” I’m trying to dampen down the burning guilt that’s smoldering in my gut.

She gets up, climbs onto the worktop, and lights a cigarette. “A few drinks won’t hurt you, not that it matters,” she says, opening the kitchen window and draping her arm over the ledge.

“Not that what matters?” I frown, and take a more reluctant sip.

“Well, you’re getting rid of it, aren’t you?”

The insensitive words spike at my conscience, but it doesn’t stop me slurping more wine. I think I’m more in denial now than I ever was. “Yes,” I mutter, sinking onto a chair, my thoughts wandering off somewhere.

“Right!” Kate’s assertive tone snaps me from my reverie. “We’re going out.”

“Are we?”

“Yes. I’m not letting you mope around any longer. Has he called?” She takes a drag of her cigarette and looks at me expectantly.

I wish I could say yes. “No.”

Her lips purse, and I know she’s thinking it’s strange, too. “Get showered. We’re going for a quiet drink. Not too much, though.” She looks at my glass. “Not that it matters, I suppose.”

“I don’t think so.” I shake my head, her further blasé words eating me up inside.

She sighs and flicks her cigarette butt from the window before lowering herself down. “Come on, Ava. Just a sensible glass and a chat, not about Jesse or Sam or Dan, just us two like old times.” By old times, she means post-Matt and pre-Jesse. We did have some laughs in those four weeks, before The Lord of the Sex Manor trampled my life.