What's Yours Is Mine (32 page)

I wait for him to leave so I can get the fuck out of Dodge, but he's sprawled on the sofa, stretching and yawning like he's got all day. He hasn't even put his bloody shirt back on.

I fidget impatiently.
Come on, you fucker! I want to go home. And I need to pee!

The back door opens again. From my hiding place, I watch in disbelief as Tom walks hesitantly through the kitchen. Christ on a stick! Did he have to pick now?

I almost can't watch, except it's too good not to. It's like an
EastEnders
Christmas special: estranged husband walks into his own lounge to find best friend lolling, half-naked, on the sofa. Cue wife wandering in wearing only her toweling dressing-gown, hair still wet from the shower. Shocks and gasps of horror all around. And cut!

Except this scene keeps right on rolling.

“
What the fuck—?
”

“Tom! Mate!” Blake leaps off the sofa, looking guilty as hell. “Didn't expect to see you!”

Jesus. The man's a moron. I don't know what the fuck I ever saw in him.

Grace is frozen by the door, the blood draining from her face. She looks like she's about to throw up. “What—what are you doing here?” she whispers.

Tom ignores Blake completely, his eyes burning into Grace. “I came to see you. To tell you I was
missing
you, and ask if you were missing me.” He snorts. “Clearly I was way off beam. Well, I'm sorry to have interrupted. I'll let myself out.”

No.
I can't have this
. Grace doesn't deserve to have her life ruined because of one lousy fuck. She and Tom are meant to be together.
I can't let this happen
.

Quickly, I pull off my Uggs, take off my coat, unbutton a couple of buttons on my shirt and mess up my hair. I could easily pass for just-got-out-of-bed. It's my trademark look.

Before Grace can do anything stupid, like tell the truth, I stroll out of my hiding place, march up to Blake, and twine my arms around his neck. “Come on, babe. You said we could go for a drink after. I don't want to stay in all day.” I glance back at Tom as if I've only just noticed him. “Hi, Tom.”

In a heartbeat, Blake picks up his cue. Clearly he's been in this kind of situation before.

“It'll have to be a quick one, sweetheart,” he says. “Claudia'll be back at two.”

“Fine. Sorry if we woke you up, Grace. Hope your headache gets better.”

She's gawping at me like a stranded fish. Fortunately Tom's got the same stunned expression on his face, and doesn't notice.

“Grace, I'm so sorry,” he blurts out. “I don't know what I was thinking—”

“Nice work,” Blake whispers, as we quickly make our escape through the kitchen. “Fancy practicing our next move back at your place?”

I remove his hand from my ass and pull my boots back on. “I didn't do this for you,” I hiss. “I did it for
Grace
. As far
as I'm concerned, Tom would've been well within his rights to beat you to a pulp. I'd have held his coat and watched.”

“I love it when you're angry.”

“Yeah? Let's see how much you love it when I Bobbitt your balls and feed them to my guinea pig.”

As soon as we're out of sight of the house, I tell him to fuck off. It takes a little while for him to realize I'm serious, and then he shrugs and saunters off in the direction of the pub. Lying sleazeball. I hope his willy shrivels up and falls off.

Wearily, I trudge back home. I reckon it'll take about an hour for the jungle drums to start beating. Michael's not going to be very happy when he hears what just went down, but I can't tell him the truth. If I do, sooner or later it'll get back to Tom; there's no such thing as a shared secret. I'm just going to have to keep my mouth shut and hope Blake does the same. I'm guessing I'm not going to win Girlfriend-of-the-Year awards. Fuck it. I really liked Michael.

Consider the debt for the kidney repaid, Grace
.

MICHAEL IS UPSET
, but irritatingly not surprised, when Tom unwittingly rats me out. Not Tom's fault: he wasn't to know Michael and I have a thang going on.

I'm hiding out in the studio when, less than an hour after I get home—told you, those jungle drums are powerful loud—he comes over to bend Michael's ear about the latest developments. I hide out in the back studio, so I
don't hear the ins and outs, but clearly things between him and Grace are no better, despite my best efforts. What the hell has gone wrong
now
?

“What?” I demand, as soon as Tom leaves. “Did he and Grace patch it up?”

“He told me about Blake,” Michael says. “I thought we had a deal. You said you weren't going to go there again.”

I pick apart a Styrofoam cup. There's not really much I can say.

“I'm not going to make you choose.” Michael sighs. “I had a feeling something like this would happen. I know you, Zee. But I'm not going to hang around forever. Sloppy seconds aren't my style.”

He
knows
me? Then how come he doesn't know I'm a fucking hero! I just saved my sister's marriage! What about points for enterprise, not to mention selflessness?

Except he has no idea about any of that, of course. I try to see it from his point of view. As far as he's concerned, I just reprised my slapper role with Blake, and it'd be weird if he wasn't pissed off. Although he seems not so much angry as disappointed, which makes me think of my father, and not in a good way. It's bad enough to be in the dock for something I didn't do, but it's a bit much to find out he
expected
me to drop my knickers at the first opportunity. How much of a tart does he reckon I am? Does he think the other night meant nothing to me?

“It's not what you think,” I begin, frustrated at not being able to explain.

“Look, Zee, I get it. You're not a commitment sort of girl. I don't flatter myself I'm any more than a port in a storm. I just wish for Claudia's sake you hadn't gone back to
him
. And I'm a little surprised you had the poor taste to arrange your tryst at Grace's house, but I suppose you could hardly rub my nose in it by bringing him here, for which I thank you, and clearly he couldn't take you home to his wife's bed. That's the trouble when you tup a married man, Zee. No hiding place.”

Tup?
Does anybody really
say
that anymore?

“I promise, it's over,” I say. This, at least, is true.

“Don't make promises you can't keep.”

“Michael—”

“I have to get to work, Susannah. I'll see you later.”

I feel like total crap as I watch him leave. He must think really badly of me now. I'm on the verge of running after him and blurting out the truth; but then I think of Grace's face when Tom looked at her like she was shit on the sole of his shoe. I'm used to that look; I can take it. Grace has never been disapproved of in her life. She'd go to pieces if anyone ever found out what really went down today.

He leaves, and I'm left to sit and stew at home. Grace calls a couple of times, but I let them go to voicemail. I'm grateful for the kidney and everything, but she's just fucked up the first decent relationship I've had in God knows how long. Maybe the first decent relationship I've had full-stop.

Except … except how perfect
is
it, when he was just
waiting for me to fuck up? It's one thing being accepted for who you are. It's another to be judged by it.

It really hurts that he thinks so little of me. He assumed I'd sleep with someone else sooner or later, even before he heard about Blake. Leopards don't change their spots, and old slappers don't turn into born-again virgins.

I thought he had a little more faith in me. In
us
.

I SIT BESIDE
Ava's cot for a long time after Michael drops me off at the hospital the next morning. It was an awkward drive; overnight, his disappointment has hardened into frosty disapproval, and I've stopped feeling hurt and started feeling pissed off. Since when did he start
judging
me? I don't want to be rescued or saved or forgiven! I thought we'd gone into this as
equals
. I don't need another father pointing out where I've gone wrong, or some kind of martyr willing to look the other way. If I tell the truth now, he'll feel better, but it won't fix things for me. I don't know where we go from here, but I feel in my waters it's not good.

Let's face it: I don't do relationships. Any more than I do motherhood.

“In another couple of weeks, you'd have been born,” I whisper to Ava, tickling her palm with my thumb and smiling as her doll-sized fingers curl around it. “You'll be big enough to leave here soon. Maybe we'll celebrate our first Christmas together in our own home. Wherever that is.”

An image of last Christmas Day springs suddenly into my head: Oakey and me at the beach, stuffing our faces with Doritos and smoking some good Colombian skunk and watching the sun sink into the ocean. Not the kind of thing you can do with a baby in tow. Shit, I miss my life. The tattoos, the punters, the freedom to up sticks and go wherever I felt like at a moment's notice. It sucked sometimes, but in comparison Grace's life is so hemmed in and
suffocating
. What the neighbors think really matters to her. How can she
stand
it?

I've been so jealous of her for so long; but not anymore, I realize. All those things I thought were so fucking wonderful: the amazing career, the gorgeous house, even the loving husband; it all just means she's
trapped
. Everyone expects her life to be perfect; Grace most of all. She's in danger of letting it all slip through her fingers because she can't accept that life
isn't
neat and tidy. It's a bloody fucking awkward mess.

No, I don't want her life. I want mine back.

I thought I could change, and be the sort of person who came home to the same person every night and cooked dinner and helped their kid with homework. Maybe I could. The truth is,
I don't want to
.

Michael was right. He knew I'd slip back into my old ways, sooner or later. I didn't sleep with Blake this time, but I could have, easily, if he'd gone about it the right way. I'm not cut out to settle down and play house. I'd go mad with boredom. I'm
already
mad with boredom.

Grace would've been a good mother
, I think, staring at my
daughter. She always tries to do the right thing. Isn't that what good mothers do?

“What's going to happen to us, Ava?” I sigh. “Shall we go and live in the flat Auntie Grace rented for us? It's near a really nice primary school, apparently. And there are lots of other lovely mothers in the building, she says.”

Ava smiles. The nurse says it's gas, but I know different. She's got an interesting take on life already, my daughter.

“No, I don't think it sounds very me, either. I'm not really a yummy mummy sort of person, am I? I can't see me standing at the school gates in a pretty cardigan and a pair of ballet pumps.” I grin. “Let's be honest, I'm more likely to be in the back of a 4×4 shagging one of your friend's dads.”

I stay with Ava until the neonatologist comes in to do his rounds. Ava's good company. She smiles in all the right places, and doesn't interrupt. It's easy to think when I'm with her. And I have a lot to think about.

When Michael picks me up an hour later, I ask him to drop me off at Bicester North station. He doesn't bother to inquire why, so I don't tell him. If he wants to give me the silent treatment again, that's fine by me.

I made the right decision
, I think. I can't stand men who bloody sulk.

As soon as the train reaches London, I take a taxi to the passport office, and spend the next couple of hours filling in forms. I don't have an appointment, but the usual arsey jobsworth must be on holiday, because a really nice woman lets me take a no-show slot on the QT. I need a
new passport with one of those chip things in it, or I won't be able to slip into the U.S. without a visa. This way, I'll get ninety days as a tourist; after that, I'll just overstay my welcome and join the millions of illegal workers flying under the radar. Frankly, a little invisibility will suit me fine. When Grace finds out what I've done, she's bound to want to come after me.

I suppress a pang of guilt about leaving Mum. Grace'll be around to look after her, and anyway, there's not much I can do for her right now. I'll check in with Grace once I've got settled and see how she is. Maybe when she's better I'll pop back for a quick visit.

My passport won't be ready till five, so I go to an Internet café nearby and book my ticket to Florida, then send Oakey a quick email with the details. He must be online, because he sends a reply straight back with the promise to meet my flight; and the offer of a job at the new tatt shop he's just opened in Miami.

Go, Oakey!
I think. Maybe this'll work out after all.

Then I hail another cab, and go to see Nicholas Lyon.

“Grace, I'm so sorry,” Tom gabbles. “I don't know what I was thinking—”

I cut him off, unable to bear any more. “Please, Tom. Don't.”

“It was stupid of me. I just saw him sitting there on the sofa and I thought—I just saw red. You'd never do that, of course you wouldn't. Not with Claudia's husband. I didn't mean anything, please, you have to believe me—”

“I do, Tom.”

For a moment, neither of us says anything. I wrap my robe tighter around myself, eaten up with guilt. How could I have been so
stupid
? If Susannah hadn't been here and had the quick thinking to take the blame, it wouldn't just be my life that would've been ruined, but Claudia's, too.