Текст книги "This Man Confessed"

Автор книги: Jodi Ellen Malpas

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 34 страниц)

Chapter 8

It’s Monday. I wake at the crack of dawn and cry silently to myself. I’m only delaying the inevitable. I need to see Doctor Monroe.

I exit Green Park tube station onto Piccadilly and stop for a few moments, absorbing the frantic rush hour blur of people. I miss this. I miss the chaos of the tube and walking the few blocks to my office—all of the hectic scrambling, the dodging of bodies and the loud voices, mostly shouting down a mobile phone. That, coupled with the screeching of cars and buses, the honking of impatient horns and the ringing of cyclist bells, all strangely bring a small smile to my face, until I get nudged in the back, and then ridiculed for keeping the frantic stream of pedestrian traffic from flowing. I snap out of my daydream and shift my feet into gear, heading for Berkeley Square.

‘Morning, flower.’ Patrick’s big body strides out of his office towards my desk.

I take my seat and swivel to face him. ‘Good morning.’ I need to fake chirpiness on a stupidly over-the-top level.

He perches on my desk, prompting the usual shriek of strained wood and my usual tensing in anticipation. It’s going to give one day. ‘How’s the blushing bride?’ He clucks my cheek affectionately and winks.

‘Perfect.’ I smile, laughing at myself and my ability to choose the most inaccurate word to describe how I’m really feeling. I could’ve said good, or fine, or great, but no… I say perfect. Perfectly distraught, that’s what I am.

‘It was a wonderful reception. Thank you.’

‘Oh, you’re welcome.’ I brush off my boss’s appreciation. ‘Where is everyone?’ I ask, desperate to divert the conversation from my shambolic wedding, and probably shambolic marriage, too.

‘Sal’s in the stationary cupboard having a tidy up, and Tom and Victoria should be here by now.’ He looks at his watch. ‘Van Der Haus,’ he returns his eyes to mine, and I struggle to look relaxed at the mention of my Danish client’s name. ‘Has he been in touch yet?’

‘No,’ I load my computer up and jiggle my mouse to get the screen on. It doesn’t escape my thoughts that I’ve been given a deadline of today to inform my boss of Mikael’s revenge mission, but given my current state of affairs and the fact that I’ve left Jesse, I’m thinking my Lord will not be pressing me on this issue. ‘He said he’d be in touch once he’s back in the UK.’

‘Fair enough.’ Patrick shifts on my desk. I will him to at least be still if he insists on torturing the poor thing. ‘And anything to report on your other clients? The Kents, Miss Quinn… Mr Ward.’ He chuckles at his own little joke, and although I’m in turmoil with my new husband, I’m grateful for Patrick’s acceptance of mine and Jesse’s relationship. If there will even be a relationship after the next few days.

‘All great. Mr and Mrs Kent are in full swing, Miss Quinn’s work starts tomorrow, and Mr Ward would like me to commission the beds for the new rooms as soon as possible. They could take months.’

Patrick laughs. ‘Ava, flower, you don’t have to call your husband Mr Ward.’

‘Habit.’ I grumble. I could think of a lot of words I could call him at the moment.

‘You mean those lovely lattice style beds?’

‘Yes,’ I pull out the design from my drawer and present it to Patrick.

‘Stunning,’ he says simply, ‘Bet these will cost a few quid.’

Stunning? Yes. Expensive? Ridiculously. But Patrick doesn’t realise the benefits of these beds in a place like The Manor. To my big cuddly bear of a boss, The Manor is still just a lovely country retreat. ‘He can afford it.’ I shrug and take the design back when he hands it to me.

I’m happily filing the drawing away when the sharp cracking of splintering wood rings out through the quiet of our office, and I watch in shock as Patrick crashes to the floor with a look of alarm on his face. I don’t know why. He had it coming. My lap is littered with pieces of desk, and I’m eternally grateful that my legs weren’t tucked under it. They’d be broken.

‘Bloody hell!’ Patrick shouts, rolling around among the many pieces of broken wood and stationary that graced my desk, including my flat computer screen. I don’t know whether to jump up to help him or just laugh. A rip roaring giggle is bubbling in my throat, and it’s taking every modicum of power to hold it back. This is just too funny.

I lose the battle. A burst of laughter flies from my mouth. There is not a chance on earth Patrick is getting up from the floor without any help, but I doubt I’ll be of any assistance. He must weigh six times more than me. ‘I’m sorry!’ I chuckle, re-gaining control of my twitching body. ‘Here,’ I put my hand out to him and he reaches up to take it, his stretch straining his shirt buttons. It flies open, scattering buttons all over the office floor and revealing Patricks potbelly. This does me no favours, my earlier laughter returning full force.

‘Drat!’ he curses, keeping a tight hold of my hand. ‘Double drat!’

‘Oh God!’ I cry, bending over to stop myself from peeing my knickers. ‘Patrick, are you okay?’ I know he is. He wouldn’t be rolling around and cursing if he was seriously injured.

‘No, I’m bloody not. Will you control yourself and help me out?’ He tugs at my hand.

‘I’m sorry!’ It’s no good. I’m crying, mascara probably pouring down my cheeks. I throw all of my strength into heaving Patrick up from the floor, making quick work so I can get to the toilet. And I do just that when I’ve finally got him to his feet. ‘Excuse me!’ I laugh, running towards the ladies, passing a shocked looking Sal as I fly past the stationary cupboard.

When I’ve sorted myself out and composed my jerking body, I walk back into the office to find Tom and Victoria have arrived and Sal on her knees collecting up a million paperclips.

‘What happened?’ Victoria whispers.

‘My desk finally gave in.’ I smile, and try my hardest to keep the giggling fit from returning again. If I start, I won’t stop.

‘I missed it!’ Tom cries incredulously. ‘Damn it.’ He hangs his man-bag on the back of his chair. ‘Darling! How is the bride?’

‘Fine,’ I answer.

‘Oh yes!’ Victoria pipes up. ‘When I get married, it’ll be just like your wedding, except perhaps not at a se…’

I dart warning eyes to my ditsy work colleague, and she acknowledges her near error by snapping her mouth shut and hastily removing herself from the area.

I kneel down to help Sal. ‘It was beautiful, Ava.’ she muses dreamily. ‘You’re so lucky.’

Sal’s sweet words only enhance my gloom—until my phone starts singing from my bag. I glance across at it, sitting amid the chaos of broken up desk. I can’t speak to him. I’m a little surprised that it’s taken him until now to call me, and even more surprised he wasn’t so persistent last night. These signs are all an indication of one thing and one thing alone. He knows he’s pushed the boundaries. I can’t even imagine what he’s doing with himself, besides running continuous laps of the Royal Parks.

Sal looks at me expectantly, but I just smile and continue picking up paperclips and popping them in a pot. It’s only now I wonder why out of all the things we could be clearing up, we’re collecting the smallest things of all. ‘I’ll call him back.’ I say to Sal, while thinking how therapeutic this actually is.

When we’re done, Sal gets up and heads to the kitchen to make coffee, while I pull myself up and head for Patrick’s office. I knock the door and poke my head around. He’s sitting at his desk, a little red faced, combing his hair. ‘Are you okay, Patrick?’ I ask, biting my lip furiously as I take in his buttoned jacked concealing his rounded belly.

‘Yes, yes. I’m fine.’ he huffs, slipping his comb down the front of his jacket and into the inside pocket. ‘I think Irene might see this as a sign to lose some weight.’ He grins a little, making me feel a whole lot better for laughing at him. I grin, too. ‘I’m glad I’ve made your day, flower.’

‘I’m sorry, but you must have heard the creaks every time you sat there.’

‘Yes, I did. Stupid cheap tat!’

‘I’m sure,’ I agree on a serious face. There was nothing cheap about my desk. ‘Would you like a coffee?’

‘No.’ he grumbles. ‘I need to go home and change.’

‘Okay.’ I slip out of his office and return to my pile of wood, rummaging around the lose parts until I find my bag. I locate my phone, clear the missed call from Jesse, then dial my doctor.

‘Is he okay?’ Tom asks on a chuckle, Victoria joining him.

‘He’s fine, but keep a straight face when he leaves to go and change out of his burst shirt.’ I grin.

‘He popped his buttons?’ Victoria laughs, flopping back in her chair.

Tom looks over at Victoria and joins her laughter. ‘Oh flipping heck! What I’d do to go back in time to make sure I was here.’

I manage to hold my giggles and slip into the stationary cupboard when my call connects. After getting past the guard dog of a receptionist, I finally get an appointment for four o’clock.

The day passes quite swiftly, with only a few missed calls from my Lord. The calls were expected, but what wasn’t expected was his lack of persistence. He didn’t call the office, he didn’t stop by and he didn’t ring off the hook. I’m not sure if I should be satisfied that he seems to accept my request for space, or worried that he’s uncharacteristically giving it to me. It has now been over twenty four hours since I’ve seen him, and I would be a liar if I said I don’t miss him, but I need to over-ride this. I need to stick to my guns and the only way I can ensure that happens, is if I don’t see or speak to him. It’s frightening what he can do to me when I’m determined to hold my own, and it’s usually with his touch, so yes, distance if key.

I collect by bag and get up from my makeshift desk, which happens to me a paste table we had stored out the back. ‘I’m off. See you tomorrow.’ I say as I pass all three of my colleagues. ‘I’ve cleared it with Patrick.’ I don’t want to be saying where I’m going because it will undoubtedly lead to further questions. Privacy in this office is a luxury.

A chorus of goodbyes ring out as I shut the door behind me and make my way to the tube. Angel starts up as I’m approaching the station, but I leave my phone in my bag. Where I’m going, I really don’t need to be thinking about him, but it’s hard when his favorite track, is echoing very loudly, even from the depths of my bag. It stops for a nanosecond, but then starts again. I ignore it, focusing my attention on the nearing station.

I jump on a shocked gasp when a tall, lean, green eyed wall lands in front of me, and my hand flies up to my chest, resting on my heart as I breathe heavily. Then I get mighty irritated. ‘What are you doing?’ I ask shortly.

‘You wouldn’t answer your phone.’ He points to my bag. ‘Maybe you didn’t hear it.’

I look up at him and find an accusing stare. He knows damn well I could hear it. ‘You were following me.’ I can be accusing, too.

‘Where are you going?’ He steps in closer, but I move back. I can’t let him touch me. And shit, where am I going?

‘A client.’ I blurt.

‘I’ll take you.’

‘I told you, I need space, Jesse.’ I’m aware of fellow pedestrians stepping around us, some moaning, some throwing filthy glares, but I’m not concerned and neither is Jesse. He’s just staring at me, looking shockingly spectacular in a grey suit and blue shirt.

‘How much space and for how long? I married you on Saturday and you left me on Sunday.’ He reaches forward and grasps my upper arm before sliding his touch down my arm until he’s holding my hand. As always, my hairs stand up on end and a shiver reverberates through me. I watch him just stare at our joined hands, his fingers weaving through mine slowly as he chews his lip. ‘I’m struggling, Ava.’ He looks up at me and lands me with a green glazed stare. ‘Without you, I’m really struggling.’

My heart breaks for this man standing before me, and I clench my eyes shut, desperately fighting my natural instinct to step into him and hold him. If he’s not getting his way with fuckings of various degrees or a Jesse style countdown, then he’s breaking me down with heart wrenching words. It wouldn’t be so bad, but I know he absolutely means each and every syllable. He’s crippling me again.

‘I really need to go.’ I hate myself for leaving him like this. I go to turn, fully expecting to be held back, but he releases my hand and I’m walking away, shocked and actually quite worried.

‘Baby, please. I’ll do anything. Please, don’t leave me.’ His pleading voice halts me dead in my tracks, pain slicing through me. I’m still so mad with him. ‘Let me at least drive you. I don’t want you on the train. Just ten minutes, that’s all I’m asking for.’

‘It’ll be quicker on the tube.’ I say quietly amid the roaring crowds. I turn to face him.

‘But I want to take you.’

‘We won’t make it in time with the…’ I halt when it occurs to me that with Jesse driving, I probably will make it. He is clearly thinking the same because his eyebrow is slightly raised.

I can’t tell him where I’m going. He’ll have a seizure. I quickly wrack my tired brain and come up with only one option. I’ll ask him to drop me off around the corner from the doctor. There are some residential properties close by. He won’t know any different.

I sigh ‘Where’s your car?’

The relief that washes over his face is obvious, and it emphasises my guilt. Why I’m feeling guilty is beyond me, though. I watch him slowly lift his arm and take my hand gently, then slowly lead me back towards a hotel and into the car park. The valet produces the keys from his cabin and hands them to Jesse, and he releases me only when we get to the car so I can get in.

Pulling out onto Piccadilly, he drives with consideration for the other road users and shifts gears gently, too. His driving style is matching his mood; subdued.

‘Where am I going?’ he asks as he turns the music system on and XX, Islands filters through the speakers. Even the music is passive and soft.

I scan my brain for a road name around the surgery, and only one comes to mind. ‘Luxemburg Gardens. Hammersmith.’ I say, looking out of the window.

‘Okay,’ he answers quietly. I know he’s looking at me. I should turn and challenge him, prompt him to explain himself better, but my despondency is getting the better of me. He’d better not mistake it for submission. I’m not surrendering on this. I just need to get myself to the doctor, minus one Jesse, and get my awful situation remedied.

* * *

He pulls into Luxemburg Gardens and drives slowly down the tree lined street. ‘Here will do.’ I indicate to the left, and he pulls over. Now I pray that he doesn’t hang about. ‘Thank you,’ I open the door.

‘You’re welcome.’ he murmurs. I know if I turn and look at him, I’ll see cogs whirling at a million miles per hour and a concerned frown set in place on his handsome head, so I don’t. I step out of the car. ‘Will you have dinner with me tonight?’ he asks urgently, like he knows his chance is slipping.

I take a deep breath and turn back towards the car. ‘You just asked for ten minutes, and I gave them to you. You said nothing.’ I leave a despairing face of hurt and make my way across the road, but suddenly come to an abrupt halt when it occurs to me that I have no client’s house in which to disappear. I need to back-track at least half a mile, and I can’t do that with Jesse sat at the kerb in his car. I pull my bag open and feign searching for something while mentally praying for him to leave. I listen out for the roar, or possible purr, of the DBS and after what seems like forever, it finally reaches my ears. It’s a purr. I look over my shoulder and watch his car disappear down the tree lined street before I head back the way we came and over to Brook Green. I feel nauseous, but I put it down to nerves. I’m not sure how I’m going to approach this. After my numerous visits to our family doctor, seeking replacement pills and the lectures I received from her each time, I’m facing a grilling and an even sterner talk on carelessness. She’ll think I’m a glutton for punishment. I think I probably am.

I check myself in and pick up a magazine from the waiting room table, then spend twenty minutes pretending to read it. I’m fidgeting and pulling at my clothes to try and cool myself down. I really do feel sick, my nauseous state only worsened when, like an omen, I come across an article expressing the arguments for and against termination. A despairing laugh falls from my lips.

‘Something funny?’

I freeze in my waiting room chair as Jesses familiar brogue washes over me, then I snap the magazine shut. ‘You followed me?’ I ask, completely stunned as I turn to face him.

‘You’re a rubbish liar, baby.’ he states factually, but softly. He’s right, I’m shit at it, but I need to work on it if I’m going to stay with this man. If I’m going to stay? Did I really just think that? ‘Are you going to tell me why you’re at the doctors and why you lied to me about it?’ He rests his hand on my bare knee and circles it slowly as he watches me intently.

I throw the magazine back on the table. There is no escaping this man. ‘Just a check-up.’ I mutter to my knee, trying to shift it from his grasp.

‘A check-up?’ His tone has altered significantly. He’s not soft and soothing anymore. There’s an edge of anger to it.

I feel his hand tighten. He cannot dictate this. ‘Yes,’

‘Don’t you think we should we doing this together?’ he asks.

Together? My shock makes my angry eyes swing straight to his, finding curious greens greeting me. I scan his face, just as he does mine, and his hand eases up on my knee. I yank my leg away. ‘Like the decision you made to try and get me knocked up? Did we do that together?’

‘No,’ he answers quietly, turning away from me.

I stare at his perfect profile, unwilling to relent and turn away. He has some nerve and now my despondency has been thoroughly chased away and replaced with my earlier anger, only now it’s amplified. ‘You can’t even look at me, can you? You know what you’ve done is wrong. I pray to God I’m not pregnant, Jesse, because I wouldn’t inflict the shit you put me through on my worst enemy, let alone my baby.’

It’s him who looks shocked now. His eyes are narrowed, his hair starting to dampen at his temples from a stressed sweat. ‘I know you’re pregnant, and I know how it’ll be.’

‘Oh?’ I don’t bother restraining my laugh. ‘How’s that, then?’

His face softens and he makes my heart slow when he reaches for my cheek and gently strokes it. My lips part slightly and his thumb runs over my bottom one, dragging it with his stroke as he watches. ‘Perfect.’ he whispers, flicking his eyes to mine.

Our gazes are locked for a short time, but I’m snapped from the spell that he places me under when my name is called, and I’m swiftly brought back to where I am and why. My anger swiftly returns, too. It wouldn’t be perfect. Maybe for him, but for me it would be torture. I’m not setting myself up for that. I stand up, causing his hand to fall from my knee and his other from my face, but to my utter shock, Jesse quickly rises, too. Oh no! He is not coming in with me. This is going to be mortifying enough, without my neurotic Lord adding to the messy equation. Doctor Monroe will likely have something to say about me requesting an abortion, and that’s without the added knowledge of me being married. It would take far too much explaining. I don’t want to explain. Anyway, if I am pregnant, I need Jesse not to know. He would never let me terminate his baby, and I hate to think of what lengths he’d go to in order to stop me. I can control my poor lying for something this important. I have no choice. It’s the only way.

‘Don’t you dare!’ I grate, and he recoils. ‘Sit!’ I point to the chair and flash him the most threatening face I can muster. It’s hard. I could vomit at any moment. I feel terrible, and really really hot.

Much to my utter shock, he wisely lowers himself back down to the chair gingerly, his expression truly dazed by my outburst. I turn and leave him looking like he’s been slapped in the face, and take a deep, encouraging breath before entering my doctor’s office.

‘Ava! Good to see you.’ Doctor Monroe is probably one of the nicest women I have ever met—early fifties, a little bit of middle age spread and a sharp blonde bob. She has all the time in the world for you… normally. She wasn’t so pleased when I presented myself for the third time to replace my lost pills.

‘And you, Doctor.’ I reply nervously, as I perch myself on the end of a chair.

She looks concerned. ‘Are you okay? You look a bit green.’

‘I’m fine, I just feel a bit icky. It’s probably the heat.’ I fan my face. It’s even hotter in here.

‘Are you sure?’ she asks, genuinely concerned.

I feel my chin start to tremble, only serving to increase the concern on her round features. ‘I’m pregnant!’ I blurt. ‘I know you’ll give me a hard time about the pills, but I really don’t need it, so please don’t make me feel any worse. I know I’m a fool.’

Her concern transforms into sympathy immediately. ‘Oh, Ava.’ She reaches for my hand, and I feel like I could cry harder, her empathy only making me feel like even more of a hopeless fool. ‘Here.’ She hands me a tissue, and I blow my nose nosily. ‘When was your period due?’

‘Today.’ I answer swiftly.

Her eyes widen. ‘Only today?’ she asks. I nod. ‘Ava, what makes you so certain. Your period can be a few days late, just as it can be early.’

‘Trust me, I know.’ I sniffle. I’m no longer in denial, and I’m facing this head-on. My emotions are all over the place.

She frowns and reaches into her drawer. ‘Take this to the toilet.’ she says, handing me a pregnancy test.

I very nearly ask if I can do the test in her office, but with the absence of a toilet, I quickly realise the problem, so leaving Doctor Monroe’s office, I peek down the corridor to the waiting area and see Jesse’s back. He’s still sitting down, but he’s leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees with his head in his hands. I don’t dwell on his obvious despair and walk quickly into the ladies.

Five minutes later, I’m back with my Doctor and staring at the test, which is neatly positioned at the other end of her desk. She taps away on her keyboard while I frantically tap my foot on the floor. I hold my breath when she reaches over and picks the test up, looking down at it briefly before turning her eyes on me.

‘Positive,’ she says simply, holding it up for me to see myself. I knew it would be, but the confirmation makes it even more of a reality, and it also enflames the hurt and madness that has brought me to this point in my life.

I can’t seem to cry, though. ‘I want a termination.’ I say clearly, looking straight into Doctor Monroe’s eyes. ‘Can you please make the arrangements?’

I watch as she visibly sags in her chair. ‘Ava, of course, this is your decision, but it’s my job to give you the options.’

‘Which are?’

‘Adoption, support. There are many single mothers out there who manage just fine, and with your parent’s support, I’m certain you’ll be well looked after.’

I cringe. ‘I want a termination.’ I repeat, ignoring all of her advice and sincerity. She’s absolutely right, though. I would be looked after by my parents… if I was single. But I’m not. I’m married.

‘Right,’ she sighs, ‘Okay, you’ll need a scan to determine how far gone you are.’ She starts re-tapping away on her keyboard, while I sit feeling small and stupid. ‘I’m prescribing some more pills so once you’ve sorted yourself out, you can make sure you keep protected. The hospital will give you plenty of information with regards to aftercare and side effects.’

‘Thank you.’ I murmur, taking the prescription from her. She doesn’t release it immediately, and I look up at her.

‘You know where I am, Ava.’ She looks at me questioningly, obviously doubting my decision, so I offer a small smile to reinforce that I really am fine, that I’m making the right choice.

‘Thank you,’ I say again, because I don’t know what else to say.

‘Take care, Ava.’

I leave her office and prop myself up against the wall outside. I feel sicker all of a sudden.

‘Ava! What’s the matter?’ He’s at my side in a heartbeat, his voice spiked with panic. He hunkers down in front of me to get to my eye level. ‘Jesus, Ava.’

A sweat breaks out across my forehead and my mouth is invaded with saliva. I know I’m going to throw up. I dart across the corridor and crash into the ladies, then proceed to eject the contents of my stomach in the first toilet I find. I brace my hands on the seat and ignore the compulsion to wash my hands immediately. Jesse’s big, warm palm is gently circling my back as I heave, and he pulls my hair out of the way.

‘I’m fi…’ My stomach convulses again, and I let rip another evacuation. I crouch and slump in front of the toilet, resting my head on my arm. Why the hell do they call it morning sickness when it hits you randomly throughout the day? I hear the door to the ladies open.

‘Oh dear, should I get you some water?’ It’s Doctor Monroe. If I had the energy, I would be concerned that she’s found Jesse with me in the toilets.

‘Please.’ Jesse replies.

I hear the door close again and Jesse squats down behind me, cradling me from behind. ‘Are you done?’ he asks softly.

‘I don’t know.’ I still feel sick.

‘It’s okay, we can stay. Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine.’ I say haughtily.

He doesn’t say anything. He takes the water from Doctor Monroe when she returns and assures her that I’m in good hands. I don’t doubt him. I always feel safe in his hands. If it wasn’t for the small problem of him being so sly and underhanded, he would be perfect. We would be perfect.

He remains crouched behind me, holding my hair back and offering me water every now and then whilst I compose myself. ‘I’m good.’ I assure him as I wipe my mouth with tissue. I know there’s no more to come up. I feel empty.

‘Here,’ He pulls me to my feet and settle’s my hair down my back. ‘Do you want some more water?’

I take the glass from him and walk over to the sinks to wash my hands. I sip, swill and spit to clean my mouth out, and as I look up into the mirror, I see Jesse standing behind me. He looks worried. I brush my cheeks and ruffle my hair.

‘Let me take you home.’ he says as he comes to stand closer.

‘Jesse, I’m fine, really.’

He reaches around me and strokes his hand down my cheek. ‘Let me look after you.’

It suddenly registers that he wants me to need him. He feels useless, my absence from him since I walked out probably worsening it. Can I be so mean and deny him this?

‘I’m okay.’ I step back and pick my bag up from where I dumped it.

‘You’re not okay, Ava.’

‘Something hasn’t agreed with me, that’s all.’ My hand is twitching by my side.

‘For fuck sake, lady! You’re at the fucking doctor’s, so don’t tell me you’re fine!’ He clutches at his hair and shouts as he swings his body away from me in frustration.

‘I’m not pregnant.’ I blurt quickly, but then suddenly contemplate the horrific thought of him not wanting me if he thinks that. My heart constricts painfully in my chest. I feel sick again.

‘What?’ He’s quickly facing me, his eyes shocked, his body twitching. He really does want this badly.

I fight my natural reflex, trying desperately to keep my hands by my side. ‘I’ve had it confirmed, Jesse.’

‘Then why are you throwing up all over the place?’

‘I have a bug.’ My excuse is feeble, but by the look on his face, which I’m definitely not mistaking as devastation, he believes me. ‘You failed. My period came.’

He doesn’t know what to say. His eyes are flicking all over the bathroom, and he’s still twitching. My fear is only strengthened by his reaction to my lie. I’m confused, exhausted and utterly heartbroken. No baby equals no Jesse. It’s all very clear now.

‘I’m not happy about this. I’m taking you home where I can keep an eye on you.’ He takes my hand, but I pull it away, bristling immediately at his comment. He’s not happy? He wants to keep an eye on me? What, to check if I’m bleeding?

‘You’re never happy with me.’ I look him square in the eyes. ‘I’m always doing something to upset you. Have you thought that perhaps you would be less not happy without me around?’

‘No!’ He looks horrified ‘I’m worried, that’s all.’

‘Well, don’t be. I’m fine.’ I snap, leaving the ladies in a complete haze.

I walk out of the Doctor’s, straight into the chemist outside of the surgery and hand my prescription over the counter, then sit myself in a chair and watch as Jesse paces up and down outside with his hands shoved into his trouser pockets. Returning my body forward, I notice the pharmacist glancing up at me every now and again, and it’s then I realise he’s probably thinking that I eat my pills. The temptation to explain myself nearly makes me stand and approach the counter, but he calls my name, and I’m approaching to take the paper bag from him.

‘Thank you,’ I smile before making my escape, but only to go and face my brooding man outside.

‘What’s that?’ His eyes are fixed on the bag.

‘Back-up pills.’ I hiss in his face. ‘Now we know that I’m not pregnant, I want to stay that way.’

His shoulders slump and his head drops. I’m battling consuming guilt at his reaction to my news, but I have to ignore it. Sidestepping him, I start walking away, my legs a little shaky, my heart pounding relentlessly in my chest.

‘You’re not coming home, are you?’ he calls after me.

I squeeze the bulge back in my throat and march on. No, I’m not going home, but the plan was for just five days so I can avoid being caught lying to him, then worry about the hospital when I get an appointment. But his words carry an air of finality, and more worryingly, he’s not demanding that I stay with him. If I remove this baby from my life, it’s becoming quite obvious that I’ll be removing Jesse, too. That thought alone has my emotions taking hold. A life without Jesse?

I walk against the breeze, my face wet with tears.