‘Well, don’t look so surprised,’ Jonathan said, looking crestfallen. ‘Men do buy flowers for the women they love, you know.’
‘How thoughtful,’ Andrea said, stepping back to allow him access. ‘Pity you didn’t think to bring something to put them in.’
‘Ahhh.’ Jonathan smiled awkwardly, obviously having forgotten the trifling fact that her house had burned down, meaning she hadn’t got a stick to her name, let alone a vase.
‘So why the sudden gesture?’ she asked, suspicious of his motives. Whatever his reasons for this rare display of affection, he should know it would need a hell of a lot more than a bunch of flowers to set things right. ‘I mean, you don’t buy me flowers, do you? Not often anyway?’
‘No, I don’t, do I?’ Jonathan turned to face her. He looked exhausted, haggard almost. Bags under his eyes she could pack her luggage in, if she had any.
‘I should have.’ He shrugged, looking as disconsolate as Andrea felt. ‘A beautiful woman deserves flowers. Sorry I was late, by the way,’ he said, removing his jacket and seating himself tiredly on the bed.
‘So, why were you?’
‘Hectic, as usual. Phone’s been going non-stop. Haven’t had a minute all day, I swear. Come, sit,’ he said, loosening his tie with one hand and patting the space next to him with the other.
‘And was one of those calls from the assessors, Jonathan?’ Andrea asked, preferring to stand while she got straight to the point. ‘It’s just, as they have actually been to the house …’ she paused pointedly ‘… I’d assumed they were processing the claim.’
A little furrow forming in the middle of his brow, Jonathan glanced down. ‘Yes.’ He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yes, they are.’
‘So they’ll be releasing an emergency fund soon, then?’ she asked, gauging him carefully as he proceeded to pluck bits of fluff from his trousers.
‘I imagine so, yes.’ Jonathan looked back at her. ‘Come and sit down, Andy,’ he said, breaking eye contact, after a second. ‘You’re making me uneasy, standing over me like that. Can’t we just relax and talk?’
‘Why would you be uneasy?’ Andrea turned to place the flowers on the dressing table. She really didn’t feel like sitting, and relaxing was certainly something she wouldn’t be doing a lot of in the foreseeable future.
‘Because …’ Jonathan hesitated ‘… things haven’t exactly been good between us, have they, Andrea?’
‘No.’ Andrea braced herself and turned to face him. ‘Do you want them to be?’
Jonathan got to his feet with a sigh. ‘Of course I do. You know I do, it’s just …’
Andrea waited while he paced, wondering what he was going to cite as the reason. Her mum? Her insistence on trying to steal some time for herself with her Second Chance Designer ‘hare-brained’ idea, which was probably dead in the water anyway? Her children? Her?
‘… I don’t think I stand a chance with Doctor Adams and his bleeding heart moving in on you, do I?’ Jonathan stopped pacing and faced her.
Oh no. Andrea closed her eyes. ‘I moved in with him, Jonathan,’ she reminded him, drawing in a breath. Her cheeks were burning, her guilt was choking her, but what had happened between David and her wasn’t the reason their relationship was floundering. The problems between Jonathan and her had started when David was no more than a stranger. Before he’d even come to the village. Jonathan knew it as well as she did and she would not have him manipulate the conversation away from the real issues.
‘So I noticed,’ Jonathan almost sneered, his eyes on hers, burning with accusation.
Andrea looked him over, noting the tight set of his jaw and trying hard to work out where this was leading. What was it he was accusing her of? Did he really think, as she’d watched her house burn to the ground, not even knowing whether her family was safe, she’d been formulating some plan to move in with another man?
‘I didn’t have much choice, Jonathan, did I?’ she pointed out quietly.
‘Oh, come on, Andrea, you had plenty of choice.’ Jonathan dragged derisory eyes away from hers and resumed pacing. ‘You could have gone to any one of the neighbours. Eva, Sally, the pub. Here.’
‘My house had just burned down, Jonathan. The children were already in David’s house, being comforted by David, having been bloody well rescued by him! They were traumatised. Chloe was! Do you honestly think it would have been in their interest to drag them out past their burning house all over again?’
Jonathan’s step faltered. ‘No. Of course not. I—’
‘They hadn’t got a stitch to their name, and you were missing!’ Andrea pointed out angrily. ‘At the hospital, or so you said!’
Jonathan stopped, and turned, his expression livid. ‘Which means what exactly?’
He took a step towards her. Andrea stepped back, into the table. ‘You could have rung any one of the neighbours, Jonathan. Couldn’t you? The school? The pub?’
‘I don’t believe this,’ Jonathan growled, his breathing heavy, his face tight. ‘I really don’t. Thanks for your concern, Andrea. Thanks a lot!’
Eyeballing her furiously, Jonathan yanked off his tie. Andrea’s hand went to her throat.
‘I could have been dying! And your only concern is that I didn’t ring?’ Jonathan shook his head, incredulously. ‘I couldn’t get to a phone, Andrea, did that occur to you? Did it occur to you to ring around the hospitals?’
‘No, I …’ Andrea faltered, trying to think back. He hadn’t come to the restaurant. She’d spoken to him on the phone. She’d no reason to think—
‘No,’ Jonathan seethed, an inch from her face, ‘because you were too busy getting acquainted with our new neighbour. Don’t throw stones, Andrea, not when you’re on shaky ground.’
She watched him walk to the bed. Heard David’s voice in her head: ‘Something’s not right, Andrea.’ Then Dee: ‘He’s trying to do away with me.’
‘Where was Dougal,’ she asked, keeping her eyes on him as she moved away from the table, ‘when you found him?’
Jonathan looked sharply back at her. ‘In the park, I told you. Why?’
‘No reason,’ Andrea took a step towards the door. ‘It’s just he didn’t look very bedraggled for a dog who’d been wandering around lost. He wasn’t very hungry either. I just wondered, that’s all.’
‘Right, I see,’ Jonathan said, with a long exasperated sigh. ‘You’re right, obviously. He wasn’t in the park. I kidnapped him so I could claim the ransom. Of course I did.’ He locked eyes with hers, his now blazing with anger. ‘And while I was at it, I set fire to the house so I could claim the insurance. I mean, why not go the whole fucking hog, hey?’
Andrea nipped worriedly at her bottom lip. The dog flap, she tried to think rationally, though her mind was reeling. Dougal had escaped through the dog flap. Sensing danger, he’d beat a hasty retreat, that’s what Dougal would do. So, how did he get out of the garden? A garden they’d made absolutely sure was secure? Unless … Someone helped him out? During the fire? After? Before?
‘Bloody hell, what is this, Andrea?’ Jonathan shouted, startling her thoughts from her blackened kitchen, where it appeared the fire had started. ‘Where do you think he was, if he—’
‘In your office!’ Andrea blurted. ‘I saw the bed. I saw the dish. He was in your office, Jonathan! Why won’t you tell me the truth? When did you find him?’
Jonathan didn’t say anything, just looked at her, his expression thunderous. ‘You’ve been in my office?’ he said quietly, after a moment.
‘I have a key. Your spare. You gave it to me, just in case …’ His fury now palpable, Andrea tailed off.
He moved towards her. Andrea took another step to the door.
‘Spying on me?’ Jonathan took two swift strides, and was on her. ‘That’s rich, Andrea,’ he said, catching hold of her arm. His face was close to hers, one hand pressed against the door, right next to her.
‘I wasn’t spying. I—’
‘Really fucking rich. You’re
shacked up with some bloke you hardly know, shagging him for all I know, and you’re spying on me?’
‘Jonathan! You’re scaring me!’ Frantically, Andrea searched his eyes, which had changed, from tumultuous to … murderous? Nowhere to go, Andrea was terrified.
She held her breath. Jonathan inhaled deeply, breathed out raggedly, then, ‘Fuck!’ slammed his hand against the door, bare millimetres from her head.
‘Fuck,’ he said again, dragging his hands over his face. ‘I don’t believe this. I …’ He blinked hard, then ground the heels of his hands against his eyes and finally looked at the ceiling. ‘What happened to us, Andrea?’ he asked, looking back at her, looking wretched. ‘Why are you doing this?’
Andrea couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. She stared at him, bewildered. The door handle rattled beside her. ‘Mum?’ Ryan’s voice came from outside.
‘I’m coming. I’m fine.’ Andrea turned and grabbed for the handle, attempting to open the door. At which Jonathan muscled in beside her and leant his full weight against it.
‘Don’t, Andrea,’ he said, his tone now scared, but most definitely holding a warning. ‘We need to talk. We—’
‘Get out of my way!’ Her heart palpitating manically inside her, Andrea grappled with the handle, tugged hard at it. ‘Jonathan, I need to go.’
‘For God’s sake, Andrea, stop!’ Jonathan clamped a hand over hers, wove an arm around her, attempting to force her bodily away from the door.
Desperately trying to prise his grip from her waist, Andrea struggled, kicking out behind her. They were nothing but useless flails meeting with fresh air. He was bigger than her, much stronger than her. She was powerless to prevent him whirling her around and leaning his back heavily against the door.
‘Mum!’ Ryan, urgently now.
‘Ryan! Call the—’ Andrea stopped, gagged by the hand that Jonathan now had clutched to her face.
‘Just stop,’ he hissed in her ear. ‘Calm down, for— Fuck!’
Wincing as Andrea’s fingernails gouged his flesh, he loosened his hold.
And Andrea grabbed her chance. Summoning her strength, she wriggled out of his grasp, lurching forwards, away from him, only to stumble. The light was white, blinding, as her cheekbone cracked against the sharp wooden edge of the dressing table.
‘Andrea?’ Jonathan’s tone was now one of horror. ‘Oh God, Andrea …’ He moved towards her as she blinked against the searing pain and attempted to right herself.
Crouching, he caught hold of her forearms. ‘You’re hurt,’ he said, his voice hoarse as he eased her to her feet, his touch gentle as he reached out to brush the tender bruise already forming under her eye.
‘Mum?’ Sophie said, shocked and tearful behind him.
‘What the fuck’s happening?’ Ryan demanded, his keycard in his hand, his expression more furious than Andrea had ever seen him.
‘Don’t, Ryan!’ Andrea stopped him as he stormed towards Jonathan. Ryan would stand no chance against a man a head taller than he was. ‘Leave it. Please, Ryan,’ she asked, seeing her boy was now trembling with ill-suppressed rage. ‘He’s going.’
She turned coldly towards Jonathan, who closed his eyes, looking haggard, a hundred years older. His anger visibly dissipating, he looked back at her. ‘I’m so sorry, Andrea,’ he said, his voice catching. ‘I love you. I never meant to hurt you, I swear.’
Andrea fixed him with a contemptuous gaze. ‘I’ve heard enough, Jonathan,’ she assured him, working hard to control her own temper. ‘And my children have seen enough. You have thirty seconds to leave.’ With which Andrea drew in a breath and turned away.
‘Right.’ Jonathan sighed heavily behind her. ‘Can I at least use the bathroom before I go?’
What? Andrea’s step faltered. She was contemplating calling the police and he wanted to avail himself of the facilities?
‘The bathroom,’ Jonathan repeated as she shot him an incredulous look over her shoulder. ‘I, er, need a moment.’
‘Thirty seconds,’ Andrea reiterated, ushering Ryan and Sophie ahead of her out of the room.
‘Bastard,’ Ryan threw after him as Jonathan headed towards the bathroom, presumably to compose himself. ‘You should report him.’
‘Leave it, Ryan,’ Andrea asked him, pulling the door half to and then reaching gently to prevent Ryan pressing the digits on his mobile he obviously wanted to. ‘For now,’ she said, locking eyes with his. ‘He’s Chloe’s father. I’m not making excuses, I promise. I need time to think. Meanwhile, I want him gone.’
Pulling in a deep breath, Ryan held her gaze, tangible anger in his own, and then reluctantly, he nodded.
Grateful, Andrea squeezed his arm and turned her attention to Sophie. ‘All right, sweetie?’
Sniffling, Sophie ran an arm under her nose. ‘Uh-huh,’ she said. ‘You?’
‘I’ve been better,’ Andrea answered honestly.
‘Ryan’s right. He is a bastard,’ Sophie agreed with her brother, unusually.
Andrea might have smiled, but for the circumstances. ‘Where’s Gran?’
‘Soaking her feet,’ Sophie assured her. ‘Just as well she is. We’d have been hard pushed to stop her trying to give that wanker a taste of his own.’
‘Exactly.’ Andrea reached to fluff up Sophie’s drooping spikes. ‘I don’t want her to hear, kids. Understand? Or Chloe.’ She glanced meaningfully at them both in turn and then thanked God for them both as they nodded simultaneously back.
Relieved, Andrea turned back to the door to see Jonathan warily emerging. ‘So … How are you two?’ he asked awkwardly, glancing between Sophie and Ryan.
Neither of the children answered.
‘How’s Chloe?’ Jonathan tried.
Silence.
‘I thought I’d just pop in and say hello to her.’ Jonathan took a step towards the door to the family room.
‘Uh, uh.’ Ryan shook his head and sidestepped, bodily blocking the doorway.
Sophie folded her arms and closed ranks with her brother. ‘She’s sleeping,’ she informed him.
‘Right.’ Jonathan nodded, glancing apprehensively at Andrea. ‘How’s Dee?’ he asked, forcing a smile.
‘Still alive,’ obviously having finished attending her feet, Dee piped up from inside, ‘despite your best efforts.’
Jonathan shook his head, a wry smile on his face. ‘She’s still not confused then, I see.’
‘Not half as confused as you seem to think I am, young man.’
‘I’d like you to go now,’ Andrea said as Jonathan loitered, looking uncertain. ‘I don’t want Chloe woken. She’s been through enough. We all have.’
Jonathan shrugged. ‘Okay,’ he said, after a long intake of breath. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’
‘Don’t be surprised if she doesn’t come running,’ Ryan muttered, looking Jonathan over disdainfully.
‘Sense of humour still intact, I see, Ryan.’ Jonathan smiled shortly, and turned to Andrea. ‘We’ll need to chat further …’
Chat? Andrea’s hand went to her face, which was badly bruised and which she guessed bore a cut where the corner of the table had broken the flesh. It was all she could do to stop her eyes boggling in her head.
‘About what happens next,’ Jonathan went on, apparently oblivious to the considerable stress he’d just caused.
‘What happens next is you leave,’ Ryan suggested. ‘The exit’s that way.’
‘Okay, fine, I can see where I’m not wanted. I’ll catch up with you later.’ Jonathan gave Andrea a nod and headed down the corridor. ‘Oh, just so you know, though.’ He turned back. ‘Chloe is my daughter, Andrea. Whatever happens, I will want to see her.’
‘Prat,’ Ryan imparted his thoughts on the subject as Jonathan walked on.
Chapter Twenty-Four
‘What do you think?’ David asked Jake, dragging an arm across his forehead as he stood back to appraise their evening’s handiwork repainting the walls orchid white, Andrea’s colour of choice, as reliabl
y informed by Ryan. Unfortunately, the information had come a little late. It had taken him a week, working late into the night, to paint the entire property the first time round. Now, with the furnishings arriving this coming Saturday, which David really wanted in situ before Andrea moved in on Sunday, he had only three evenings left to repaint it.
Sally hadn’t been impressed with his continued excuses for not dropping by to ‘cosy up on the sofa’ and share an evening together. David was actually beginning to wonder if he dared to even sit on the sofa. The last time he’d dropped by, she’d asked him would he very much mind leaving his shoes at the door and then fluffed up the cushions on the Italian leather almost before he’d left his seat. David didn’t mind, not really. He was more concerned at Sally’s tendencies to OCD and how she’d cope when the baby came. It could well be something to do with the loss of her previous child, David thought, anxiety exacerbated by post-natal depression, possibly? He was worried for her.
Jake looked up from where he was kneeling, painting the patch of wall David had allocated him. ‘It looks better on the walls.’ He smirked, indicating David’s arm, which was also orchid white, as was his forehead now, he gleaned, along with pretty much every other part of his visible anatomy.
Jake looked as if he’d been dipped in the stuff too, but the boy painted on, unperturbed, and quietly pleased that he’d been entrusted with a paintbrush, David reckoned. Pretty enthusiastic, too, since it was Ryan’s ‘pad’ he was helping redecorate. Watching him, David smiled, his heart swelling with pride for his son; his son more as he should be. Yes, he was still moody sometimes, a bit loose with the backchat; introverted occasionally when, perhaps prompted by some reminder, his thoughts drifted to his mother. He’d yet to look at him with adoration in his eyes, like Dad was his hero, but he was more the boy he used to be. That would do for now. David just hoped he could find a way to tell him the news about Sally without breaking the kid’s heart all over again, which he’d have to do soon, before Sally did start announcing the pregnancy and it reached Jake via the village grapevine.
‘How long do we have now?’ Jake asked, his tongue protruding as he concentrated on getting a straight line at the skirting board. His endeavours weren’t bad, actually, David noted.
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