Zoë wanted to be sick, repulsed by how much she wanted Ed. She couldn’t cheat on Jonathan. She couldn’t prove everyone right. But she did nothing to stop his hand. ‘You just want revenge. To prove a point.’
‘This isn’t revenge and you feel the same.’ His hand ventured further, gliding across the silk of her knickers. The damp patch had him groaning into her hair. ‘Oh God, Zoë.’
She kissed him, sucking on his bottom lip, fumbling with the buttons on his jeans as he pushed her knickers to one side. A finger slid over her clit and she leaned into him, encouraging him, needing him to go further.
‘Jesus.’ He closed his eyes as his finger slipped inside her and her muscles squeezed, begging for more. He obliged. ‘I want to fuck you.’
As she nodded, caving in, he spun her around, bending her over the breakfast bar. Or maybe he wasn’t his father’s son. Ed pushed up her dress with one hand and pulled her knickers to the side with the other. She ought to hate it, the lack of control, the submission of power, but the thrill of him wanting her so badly had her pushing back against him. She’d never needed anything like this before.
He entered her, muttering the things he’d wanted to do to her since they’d met. Fucking her like this was only the start, he said. They belonged together, he said, and they always would.
Zoë knew he was right.
Ed’s fingers teased her clit and his teeth bit into her neck. He marked her, owning her, and she didn’t stop him. She couldn’t. Her body shuddered, coming around his dick, against his hand and ten seconds later, he cried out, pumping himself inside her.
Zoë collapsed, resting her forehead against the cool marble worktop. It was the first time she’d had unprotected sex in ten years. How had she let that happen? How?
‘Sorry,’ he whispered, still inside her. ‘I’m so sorry, but I had to.’
You can, whenever you want. Her weakness scared her, but the thought of Ed never fucking her again, scared her even more. ‘I forgive you.’
‘Did you supply Mum with the ket?’ His words were murmured against her hair.
She turned, facing him with honesty as his come dripped from her. ‘If I had, I… I wouldn’t feel bad. She was in so much pain. Your dad said she was smiling when he found her. Maybe she thought it was time to let go.’
Ed kissed her, his mouth gentle and sweet. ‘For fifteen years, my mother was a zombie in the living room. Her choice, Zoë. My life’s better without her. It’s good to admit that to someone.’
Zoë held his face. ‘You can tell me anything.’
‘I don’t mind dad finding someone new. Fuck, he deserves to be happy after nursing her for fifteen years, but if he does have a new wife, I’d like one who’d make a half decent mother, not one who brings out every oedipal bone in my body.’
In his bedroom, one cluttered with sports trophies and writing awards, Zoë sucked Ed’s dick while he told her to move to London, and when she lay on her back with him slowly sinking into her, she agreed. There was only one man for her, and it was Edward Carr. To prove his point, Ed made her come four times in the hour they had. The final time, Zoë broke down, sobbing, but Ed held her, whispering he loved her.
What the fuck was she going to do? This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He was destroying her.
Libby’s text came at the perfect moment. Need you, Emu.
Zoë replied, I’ll be there, Koala Bear.
Ten minutes later Zoë sat in her BMW, Ed’s come still soaking her knickers, and screamed. That obnoxious little prick had ruined everything.
* * *
Curled up on the wicker sofa in the garden, Libby pulled a hat over her wet hair and sipped her tea. Half-twelve. Where would Patrick be now, at his parents? Would his dad give him a hard time for going home with her? For the eightieth time that day, tears rolled down her cheeks.
‘Hi,’ Zoë whispered as she crept out with a bottle of champagne and two mugs. ‘I figured you mustn’t be in the mood for celebrating, but it’s bloody good stuff. The mugs will stop it feeling like a party.’
Libby tried not to sob. ‘Thanks for coming. I’m sorry to drag you away from Jonathan.’
Zoë filled the mugs. ‘Honestly, I was glad of the chance to escape. Eliot hates me, the grandkids are the spawn of Satan and don’t get me started on Ed. They can cook their own bloody dinner. Let’s get shitfaced.’
‘Have you got cigarettes too?’
‘That bad?’
In the grey, frosty light, sipping a mug of vintage Veuve Cliquot and chain-smoking Marlboro Gold, Libby explained about the twelve hours she’d spent with Patrick.
‘Zo, I’d give up anything, everything for him. I really do love him, but I can’t risk him being disowned by his parents. And what if when I go to London... what if I still love ballet more? He won’t come with me.’
‘He might.’ Zoë’s hand shook as she took a long drag on a cigarette. ‘He loves you, Lib. I saw it the day he came to ask me for Hyssop. He’s scared. Give him a break.’
‘I don’t want to sneak around for six months.’
‘Do you really want to go back to the company?’
‘If I can’t have him, definitely. If I can have him... I don’t know, but I have to find out.’ Libby wallowed in her own misery until she realised Zoë’s furrowed brow hadn’t eased. In fact, her nervous blinking had increased, as had the rate she was knocking back the champagne. ‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing.’
‘It’s after one, there’s a chicken in the fridge and you’ve not made a move to cook it.’
Zoë lit another cigarette. ‘Not hungry.’
Libby’s own worries waned as concern for Zoë took over. If Zoë didn’t want to cook, it meant she didn’t want to eat. This is how it would start; this is how it always started. Black tea and chain-smoking would come next. She’d start obsessively checking the calorie content on wrappers and packets. Then it’d be the gym, punishing herself on a cross-trainer for an hour at a time.
Libby put her arm around her. ‘Six months on and we’re more miserable than when we left Manchester. I’m leaving for London so I don’t ruin my not-boyfriends life, but you, young lady, with your fabulous new fiancée, you look more depressed. What happened?’
‘I fucked up, Lib.’ Zoë cried like she had the day she met Libby fifteen years ago. ‘Please don’t hate me.’
‘As if. We’ve survived too much.’
Zoë’s hands shook as she lit another cigarette. ‘This morning… I fucked Ed. I’ve never known anything like it. I couldn’t stop myself.’
Libby bit back every lecturing word on her tongue. ‘Do you love him?’
‘Obsessive lust maybe, some physical and emotional bond. I lost control and I need it back.’ Zoë took a long deep breath. ‘What the hell do I do?’
‘Surely, if you find something this powerful, you jump on it.’
‘Not with him.’
‘Why?’
‘He’s a fucking penniless writer, a waiter to pay the bills.’
‘Zo, it’s not about money. It doesn’t make you happy.’
‘Aside from you, it’s the only thing I can rely on.’ Zoë dragged the back of her hand over her eyes. ‘And first thing tomorrow, I need to find a chemist that’s open. I need the morning after pill.’
Libby’s mouth gaped open. Zoë never had sex without condoms and had regularly lectured Libby for relying on the pill with Paolo. Zoë refused to take the pill, claiming it made her fat, but really she didn’t want to get pregnant and condoms put her in charge of Mother Nature.
‘Completely out of control,’ Zoë sighed, staring at the decking. ‘Have you got a spell to help with that?’
* * *
The second the clock struck seven, his shift on call over, Patrick half-filled a vast wine glass, ignoring his father’s disapproving frown. Would Libby be eating roast chicken with Zoë, or sitting with only Hyssop for company? Twice he’d almost gone round. The first time he arrived at the garden to s
ee her halfway down the bridleway with Grace, starting what would turn out to be a two hour run. The second time, Zoë rocked up with two bottles. In the end, he’d decided if he couldn’t talk to Libby, he may as well go to his parents’ and get drunk with Sam.
‘Okay,’ his mum said, banging on an imaginary dong. ‘Dinner is served.’
He told Isla to wait in her basket and to his delight, she curled up obediently, earning herself a biscuit.
‘You’ll spoil that dog,’ Sam said, patting his back. ‘I like her ears.’
Patrick laughed, ushering his brother and Charlotte in front of him. They could all get stoned after the parents had gone to bed. That one pleasant note to his otherwise appalling day fluttered out of the window as he walked into the dining room and Ms Olivia Wilde stared down at him, her eyes filled with tears.
‘You’ve got to be fucking joking.’
‘Patrick!’ His father glared at him over his glasses.
This is your fault. You and your ridiculous ultimatum. ‘Can we take it down?’
‘Don’t be silly, darling.’ His mum pushed him towards his usual chair, the one facing Libby’s portrait. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t bring her. I nearly invited her myself, but I wasn’t sure if you’d be cross or not. Where is she? She doesn’t have family around here, does she?’
‘She’s packing her bags.’ He knocked back half his wine, trying not to look over Sam’s head at the Broken Ballerina. ‘She’s going back to London so she doesn’t land me in the paper.’
The silence descended.
Finally, Patrick turned to his father. ‘She’s going and it’s your fault. What the hell did you say to her last night?’
‘Nothing.’ He frowned. ‘I barely saw the girl. Jonathan wanted to introduce us to Zoë. They were discussing you, calling you an egotist. Bloody rude, if you ask me.’
‘E... is for Egotist. E was empty on her list.’ Patrick laughed and stood up. ‘I’m out of here.’
‘Patrick, sit down,’ Charlotte snapped.
Patrick stared at her. Sam stared at her. Their parents stared at her. Charlotte didn’t do bossy. Patrick did as he was told.
‘The whole world doesn’t revolve around you,’ she went on. ‘We have news. We wanted to tell you yesterday, but then you turned up with Isla. And then this afternoon, we nearly... but you were so bloody grumpy. I’m really sorry about Libby, but I won’t let you bugger up Christmas. This should be the happiest day ever. I’m pregnant. You’re going to be an uncle and we thought you’d be pleased, but if we waited for a moment when you weren’t having some kind of drama, the baby would be born already. Sorry for making a fuss, Liz. Dinner’s getting cold.’
But his mum was too busy mopping up tears to care. His dad was the first to move, hugging Charlotte. Patrick stared at his brother across the table. Sam smiled, and they met somewhere behind their mother’s chair.
‘I’m sorry, man.’ Patrick closed his stinging eyes. What kind of selfish bastard had he become? ‘Congratulations. Christ, bit of a shock.’
Sam nodded. ‘After dinner, Charlotte will fall asleep in front of the TV. Fancy taking the dogs for a walk and getting stoned?’
More than anything in the bloody world. Letting his big brother go, Patrick took over hugging Charlotte, intermittently telling her she was amazing, he was an arse and he couldn’t wait to be an uncle.
‘All three of them are flat out,’ Sam whispered, quietly closing the patio door while trying not to drop a bottle of Jura and two glasses. ‘We can walk the dogs later.’
Patrick smiled and took out the joint he’d rolled earlier. ‘I feel about fifteen.’
‘Me too. Remember that time Juliet Knight and Sarah Barnes came round?’
Patrick laughed. ‘And you got caught with Sarah? Christ, we were wasted. I would’ve got into Juliet’s pants if you hadn’t broken that window.’
‘Ah, the days of behaving badly.’
‘Long gone for you, sunshine.’ Patrick studied his brother. Two years older, but definitely not wiser. Sam had been kicked out of two schools and got in more trouble with girls than even Patrick could comprehend. But witnessing all Sam’s mistakes had taught Patrick to be more careful. ‘I can’t believe you’re going to be a dad. You scared?’
‘Bricking it.’ Sam took the joint. ‘But don’t tell Charlotte.’
‘I think she’ll know from the sheer terror in your eye every time Mum mentions pushchairs and cots.’
‘Fuck, don’t.’ Sam shuddered. ‘What’s going on with this ballerina girl? Kicking off at dad over her, brave lad. Mum said she met her at yours this morning. Must’ve been fun.’
‘Mum cleaned the fucking house on Christmas morning, just to have a nosy.’
‘Who is she?’
Patrick handed his brother his phone, showing him a photo he’d sneakily taken at Oscar’s, of Libby braless in the silk top. Not a photo he intended to delete.
Sam grinned. ‘She doesn’t seem your type, but nice tits. I would.’
Patrick kicked his ankle, taking the joint back.
‘So why isn’t she here and why are you? Wouldn’t be the first time you ditched Christmas dinner to shag a random blonde.’
‘She’s not a random blonde.’ Patrick scowled. ‘She’s not here because when I told her about the ultimatum, she did what I thought she’d do. She ran away.’
‘She wanted a one night stand?’
‘No, but she’s got a job interview in London.’
‘So persuade her to stay.’
‘I can’t. We’d need to keep it secret and she doesn’t want that, not after Rob.’
‘Fuck, is she the one who nearly split Rob and Van up? Nice girl.’
‘Actually, she is.’ Patrick sighed. ‘But I think she wants some kind of commitment.’
Sam laughed. ‘Aha, here’s the problem. Nina mark two.’
‘Fuck off, this is different. Libby’s alright but I mean…’ Patrick took a deep breath. ‘How did you know Charlotte was… you know, a keeper?’
Sam shrugged. ‘But when I started asking questions like that, I knew she was something else. What’s so great about this Libby? Aside from her perfect tits.’
What’s so great about her? Patrick explained the last few months – Robbie, the newspaper, the fell race, her birthday, and how he’d pissed her off by backing away once too often.
‘It’s dad’s fault. If he’d just be reasonable–’
‘Have to stop you there, little bro. This is your fault. You’re the one who fucked the beauty queen in the park.’
‘What the... You’re supposed to be on my side.’
‘I am, you wee fuckwit.’
Patrick sank the rest of his whisky. ‘What the hell am I going to do?’
‘It’s easy. Man up and confess your undying love to her.’
Patrick shook his head.
‘Well then, let her go to London, and pray your fucking balls off that she comes back in six months.’
Letting the weed numb his body, Patrick sat back, remembering the perfect few hours he’d had with her. Would she be in bed now? Maybe he could go round. No, this was his hedonistic side coming out. But still, he could go round and persuade her that they could go out in secret. They could go for dinner in some other town. Hell, they could go away for the weekend.
Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea. Would a city break work as an overblown romantic gesture? He hated Paris and Rome, most cities in fact. Maybe a weekend skiing? Did she ski? Yes, she and Zoë were supposed to go, but their passports had been stolen and Zoë couldn’t find her birth certificate in time. Surely a weekend away would count for something.
He’d talk to her tomorrow.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
For Patrick, tomorrow arrived, not with an internet search for mini-breaks to Courchevel, but helping rescue a pony stuck in a bog. Four hours later he’d barely had chance to shower off the smell of rotting peat, when Becky from across the road called – Snuffles, her guinea pig ha
d broken its leg.
Resigned to a day of appalling coffee and inane drivel, Patrick rang Hannah. She answered immediately, but sounded cagey when he asked her to come in. Maybe she wouldn’t show and he could get Sam to assist. Every cloud. He’d prepped the room and had his sleeves rolled up, when Grace came in, carrying the guinea pig.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.
‘Hannah can’t make it,’ she said, pulling her hair into a bun. ‘And we need to talk.’
‘About what?’ He frowned at the unfortunate guinea pig. ‘How the hell do you break a guinea pig’s leg on Boxing Day anyway?’
‘Becky said Snuffles was running around the living room and her mum opened the door on it. Anyway, as practice manager, I’m making some changes. You hate Hannah working here and she leaves every night in tears. She’s emailed me, detailing the many, many occasions where you’ve displayed tribunal-worthy behaviour. She wants to go back to Haverton. I want to come back here.’
‘And how’s that–’
‘The office crap, which it turns out I rather like, I can do at Haverton on Monday afternoons.’
‘Out of hours?’
‘It’s fine.’ She pulled on her blue scrubs. ‘At least I’ll know the in-patients are taken care of.’
‘Ah, you don’t trust me.’ He tried not to smile. He’d get Grace back. ‘And what about…’ The minor inconvenience of you being in love with me.
‘I can work with you, if you can work with me.’
‘It won’t be weird?’
‘Has it been for the last year?’ Grace glanced out of the window, across at Libby’s house. ‘Have fun last night?’
‘Did you talk to her yesterday? I saw you went running together.’
‘She barely said a word. What’s going on?’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘No, it’s not. The minute I saw her, I knew you’d like her.’
‘Why?’
‘She’s your type.’
‘My type?’ He had one?
Grace laughed. ‘I’ve listened to you bang on about women for two years. Miss Haverton’s slutty underwear, Tabitha Doyle’s bitchy attitude, Daisy’s innocent looks. I know what you want. You want a nice girl and if you take away her make-up and clothes, that’s exactly what Libby is. Plus, you’re right. She is like me. That’s why you get on so well.’
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