I know what I should be saying. I should be explaining myself and the reasons, but not only do I feel like I’ve let Jesse down and trampled all over his happiness, I feel protective of him. I don’t want Cathy to judge him if I tell her how I ended up pregnant, which is ludicrous. It’s the only reason I considered a termination, and the fact that I didn’t think I was ready, but the last few days have proved me wrong. Jesse has unearthed a deep feeling of hope, happiness, and love for this baby growing inside of me. Now the thought of ridding it from my body is absolutely abhorrent. I’m disgusted with myself.
I turn toward Cathy. “I would never have seen it through. I soon realized I was being stupid. I was just so shocked. I don’t know how he’s found out.” Now that I’ve calmed slightly, I’m wondering how he does actually know.
That paper. The envelope.
“Ava, he’s obviously shocked. Give him time to come round. You’re still pregnant and that’s all that matters.”
I smile, but Cathy’s words haven’t made me feel any better. She doesn’t know what happened the last time he walked out on me. “Thank you for the tea, Cathy,” I say, getting down from the stool. “I’d better get ready for work.”
Her wrinkled brow furrows, and she looks at my mug. “But you’ve hardly touched it.”
I quickly scoop it up and take a few hot sips, eager to get upstairs where there’s a piece of paper lying on the floor of the master suite, screaming for me to read it. I give Cathy a quick peck on the cheek before I escape the kitchen.
I run upstairs fast and pick the paper straight up. The letter is a scan appointment and stapled to it are pamphlets with information on abortion. As I lift my eyes to the top of the letter, I notice my name and address. No, not my address. It’s Matt’s address.
I gasp, throwing the paper at the wall on an infuriated yell. I’m so fucking stupid. I’ve not changed my address with the surgery. I’ve not changed my address with anyone. He must’ve been in his element to find this. At the risk of lashing out on the door or the wall or anything I can lay my hands on, I throw myself in the shower instead.
I’m still shaking with anger when I walk out of Lusso. John’s here. He shrugs, and I shake my head. “I’m not coming with you, John.” I fire my key fob at my Mini and start across the car park.
“Come on, girl. Let’s not push it.” His voice is a low rumble, even though he’s pleading with me.
“John, I’m sorry, but I’m driving myself today,” I insist in the firmest tone I can find. I stop and swing around to face the big friendly giant. He’s standing at the hood of his Range Rover, holding his big arms out to me pleadingly. “Is he okay?”
“No, he’s gone motherfucking crazy, girl. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I say quietly, feeling so thankful that John is unaware of why Jesse has lost the plot. He’s probably too ashamed of me to admit it to anyone, and he has every right to be.
“Nothing?” He laughs, but then his frightening face turns deadly serious. “It’s nothing to do with that Danish motherfucker?”
“No.” I shake my head.
“Are you okay?” His wraparounds are still firmly in place, but I know he’s looking at my stomach. He thinks something has happened to the baby.
I nod, my hand naturally sliding across my dress and onto my navel. “Fine, John.”
“Ava, girl, let me take you to work so I can at least tell him I got you there safely.” He gestures toward his shining heap of black metal.
It’s hard for me to refuse John. He’s thinking about Jesse, and I know that he cares about me. Under any other circumstances, I would, but I have an ex to deal with, and I can’t wait to rip him to shreds. “I’m sorry, John.” I jump in my car and dial Casey to open the gates. No code, no gate device. Anyone would think that he was trying to keep me prisoner. I leave a clearly exasperated John in the car park of Lusso and drive myself to work.
The look I flash all of my work colleagues the second I walk into the office makes them cautiously put their heads back down to work. I’m left to get on in peace, until Patrick perches on the edge of my new desk. “Flower, update me. We’ve not spoken for a few days. My fault, I know.”
I don’t need this. My brain is awash with everything, except work, and I’m dreading the Mikael question. I’m living on borrowed time here, I realize that, but I can’t broach this now. “There’s not a lot to report, really.” I continue composing the e-mail that I’ve been working on for the last hour.