Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
I laugh, pushing my way into Ava’s office. I find Cherry sitting in Ava’s chair, and my laughter fades. She looks all wrong. There’s only one woman who belongs in that chair. ‘Speak to Kate and get back to me.’
‘We’ll be there at seven pronto,’ he counters, hanging up.
‘Oh, hi.’ Cherry beams at me, looking past my shoulder. ‘No Ava?’
‘No Ava,’ I confirm, heading for my wife’s desk. I scan the surface, noting many things out of place. The pen pot is on the wrong side, the mouse mat is different, and the in-and-out trays are all askew. Perfectly neat, but still askew. Ava didn’t have them like that, pushed neatly into the back corner. Not that my wife will know that.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ Cherry gets up, tapping a pile of papers on the edge of the desk to tidy them.
‘A water, thanks.’ I drop into the now-vacant chair and scan the room while Cherry makes her quiet exit. It feels empty. Lacking life. I rest back and wedge my elbow into the arm, drumming my fingers on my cheek, thoughtful. And I smile. A new baby.
‘What are you grinning at?’ John asks, stalking towards the desk. It occurs to me in this moment that one of my oldest friends is in the dark over the past few days’ revelations.
‘I’m going to be a dad.’ I sound stable, and I’m proud of myself for it.
‘You’re already a dad, you stupid motherfucker.’ He drops into the chair opposite me. ‘I thought Ava was the one who lost her memory.’
Had anyone else said that, I would have beaten them black and blue. But this is John. He’d beat me black and blue. ‘Again,’ I add. ‘I’m going to be a dad again.’
The white of his eyes expand. ‘What?’
‘Ava’s pregnant.’
I see the laughter bubbling up from his toes and wait for it to work its way to his mouth and shake the whole damn club. But he doesn’t laugh. Somehow, he contains it, though I see his amusement plain as day. ‘Was it planned?’
I chuck a pen across the desk at him. ‘Stupid fucking question, John. What sane fifty-year-old bloke would volunteer for that, for fuck’s sake?’
His huge shoulders jump up casually. ‘I would have, had the opportunity passed me by.’
That shuts me up. And makes me shrink. I’ve never asked John about his past, and he’s never volunteered it. Something inside me, maybe caution, just warned me not to. I’ve often wondered if he’d wanted children if he found the right woman. And he’s just answered that. I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s great with the twins, always has been. Like an adopted pap, in a way. ‘Was there ever a Mrs John?’ I ask him.
He smiles his big white-toothed smile with his signature hint of gold. ‘What’s taken you so long to ask, boy?’
I inwardly laugh. ‘Maybe the hostile vibes I get any time I’ve ever even thought to pry.’
‘There was one woman once upon a time.’ He shrugs, like it’s nothing. It most certainly isn’t nothing.
I lean forward in my chair, intrigued. ‘Really? Who?’
He eyes me for a few moments, clearly wondering whether he should spill. ‘It doesn’t matter now. It’s dead. History.’ Clearly he’s decided against it.
I sigh, mentally plotting my advances, how I can coax the information from him. ‘Before I knew you?’
His glare is deadly. ‘Drop it.’
‘What if I don’t?’
‘Face the consequences.’
‘Which are what?’
‘Rein it in, you relentless motherfucker,’ he warns, the threat in his tone no joke, but something tells me that he really wants to share. Yet I do as I’m told, even if my mind is spinning, rewinding through the years, all the way back to when my uncle took me under his wing. John was there then, my uncle’s best friend. In fact, he’s always just been . . . there. I hum to myself, racking my brain. I know her. That’s why he’s being cagey and reluctant.
I flick through all the women who used to frequent The Manor on a regular basis as we stare at each other, for what seems like years, his eyes dark, mine curious. And then he draws breath to speak. ‘Falling in love with your best mate’s girl isn’t ideal.’ His eyes don’t move from mine.
His best mate’s girl? Uncle Carmichael was his best . . .
Realisation slams into me like a giant wrecking ball to my gut. ‘Sarah?’ I blurt, my heart taking the second shock of the day, except this one is no sick prank. He nods his confirmation. Fuck me. Sarah?
How has he kept that hidden all this time? ‘John, I don’t know what to say.’ He watched it all, close by, Sarah, me, and Uncle Carmichael, the wretched love triangle and all the tragedy that went with it. And the years that followed, Sarah constantly pining for me, going to epic lengths to try to win me. How did he do that? Face it? Endure it?