I have no idea. Am I that predictable? My date of birth isn’t the number that comes to mind, though. So I tap in the first four digits that do: 3210. The screen lights up, a dozen icons glaring at me. ‘Here.’ I hand it over. ‘It’s probably easier for you to enter it rather than reel it off to me.’
Without question, Zara quickly and keenly taps her number into my phone and connects the call, letting her phone ring once before hanging up and saving my number.
‘Perfect,’ I declare as she hands it back and I slip it into my bag. She smiles. It’s such a warm smile. Friendly and accepting, and it makes me feel so at ease.
We chat about almost anything for the next hour, almost anything except my recent accident. She doesn’t need to know that, and it’s a relief to have it off my mind for a while. Just talking. Getting to know someone. Someone who I’m not already supposed to know. I’m so wrapped up in the chatter, I completely lose track of time.
‘Goodness, where did the time go?’ Zara laughs, getting up from her chair. ‘I was supposed to be at a hair appointment fifteen minutes ago to sort out this mop.’
Her hair looks just fine, long, dark, glossy waves that make her blue eyes more striking.
‘Don’t you work on Mondays?’
‘I usually work from home a few days a week, so I get a bit of freedom to sneak to yoga and the salon.’ She winks, and I laugh. ‘I’ll see you Friday?’
‘Sure.’ We walk to the door together, and as soon as I make it to the pavement, I spot Jesse’s Aston up the road through the trees lining the street. Oh no. John must have called him. I quickly find my phone and cringe. Missed call, texts and voicemails crowd the locked screen. I shrink a little. ‘My husband is waiting for me.’
‘Oh, where?’ Zara looks where I point, having to bend to get Jesse’s car in her sights. ‘That fine man pacing the pavement?’ She gives me a playful look. ‘You lucky thing, you.’
‘Oh, behave.’ I laugh, and she does, too, giving me a quick peck on the cheek. ‘Have fun at the salon,’ I call as she jogs off.
I smile, thinking that I like Zara. My smile is short-lived, though, when I turn to find Jesse stalking down the street in my direction, looking nothing short of murderous.
What’s his problem?
‘Where the fuck have you been?’ he barks, positively shaking with rage. ‘I’ve been going out of my fucking mind, lady!’ He seizes my hand harshly, and I look back to see if Zara is still around, because I know just what she would think if she saw this little episode.
What the hell is he doing? ‘Get your hands off me.’ I snap, shoving him away. ‘I went for a fucking coffee.’
His face is that of pure shock. And not because I went for coffee. ‘Mouth!’
‘Fuck you, you heathen.’ I barge past him, attempting to stomp to the car, but my leg is aching badly now. This? This ridiculously over-the-top reaction, just because I went for a coffee? The man has a screw loose.
‘God damn it, Ava!’ He’s coming after me fast, fuelled by his rage. I don’t care. He can’t stop me going for coffee, and come to think of it . . .
‘I’m going back to work.’ I must be fucking doolally. Why would I goad him like this? Why would I poke the fucking bear?
He lands in front of me as I step into the road, every inch of his tall frame vibrating. I square my shoulders and lift my chin, displaying all of the grit I feel. ‘Over my dead body,’ he whispers lowly, getting his face close to mine. I don’t back up. Never. ‘You’re not ready to go back to work.’
‘No, I’m not ready to go back to your work. Because I haven’t got a fucking clue what I’m doing! As soon as I can, I’ll be applying for a job where I do know what I’m doing.’ It’s then, after the onslaught of my shouts, I realise that I haven’t just poked the bear, I may as well have stabbed the beast.
His chest slowly inflates, his face getting redder and redder. I wisely back up now, ready for the beast to explode. But what will come first? Because there are two issues here, my language, and the fact that I’m threatening to get myself another job. He won’t let me work anywhere except with him? How stupid!
‘Watch your fucking mouth!’ he booms, practically silencing the entire street with the volume. Maybe even the whole of London. ‘And the day you get another job is the day you put me six feet under.’
‘Don’t fucking tempt me.’ I take a wide berth around him, aware of him close behind. I’ll be the one six feet under at this rate. With stress.
I yank the car door open and throw myself into the seat heavily, wincing as I do. I hurt. Everywhere. I turn my face away when he lands in the driver’s side, his force putting mine to shame. ‘I’ve had a million heart attacks in the past hour!’
‘And a seizure. And a stroke, by the look on your face. I had a coffee, for crying out loud. Aren’t I allowed that?’
‘Who with?’ He revs his Aston hard, the car sounding as angry as him. ‘Because I rang Kate looking for you, and you weren’t with her.’
‘I have other friends, too, you know.’
‘Like who?’ He roars off down the road, throwing me back in my seat. Oh, he’s mad all right. Good. So am I. Who does he think he is?
‘A friend from yoga,’ I tell him snootily, not willing to elaborate. Call me pathetic, but I kind of like the idea of having someone all to myself. ‘You’re driving like an idiot.’ I clutch the side of my seat when he zooms through an amber light, cutting someone off when he switches lanes. We get honked at, and Jesse proceeds to flip the finger, not once, but twice, hurling a barrage of abuse out the window. Jesus Christ, the man is a fucking lunatic.
‘Given my accident,’ I say, quietly alarmed by his recklessness, ‘I’m surprised you’re being so careless.’ The brakes screech, and we’re suddenly crawling along the road at a snail’s pace. ‘Now you’re just being stupid.’ I fire him a filthy look, but note very quickly that he’s not being stupid at all. He’s being serious, his brow all crinkled in silent thought. And I know those thoughts are of the day he found my mangled car before he found my mangled body. I can see the flashbacks in his rapidly dulling eyes, his anger morphing into pain. And that pain finds its way into my heart and makes me feel like the worst person in the world.
Damn it. I close my eyes briefly and sigh, reaching for his hand where it’s squeezing the wheel, his knuckles white. He lets me prise his fingers free and bring his hand to my lap, where I cup it with my other, holding it tightly.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, a million strands of regret woven between the two small words. There’s that instinct again. The one that desperately wants to ease his pain. To make him calmer. To give him what he needs.
He pulls the car over to the side of the road and takes his hands back, scrubbing them down his face slowly and harshly. The evidence of a tear streaks his bristly cheek. Oh God. What have I done? He looks on the verge of breaking down. I unclip my belt and crawl across the centre console, onto his lap, pulling his hands away from his face. Deep green eyes overflowing with dread gaze back at me. ‘You need to chill out, Jesse.’
‘I’ll chill out if you stop trying to kill me dead.’ He’s serious, yet the crack in his voice is clear. His true fear is sobering. And, I realise, I shouldn’t toy with that.
‘Be quiet and kiss me,’ I demand, taking the reins, doing what I’m fast learning he needs me to do. And I don’t have to ask him twice. I’m taken in a kiss that’s full of appreciation as he sighs his thanks into my mouth and settles beneath me. His heart settles too, lowering to a soft thrum in his chest, reverberating against mine.
‘And to be clear,’ he mumbles, and I roll my eyes behind my lids, knowing exactly what’s coming. ‘You’re not getting another job.’ I don’t argue. Not now, though I plan on breaking him down gently over the coming weeks. Even I know I’m not ready to go back to work just yet. His head falls back against the headrest, his face serious. ‘Why didn’t you call me? Text me? Anything.’
I look away, a bit embarrassed. ‘I don’t know how to use that stupid phone.’ I can feel a lump growing in my throat. It’s so stupid.