With This Man Read online

‘Good girl.’ I smother her with my lips, my arms refusing to let her go. ‘Have a good time.’ I sigh and force myself to release her. The anxiety inside me, it’s never gone, but now it seems to be worse than ever. ‘I love you.’

  ‘I know.’ She dances off to Drew’s car.

  ‘I’m dropping them off and picking them up,’ Drew says. He knows I need to hear that. ‘Will call you when we’re on our way home.’

  I nod and quickly shut the door before I give in to temptation and race after her to drag her back to the house. The ache inside me may be unreasonable and my mood overboard, but after we’ve been through what we’ve been through, I don’t think it’ll ever leave me. It’s a curse. A weight around my neck.

  But I mustn’t let it pull me under.

  Chapter 47

  I have not one hope of sleeping until she’s home. So I sit on the couch flicking the channels, restless and constantly checking my Rolex. The call I’ve been waiting for finally comes at one in the morning. I scramble to answer it and listen to Drew tell me they’re all drunk but safe and that he’s on the way to drop off Ava.

  A huge weight lifts from my shoulders, and for the first time this evening, I relax. And then I do something utterly stupid. I race upstairs, strip, and hop into bed, turning off the lamp. Because of course she’ll believe that I’ve been sleeping peacefully while she’s been out tearing up the town.

  It’s almost half an hour later when I hear the front door close. And a few moments after that, the sound of her shoes hits the tile floor. Then . . . silence. I fight the urge to go down and find her. She’s home. She’s safe. Nothing can happen to her now.

  Then I hear a bang and I’m like a bullet out of our bed, pulling my shorts on as I fly down the stairs. I crash into the kitchen and find it empty.

  ‘Ava?’ I call, backing up, listening. Nothing. My heart rate shifts a few gears. ‘Ava?’ My attempt not to sound frantic isn’t working. ‘Ava, where the hell are you?’ I hurry down the hall, peeking in every room, finding them all empty.

  Until I arrive at the family room. I breathe out when I see her standing at the foot of our wall. ‘Baby?’

  She doesn’t turn, just raises a finger to a picture, a picture of us on our wedding day, and traces the edge of my face. ‘I remembered something earlier.’ She’s slurring. She’s definitely slurring. Drunk? Plastered, maybe. But she had a flashback? Turning her eyes onto me, heavy eyes, drunk eyes, she points at my bare chest. ‘You stole my birth control pills.’

  ‘Ah.’

  Guilty. As. Charged.

  I hold my finger to my nose, trying to think of a way to wriggle out of this. Of all the things she could have remembered? ‘“Stole” is a very harsh word.’ There’s no way out.

  ‘What word would you use, then?’ Her bare feet are treading the carpet.

  ‘Do you need the toilet?’ Or is she starting to stagger?

  ‘Don’t change the subject.’ Her mumbled words are getting hard to decipher. ‘Why’d you steal them?’

  This again? I force my eye-roll into hiding and go and collect her before she face plants on the carpet. Lifting her into my arms, I take her up to bed. ‘Because I was madly in love with you and I thought you’d leave me when you found out my dirty little secrets.’

  Her scoff takes some effort. ‘You mean your sex club. And the fact you’re an alcoholic. And the fact that you were a manwhore?’

  ‘Yes, all of that,’ I say, taking the stairs. And a whole pile of other shit, too. ‘Now, are you done?’

  ‘I had a wonderful night!’ she sings, throwing her head back and her arms up, forcing me to shift my hold or risk her tumbling from my arms. I guess that’s a yes. ‘And do you know what?’ She levels a straight face on me.

  Do I want to know? ‘What?’

  ‘I fancy you so much,’ she mumbles, her head falling onto my shoulder.

  ‘I should hope so.’

  ‘Why, because you’re my husband?’

  ‘No, because I’m fucking hot.’

  A hysterical bout of laughter erupts, and I’m forced to shush her before she wakes the kids. Too late. We meet a sleepy-looking pair when we get to the top of the stairs. ‘Go back to bed,’ I tell them as they mirror each other, rubbing at their drowsy eyes. ‘Mum’s just a little drunk.’

  ‘A little?’ Jacob looks as disapproving as I feel, though Maddie seems amused.

  ‘I’m a lot drunk,’ Ava declares, wriggling free of my arms. I grumble as I set her on her feet, holding her arm tightly. ‘And I love you two!’

  ‘Oh God.’ Maddie cringes when Ava lavishes her with affection. ‘Mum, please!’

  ‘You’re the best things that ever happened to me.’ She turns her attention onto an alarmed Jacob.

  ‘Don’t tell Dad that,’ my boy quips drily, letting Ava do what she’s going to do. ‘I think it’s your bedtime, Mum.’

  ‘I think so, too.’ She pulls Jacob into her and squeezes him, his cheeks all squished against her chest. ‘You’re just as handsome as your dad.’

  ‘I know,’ he mumbles, rolling his eyes at me. Maddie can’t contain her amusement, chuckling to herself.

  ‘Come on.’ I claim my drunken wife before she makes even more of a show of herself, flicking my head to the kids for them to get back to bed. Their smiles are fond as I walk Ava to the bedroom, her steps clumsy. ‘In you get.’ I unzip the back of her dress and lower her to the sheets. She proceeds to writhe around the bed. ‘Keep still.’

  ‘Are you going to fuck me, Jesse Ward? I’ll scream real loud.’

  ‘Behave, lady.’ I chuckle, dragging the gold material down her body and casting it aside. ‘Underwear.’

  Her arms catapult upward, landing on the pillows. ‘Strip me bare.’

  ‘I did that years ago. Right down to your soul.’

  She quiets down a little, squinting to look at me. ‘I missed you tonight.’

  ‘Good.’ When she’s down to just her skin, I remove my shorts and climb in beside her, ignoring the stench of alcohol oozing from her pores. I remain still while she finds her favourite place on my chest, flopping down heavily on a deep sigh. I wrap her in my arms and smile to myself as her breathing becomes shallow.

  ‘And now I’ll miss you while I’m asleep.’ Her murmured words are just what I need to hear. She’s glad to be back. With me.

  Chapter 48

  Ava had a terrible hangover the next day. I was smug. Couldn’t help it. But a few days later she still looked washed out. Of course, I put the call in to her doctor to check I wasn’t missing something, and he assured me all was well. Just something going around, apparently. She’s now been laid up for nearly a week, though she managed to go to yoga yesterday. I was sceptical, but she insisted. I even let her go for a coffee with that new friend of hers. See? I can be reasonable.

  I look at the kids as they eat their breakfast, thinking they look a little pasty, too. Or am I being paranoid?

  ‘You two feeling okay?’ I ask.

  They both nod, barely even looking at me, their eyes glued to their iPads instead. I wander over and snatch the tablets from their hands, earning a couple of disgruntled moans. ‘Shower. We have Uncle Drew’s wedding to go to.’

  They grumble, both dragging their feet as they go.

  ‘Good little children.’ I smirk as they both give me the death stare before they disappear. Ava’s phone rings, and I swipe it up from the side table, looking at the screen as I make my way upstairs to my check up on my wife.

  ‘Zara,’ I muse, connecting the call. Time for me to introduce myself to this new friend. ‘Hi.’ I hear a few rustles, and then the phone goes dead. I frown down at the screen as a text message lands.

  Call me when you’re free. Just checking how you’re feeling.

  I take the liberty of answering for Ava.

  It’s Jesse. Ava’s husban
d. We’re on our way to a wedding. I’ll get her to call you tomorrow.

  Ah! The famous husband. I’ve heard lots about you ;-)

  Did she just fucking wink at me? I give the phone a dubious glare, wondering what exactly Ava’s been telling her that warrants a wink. I don’t know, but I make a mental note to ask.

  I’m surprised when I find Ava sitting in front of the mirror, straightening her hair. ‘You look perkier.’ I chuck her phone on the bed and lower to the floor behind her, framing her with my knees, shifting in close until my groin is wedged up close to her lower back. ‘Your yoga friend just texted you. I told her you’d call her tomorrow.’

  ‘You read and answered my message?’ she asks in shock.

  ‘Yes.’ I show no remorse, because I have none. ‘So what have you been telling this Zara about me?’

  Ava’s eyes narrow playfully as she sweeps her cheeks with a make-up brush, adding a glow to her cheekbones. ‘That you’re a god. That you’re possessive, unreasonable and controlling, but it’s all because you love me with every bone in your body.’

  ‘And every drop of blood in my veins,’ I add, giving her a devilish smirk, but it falls when I notice she doesn’t return it. She’s looking pensive. ‘Hey, what’s up?’ Is she worried about the wedding? The public appearance in front of so many people? I don’t think it could be that. She’s seemed okay this past week, her bug aside. Sometimes quiet, but that’s to be expected. I’ve got used to her losing herself in her thoughts every now and then, concluding that she’s trying to recall something. There have been no monumental breakthroughs in her memories. We’ve just kind of fallen back into life. And it’s been good. Relatively normal, aside from the odd thing she forgets every now and then. According to her doctor, that’s normal, too.

  I can’t deny, though, I still feel so uncertain about so many things. Yet one thing I’m sure of is our beautiful, unrelenting love. But love isn’t always beautiful. Sometimes it’s tragic. Most of the time it’s tragic. It cuts you up, tears you apart, fucking suffocates you, but it’s the only thing that can put you back together again. It’s a sadistic bastard as well as the most enriching, comforting thing in this world. And that’s what I’ve survived on – my love, our love, because if I’ve learned anything, it’s that time stops for no one. Life continues no matter if you’re happy with where yours has been or where it is heading. You can’t stop it. You just have to tilt the scale and make it the best it can be. Change the direction towards somewhere you want to go.

  And that’s exactly what I’ve done. And I thought I’d done a good job. So why is she looking so unsure all of a sudden?

  Placing her make-up brush on the floor, she stares at me in the mirror, biting her lip, thinking. ‘Is it your head?’ I ask. ‘Do you still feel off?’ Oh shit, has she had a breakthrough and not told me, maybe because she’s shocked? Horrified? Or, worse still, questioning why she’s in this marriage? Piles and piles of reasons for her despondency all land on me at once, and I filter through the barrage, trying to narrow it down to anything obvious.

  ‘I’m pregnant.’

  Everything except that.

  There’s some kind of blockage happening between my brain and mouth, rendering me unable to speak. Pregnant? How? The blockage suddenly dislodges, and I immediately start shaking like a motherfucker, my body cold. ‘I’m sorry, what?’

  Her eyes, sharp but cautious, study me in the reflection. ‘I . . . am . . . pregnant.’ This time, she spells it out, as if I didn’t catch the bombshell the first time.

  Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant.

  ‘Pregnant,’ I finally manage, swallowing hard. ‘How?’

  She shrugs, looking a little timid. ‘The antibiotics, I think. Sometimes they interfere with the pill.’

  ‘Fucking hell,’ I all but breathe, slapping the ball of my fist into my forehead. The irony doesn’t escape me. It doesn’t escape Ava either, going by the slight twist of her lips. When we met and she turned my world upside down, I spent weeks sneakily stealing her pills in a wild and reckless mission to get her pregnant to ensure I could keep her for ever. It was no accidental pregnancy, not on my part, anyway. And I wouldn’t change a damn thing, either. I adore my kids, wouldn’t be without them. But it doesn’t mean I want more.

  ‘I knew you wouldn’t take it well.’ Her soft murmur breaks into the bedlam that is my thoughts.

  I’m astounded by her calmness. Why isn’t she spiralling into meltdown with me? ‘I’m fifty, Ava.’ I get up and start pacing the room. ‘I’m way too old to be a dad again.’

  ‘No, you’re not.’ My wife sounds irked, and I look to find she really is, her face bunched, annoyed. ‘Parents are getting older all the time.’ She shrugs. ‘At least that’s what my midwife said.’

  ‘You’ve been to the midwife?’ Without me? ‘When?’

  ‘I got a taxi to the doctor’s office after you dropped me at yoga yesterday. I needed to be sure before I gave you the news that I knew would send you into orbit.’

  Orbit? How about another fucking galaxy? ‘Pregnant!’ I bark for the sake of it. ‘I can’t believe this.’ It’s really sinking in now, visions of Kate and Sam’s weary faces since Betty arrived popping into my mind.

  I’ve done my time. My days of shitty nappies and sleepless nights are done with. ‘Oh my God,’ I sputter, marching to the bathroom and punching the shower on, muttering all kinds of nonsensical shit as I strip down. I get under the spray and hope the cold water will wake me up from my nightmare.

  ‘You’re taking it rather well,’ she quips, appearing beyond the shower door, watching me scrub every inch of my body.

  ‘Ava, let’s put this into perspective.’ I get close to the screen so she can see just how fucking panicked I am. ‘When this baby is ten, I’ll be nearly sixty-one.’ I shudder. Fuck me, I’ve only just got used to fifty. That’s a lie. I’m not used to it at all, and, in fact, in my mind I’m still actually forty. Sixty? I’ll blink and it’ll be here. ‘The twins will be in university and I’ll be taking our youngest to school on a fucking mobility scooter.’

  I want to cry, whereas Ava just sighs, letting me babble on. Good. I have plenty to say. ‘And I’ll have to make at least three stops on the way to piss because my old bladder won’t be able to hold a cup of coffee for longer than ten minutes.’ I stagger back, out of breath, half assisted by my panic, half assisted by my spew of words without catching my breath. This is awful!

  ‘You’re being ridiculous.’ She stalks off, leaving me heaving like a worn-out racehorse, all alone in the cold shower. ‘I have the scan on Tuesday. Come if you want, and if you don’t want to that’s fine. Don’t think I can’t do this on my own.’

  And just like that, I’m snapped out of my meltdown. She’ll do it on her own? Without me? I flinch, the thought more than stinging. And then I frown to myself, wondering what on earth has got into me. And I think really hard. I think about what the actual issue here is, and it isn’t another baby being around. It’s me. My issue. That damn fucker called age. That’s the problem. That’s what’s got me all in a pickle. It has nothing to do with being a daddy again. But everything to do with my stupid complex.

  And maybe another factor is the thought of having another someone to worry about. More anxiety. Fuck, another person to obsess about will be a strain that could finish me off. My heart’s speeding more just thinking about it.

  I breathe in and breathe out, trying to talk myself down. And I think about Ava’s face just now. How calm and serene she seemed, even when I tipped the meltdown scales.

  ‘Fuck,’ I mumble. Can I do this? I look to the bathroom door. Can I do this for Ava? Good Lord, I have to. I can get over all of my issues because I want my wife to be happy. Especially now. Especially after everything. She needs this. Maybe I do, too. And the kids. Something special and new to focus on.

  I drag my hands down my scratchy cheeks. ‘God d
amn you, Ward,’ I say to myself, stepping out of the shower and grabbing a towel. I have some serious sucking up to do. I feel like a total wanker.

  ‘Ava?’ I say timidly, creeping into the dressing room. She has the wide-leg trousers of her navy Ralph Lauren suit on, a cream silk shirt held against her front. And she’s watching me. I’m about to launch into my apology, but she beats me to it.

  ‘We may have laughed about it that time when we visited Betty, but you know what? I’m happy this has happened. I’m thrilled, in fact. Maybe this is just what we need. All of us. Me, you and the kids. A new life to channel our energy and attention on. Something to look forward to. Something to distract us from the shit storm of the past couple months.’ She breathes in and shoves her arms through the sleeves of her shirt, while I remain still in the doorway, feeling so ashamed. She’s thinking the same as me, though she got there a lot quicker than me, clearly. She’s been sitting on this since yesterday. She’s been scared to tell me, and I’ve just demonstrated every reason why. ‘But don’t you worry your fifty-year-old head, Ward.’ Reaching out, she yanks the cropped jacket of her suit down and shoves it on, fixing the collar of her blouse. ‘We’ll be fine without you.’

  ‘Jesus, enough with the knives to my fucking heart, woman. The first did enough damage.’ But every man at some time in his life needs putting in his place. And for me, no woman on this planet could ever do it better than my wife.

  ‘You asked for it.’ She storms past me, but I just catch her wrist, jolting her to a stop. Both of us silent, I take her by the waist and lift her onto one of the cabinets, muscling my way between her thighs. Her face is sulky as I claim her hands and put them on my shoulders. ‘Snap out of it.’

  ‘That’s rich coming from you,’ she snorts, flexing her fingers on my wet shoulders, her eyes focused there. I inwardly smile. ‘Imagine life without me,’ I tell her, and she physically jolts. ‘Not nice, is it?’

  ‘What’s your point?’

  ‘My point is you shouldn’t say you’ll be fine without me, because you won’t be. And neither will I without you.’