On a long, drawn-out sigh, I pull myself up and go to the bedroom, tugging on Jesse’s discarded shirt from last night. I don’t bother to try and make myself look better. I want him to see me suffering. I go downstairs and meet him as he rounds the corner from the gym, looking all spectacular in his running shorts with a towel draped across his naked shoulders and his hair a mess of damp loveliness. It makes me feel sicker.
“Oh, baby,” he mumbles sympathetically. “Crap?”
“Terrible.” I try to pout, but my exhausted body won’t allow it. I’m just standing in front of him lifelessly, my arms hanging limply by my sides.
He picks me up and carries me into the kitchen. “I was going to ask why you’re not naked.”
“Don’t bother,” I grumble. “I’ll throw up on you.”
He laughs and sits me on the worktop, brushing my wild mane from my pasty face. “You look beautiful.”
“Don’t lie to me, Ward. I look like shit.”
“Ava,” he scorns me gently. I hear the front door open and close, and then the chirpy sounds of Cathy singing. All I have on is Jesse’s shirt, but I can’t even find the strength to be concerned by that, so I remain exactly where I am, unbothered and very unwell.
“Morning!” she sings at us as she places her huge carpet bag on the worktop. “Oh dear. Whatever’s the matter?”
“Ava’s not feeling too good,” Jesse answers for me.
I scoff at his understatement and direct my forehead straight to his chest. I feel positively dull—dead, even.
“Oh, the dreaded morning sickness? It’ll pass.” Cathy declares. She knows, too, then. I shouldn’t be surprised and I’m not.
“Will it?” I garble into Jesse’s chest. “When?” I feel his hand stroking my back and his mouth in my hair, kissing me dotingly, but he remains silent.
“It depends. Boy, girl, mum, dad.” I hear her flick the kettle on. “Some women have a few weeks of it; some struggle throughout the whole of their pregnancy.”
“Oh God,” I howl. “Don’t say that.”
“Shhh,” Jesse hushes me and increases the rubs of my back.
“Ginger!”
That one random word drags my splattered face from Jesse’s wet torso. “What?”
“Ginger!” she repeats, rooting through her bag. I look at Jesse, but he looks as equally confused. “You need ginger, dear.” She pulls out a pack of ginger biscuits. “I came prepared.” She pushes Jesse from in front of me and opens the packet, presenting me with a biscuit. “Have one every morning when you wake up. Works wonders! Eat.”
I wisely note that with Jesse hovering in the background, there’s little point in refusing, so I take the biscuit and have a little nibble.
“It’ll settle your stomach.” She gives me one of her warm smiles and cups my cheek with her hand. “I’m so excited.”
I can’t match her enthusiasm, not when I’m feeling like this, so I smile weakly and let Jesse place me gently on a barstool.
“The new boy gave me these.” She hands Jesse a pile of mail. “Cute little bugger, isn’t he?”
That makes me laugh, especially when Jesse lets out a disgusted snort and snatches the envelopes from Cathy’s wrinkled fingers. “He’s very sweet,” I confirm, suddenly finding the energy to form a whole sentence.
I’m happily chatting away to Cathy, eating my breakfast and filling her in on my recent bouts of sickness, when it strikes me that Jesse has been silent for an eternity. He also hasn’t moved. And his bagel is sitting untouched in front of him.
I push his plate toward him. “Eat your breakfast.”
He doesn’t move, nor does he acknowledge me.
“Jesse?” He looks like he’s in a trance. “Jesse, are you okay?”
He flips an envelope over and runs his eyes across it. So do I.
Jesse Ward.
Private and Confidential
“What is that?” I ask.
He turns his eyes to mine. They are glazed and wary. I don’t like it. “Go upstairs.”
I frown. “Why?”
“Don’t make me ask you again, Ava.”
I recoil at his harsh tone, but this is one of those times when I know not to argue. He’s starting to shake and though I have no idea what about, I’m certain it’s not for Cathy’s ears. I excuse myself, leaving the kitchen and walking quietly up the stairs, all of the time wondering what on earth is wrong with him. I don’t get long to ponder it. He strides into the room, still holding the paper and envelope.
He’s bubbling with anger. I can see it in the slight shaking of his hands and in the flash of black in his eyes. “What the fuck is this?”