This Man Confessed (19 page)

T
here’s that familiar whirring again as I come awake. I sit up and immediately feel gut wrenchingly sick. Flopping back to my pillow on an enormous groan, I soon appreciate my error when my stomach turns, indicating that I haven’t got time to lay here and determine just how crap I feel. I’m going to be sick.

I dive from the bed, straight into the bathroom, where I just about make it to the toilet before I decorate it with last night’s dinner. “No,” I whine to myself. It doesn’t feel so right now. My body is completely rejecting my contented thoughts. I hug the toilet for an age, my head resting on my arms as I fight off the sweats and moan under my breath. “Rubbish,” I grumble. “Why are you doing this to me?” I look down at my stomach. “You’re going to be challenging like your father, aren’t you?”

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.

“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?”

My eyes fall naturally to the paper that he’s holding up. “What is it?” I ask nervously.

He chucks the papers into the space between us. “You were going to kill our baby?” He says it so calmly.

The ground falls away from under me, and I feel like I’m free-falling into a black hole of nothing. I can’t face him. My eyes are burning up with hot tears as they trace every square inch of the floor at his feet. My brain has failed me, but even if it did give me some inspiration and load my mouth with the right words, I would be lying and he would know.

“Answer me!” he roars, and I jump, but I still can’t bring myself to face him. I’m completely ashamed of myself, and having spent the last few days with Jesse and seeing how truly blissful he is, how caring and attentive he’s being, the guilt couldn’t get any worse. I thought about terminating this pregnancy. I thought about ridding my body of this baby. His baby. Our baby. I’m inexcusable. “Ava, for fuck’s sake!” Before I can even think to try and form any words, he’s grasping the tops of my arms and bending to get his face in my line of sight. But I still evade his greens, not being able to bear facing what I know will be there. Contempt…disgust…disbelief. “Damn it, look at me.”

I shake my head faintly, like the pathetic coward I am. He deserves an explanation, but I don’t know where to begin. My mind has completely shut down, like I’m protecting myself from the inevitable that will be Jesse flying off the handle. He’s pretty much there already.

My jaw is grasped harshly and pulled up so I’m forced to acknowledge him. My eyes are glassy with red-hot tears, but I can see with one hundred percent clarity the hurt on his face. “I’m sorry.” I sob. It’s the only thing I can think to say. It’s the only thing I should say. I
am
sorry for having such horrid thoughts.

His face crumbles before me, enflaming the guilt further. “You’ve broken my fucking heart, Ava.” He drops me and stalks into the wardrobe, leaving me a pathetic form of shaking body parts. Sickness has moved aside and made way for crippling shame.

He appears again with a handful of clothes, but he doesn’t stuff them in a bag or go to the bathroom to get anything else. He just walks out. My throat has closed off on me, so I can’t even scream for him to stay. I’m paralyzed on the spot, nothing working, except my eyes, which are releasing a relentless flow of tears. Then I hear the front door slam, and I find myself in a heap on the floor, silently sobbing to myself.

“Ava, dear?” Cathy’s soft, warm voice is only just detectable through my heaving. “Ava, my goodness, whatever is the matter?”

I feel her squidgy body against me, and I instinctively turn into her apron-coated body, wrapping my arms around her back.

“Oh dear, oh no.” She starts rocking me gently, shushing me and whispering quiet words in my ears. “Oh, Ava, come on, dear. Tell me what’s happened.”

I try to form some words, but it just results in me crying even harder. My compulsion to spill my guilt, to share my remorse, is just emphasizing how incredibly selfishly I was thinking.

“Come on. Let me make you a cup of tea,” Cathy says, hauling her round body up from the floor before tugging on my arm, encouraging me to stand. I just about manage it, and then I’m cradled under her arm and guided down to the kitchen.

She hands me a hanky from the front of her apron, then sets about making a pot of tea. I watch her in silence, except for the odd judder of breath that escapes as I try to gain control of my shaky body and erratic breathing. I’m trying my very hardest, but it’s inevitable for me to think about all of the other times I’ve sent him crazy mad, except this time he
really
looked unhinged. This time I’ve really sent him over the edge.

Cathy sets a pot of tea down on the island and pours two cups, putting a few sugars in mine. “You need the energy,” she says as she stirs, then picks it up and places it between both of my palms. “Drink up, dear.” She takes her own, blows across the top, and a wave of steam streams through midair and disintegrates in front of me. I stare at it until it’s gone, and I’m left gazing blankly at nothing. “Now, tell me what’s got my boy in such a pickle and you in this state?”

“I was thinking about having an abortion.” I don’t want to see the look of horror that will have undoubtedly jumped onto the face of Jesse’s sweet, innocent, wholesome housekeeper.

Her silence and the mug of tea that I can see in my peripheral vision, hovering at her lips, only confirms my thoughts. She’s shocked, and having heard the words aloud, so am I. “Oh,” she says simply. What else can she say?

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.