‘Well I won’t be setting myself up for another beating from your unhinged husband. Not even you are worth the pain I’m in right now.’
I laugh to myself and my stupidity for almost feeling sorry for him.
‘Oh,’ he continues, ‘and don’t worry about Elizabeth and Joseph. I’ve been given a little taste of what will happen if I share your news. Can I suggest that you get your address changed so I don’t receive any of your shit in future?’ He hangs up, and I stare down at my phone in disbelief. I didn’t blast him with half of the words I’ve been mentally preparing throughout the day. I didn’t get to spit my hatred at him, or even slap his face. I’d love to slap his face. I smirk to myself, my smile only broadening when a mental image of Jesse pounding on Matt’s loser arse springs to mind. I’m not a violent person, but if Jesse wants to take his anger out on someone, then Matt would be my person of choice every time. He deserves everything he gets, and there’s no doubt in my mind that I won’t be hearing from him again and neither will my parents. It’s one more thing ticked off my list of issues. Sarah has apologised, for what it’s worth, but she’s gone and that’s all that matters. Kate and Sam are together, and Kate and Dan are not. I’ve made friends with my brother, and Matt has been trampled. That one makes me smile again. But what I really need to be doing is finding my husband and making friends with him. I chuck my phone on the passenger seat and make my way back towards the city.
I feel like I’m on a cleansing mission. Our new life together will be free from troubles very soon, and it’s right now that I decide to tackle the final issue tomorrow. Mikael. I’ve still not heard from him, but there’s nothing he can say, anyway, nothing he can tell me, so I don’t know what the point of our meeting will be. He’s not back from Denmark, or if he is I’ve not heard from him, but I’ll call him. I’ll beat him to the punch. I’m full of determination to eradicate this final issue. I’m making it my mission objective. I’ll do anything.
As I’m driving over London Bridge, I glance up to my rear view mirror and spot a familiar car. Jesse’s car. He’s dipping in and out of the traffic in his usual haphazard style, overtaking and generally causing traffic mayhem in his wake. I spend a few moments flicking my eyes between the road ahead and my rear view mirror, the potential of what I’m about to face slowly settling in the pit of my stomach. He’s been following me, which means he has followed me to Matt’s office, which means he is going to hit the f**king roof. I didn’t see Matt, but the intention was there, and I’m not going to try and convince myself that Jesse wouldn’t know where Matt worked. Of course he knows where Matt worked. I’m fighting the clash of extreme worry and extreme rage. I’m worried for obvious reasons, but the rage is overshadowing that right now. Following me? This shouldn’t be a surprise. I need to stop being so astounded by what lengths this man goes to—the things that he does, the reactions that he has, the extreme reactions he draws from me.
I know it’s him, but that doesn’t stop me taking a right, and then a right, and then a right again, bringing me back to where I started, and as I knew it would be, the DBS is still tailing me a few cars behind. I’m leading him on a merry dance. I feel around on the seat for my phone and stab at the buttons.
‘Yes?’ he spits, short, curt and clipped. Not his usual baby or pleasure filled tone. I’m astounded.
‘Nice drive?’ I ask.
‘What?’
‘Are you having a nice drive?’ I repeat myself, this time the words pushed through clenched teeth.
‘Ava, what the f**k are you talking about? And when I send John to fetch you, get in is f**king car.’
I ignore that last part and glance back up to my rear view mirror, just to check I’m not imagining things. I’m not. ‘I’m talking about you following me.’
‘What?’ he yells impatiently. ‘Ava, I haven’t got time for f**king riddles.’
‘I’m not talking in riddles, Jesse. Why the hell are you following me?’
‘I’m not following you, Ava.’
I glance up again. ‘So I suppose there are hundreds of Aston Martins driving around London, and one just happens to be following me.’
Silence falls down the phone line, then his heavy breathing starts. ‘You’re driving?’
‘Yes!’ I shriek. ‘I’m driving around in bloody circles, and you’re following me. You’d make a shit detective!’
‘My car’s following you?’
‘Yes!’ I actually hit my steering wheel in a temper. Does he think I’m stupid?
‘Ava, baby, I’m not driving my car. I’m at Lusso.’ He doesn’t sound impatient anymore. He sounds concerned, which only concerns me.
I take another look in my mirror and find the DBS is now only one car behind me, drifting in and out of my sight. ‘But it’s your car.’ I say quietly.
‘Fuck!’ he roars, and I instinctively pull the phone away from my ear. ‘John!’
‘Jesse? What’s going on?’ My stomach is suddenly a knot of panic at his reaction.
‘My car’s been stolen.’
‘Stolen? How can you steal an Aston Martin?’ Surely it would be impossible.
‘Where are you?’ he asks.
Frantically looking around, I search for something familiar. ‘I’m on the embankment, driving towards the city.’