by M K Farrar
His hand on her thigh moved higher.
“Umm, actually—”
The office door opened, and they both jumped apart. She shot to her feet, dislodging his hand.
Gary stood in the doorway, a frown on his face as he looked between her and her boss.
Guilt laced the air, though Amy had nothing to feel guilty about. She wasn’t the one doing anything wrong. Was she? Should she have spoken up sooner? She was terrified of losing her job. The thought of her patients turning up, expecting to see her, needing her help, only to discover she was no longer available to them broke her heart.
“Oh, sorry,” Gary said, not sounding sorry in the slightest. “I should have knocked, but I thought you were done for the day. Your receptionist had already left.”
“Gary, hi.”
She cleared her throat and anxiously smoothed down the front of her skirt. Her cheeks heated. She hated how she felt, her stomach twisted, her skin flaming hot.
Timothy fixed her in his gaze. “I hope you’ll give some thought to what we’ve discussed,” he said before looking over to Gary.
She pressed her lips together and nodded, staring down at the floor.
Gary had clearly come straight from work, his jeans holey and covered in oil, and his T-shirt not much better. It was a sharp contrast to Timothy’s suit, and Amy could tell from the body language, and the way Timothy looked Gary up and down, that he wasn’t impressed. Not that it mattered to Amy. Who she had in her life was none of Timothy’s business.
Timothy left the room, brushing past Gary on the way out.
“What are you doing here?” she asked him as soon as she thought Timothy was out of earshot.
“I thought I’d swing by on the way home and pick you up. I thought you might still be freaked out about that doll business, but I see you already had someone keeping you company.”
“He’s my boss, Gary. It wasn’t like that.”
“Wasn’t like what? Because it looked to me like he was practically shoving his hand up your skirt.”
“Listen, Timothy can be a little bit... hands-on at times. But I wasn’t doing anything to encourage him.”
“Yeah, right.”
This was about more than Gary thinking she had something going on with her boss. It showed a lack of trust and compassion. If he really loved her, he’d listen to what she was saying.
“I can’t have this conversation with you here. Let’s go back to the flat, and we’ll continue it there.”
She didn’t even say ‘let’s go home’, feeling as though home implied somewhere long-term and ongoing. She had the sense it wasn’t going to remain a home for one of them for much longer.
He exhaled a long sigh, his shoulders slumping, and she got the impression he was just tired of all of this. Tired of trying and fighting, and never coming to any kind of resolution.
She didn’t know what the hell she was going to do about Timothy, but she thought perhaps the time had come for them to set each other free.
They left the office together—thankfully not bumping into Timothy again—and rode the Underground home, sitting side by side in silence.
Amy found her heart beating faster as they let themselves into the building and took the stairs to their first-floor flat. She was half expecting to see another box outside her front door, but there was nothing there.
Gary spoke up as soon as the door was shut behind them. “Amy, we need to talk.”
“I already told you, there’s nothing going on between me and Timothy.”
“I don’t want to talk to you about that. I want to talk to you about our future, if we even have one. It’s pretty obvious we want two completely different things.”
Her guts twisted. So, they were back to this again.
“You know how I feel about that, Gary! I’ve told you what my mother is like. I don’t want to risk becoming anything like her.
He tried to take hold of her hands, but she shook him off. “But you won’t, Amy. And you aren’t anything like her. Look at how you take care of all those kids at the practice. How can you even start to believe you’re like her when you’re so nurturing to a whole heap of children you don’t even know?”
“Pregnancy changes people. It sends crazy hormones rushing around the body and it changes a woman’s way of thinking. I just can’t risk it.”
His voice softened sadly. “Even if it’s for us? Even if it means saving our relationship?”
“You can’t save a relationship with a baby, Gary. That’s the absolute worst thing to think. I see it every day—people having children when they really shouldn’t, and it’s the children who end up having to deal with the fallout.”
“I wasn’t trying to save our relationship. I didn’t realise it had come to that.”
She found herself choked, a painful lump in her throat. “I just don’t think I can give you what you want.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “Can’t I be enough for you?”
“I’m sorry, Amy. This just isn’t how I saw my future. I do love you, honestly, I do, but what happens in ten or twenty years when it’s still just the two of us, and we’ve run out of things to say to each other?”
“People who love each other don’t run out of things to say!” she protested, but only half-heartedly. Deep down, she knew everything he was saying was right.
“You don’t know that. Neither of us do. I just don’t want to find us in that position and be filled with regrets. We only get one shot at this life.”
“I know that. Gary, please...”
But she didn’t even know what she was begging for, not really. Was she asking him to give up on a dream? On hopes for his future just for her? And he was right when he said they didn’t know what their relationship would be like in ten or twenty years. Already, she could feel the cracks developing, and they weren’t even married yet.
“I think I should go and stay at Ashley’s place,” he said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “I’m sure they won’t mind if I spend a few nights on their sofa.”
“You don’t have to do that, Gary.”
“I think it’s for the best.” He gave a regretful smile. “You know, Amy, have you ever thought that you might be the one who needs therapy?”
She let out a sigh. “You’re probably right.”
Chapter Fifteen
It was strange to be alone in the flat and know that Gary wasn’t coming home.
She stood at the lounge window, staring out onto the street, a large glass of white wine in her hand, drowning her sorrows. It was dark now, the rows of cars parked either side of the road filling each space. Parking was always a struggle in London—it was one of the reasons she’d never had any wish to get a car. Getting around on the Tube was easy enough anyway. Streetlights at regular intervals lit the street. Most of the houses across from her had rooms illuminated behind net curtains or blinds. Family life continued as normal, oblivious to the fact a small part of her world had just fractured from her life and slid away.
It wasn’t as though this was the first night she’d spent alone—Gary had gone away for work events or for a night out—but there seemed to be so much finality in her aloneness now. Even though they’d shared the rent and bills on the flat, the rest of their lives were separate. They’d never combined a bank account and had simply divided things out, so they were almost equal between them. When she’d been studying and he was working, he’d picked up more of the costs, but now she was working, too, she was happy to pay her fair share. It was going to be harder on her own financially, but that wasn’t enough of a reason to stay with someone.
This was how things were going to be from now on. He wasn’t going to come back, and a part of her was relieved about it, even though she was also sad. She no longer had to live up to anyone else’s expectations or take someone else’s feelings into account when she made choices and decisions about her life.
Perhaps she was always destined to be alone.
She guessed she was more like her mother tha
n she’d wanted to think.
Tomorrow was Wednesday, which meant she was due to call her mum. She hadn’t decided yet if she was going to tell her mother the truth about her failed relationship. Perhaps she’d leave it another week or so, just so she could come to terms with it herself. But another part of her wished she had someone she could talk to—someone who would tell her everything was going to be all right. She still had some university friends, but she hadn’t been in touch with them for some time, and she didn’t want it to appear as though she was picking up her friends only because her relationship had broken down. Everyone else in her life was tied into work, and she didn’t think it was professional to contact any of them to cry down the phone to either.
Outside on the street, movement darted beside one of the parked cars. Amy frowned, pressing her face closer to the glass. She had the corner lamp on in the lounge, making it harder to see outside, so she set down her wine glass and used her hand to cup the side of her face.
There it was again! Something was in between the cars. An urban fox, perhaps? Sightings of the animals were becoming more frequent in the city.
But then the shape straightened, and her heart caught, and she stepped back from the window. That was no fox. It was a person, for sure, one wearing a black coat and a dark hat pulled low on their forehead.
She was certain the person had looked right up at her window. Had they seen her standing there, and she’d simply caught their attention? Or were they there to keep an eye on her?
Quickly, her heart pounding, her mouth running dry, she yanked the curtains shut, blocking off the view of the road and the person in dark clothing, and them of her.
But a sudden wave of vulnerability washed over her, and in panic, she yanked the curtain to one side and peered back out again. If she didn’t keep an eye on the person, she wouldn’t know where they were—if they crossed the street towards her flat.
She peered back out, her face pressed to the cold glass, her hand cupped against the window.
The street was empty.
Shit, shit, shit.
Amy let the curtain fall back into place and spun around. She ran to the front door and made sure it was locked, then slid the security chain into place. Then she went to each of the windows to ensure they were all locked, too.
Why was she being so paranoid? Was it only because the person had seemed to focus on her window, as though they’d been there because of her? Because of the dark, and her room being lit, she hadn’t been able to make out much more than a shape. It wasn’t even enough to say for sure if the person had been male or female.
It probably had nothing to do with her. They might have dropped something under one of the cars—maybe their keys—and been searching for them. It was getting cooler at night now, so it was understandable that a person might be wearing a hat out. She was probably freaking out over nothing.
But she couldn’t shake the feeling the person hadn’t wanted to be seen and that they’d positioned themselves to get the best view into her lounge.
Her hands were shaking. Since when had she become such a nervous wreck?
Trying to calm herself, she backed away from the window until the backs of her legs hit the sofa and she sank down onto the cushions. She covered her face with her hands and let out a sob.
What was happening to her life? Everything was falling apart.
Chapter Sixteen
Her anxiety from the previous evening hadn’t abated during the night. It didn’t help that she was due to call her mother later, and that always set her on edge. That combined with knowing she was also going to have to face Timothy at the office, and that her appointment before lunch was with Edward Swain, only served to rachet up her stress levels. Would his father bring him this time? She hoped so. She planned to ask about the bruises and study Robert Swain’s expression when she did. The conversation with Ros Sampson hadn’t gone far in alleviating her worries.
As she caught the Tube into the city, she went over the memory of the figure she’d seen lurking outside the flat. It had been nothing, she was sure. If it wasn’t for the phone calls and the delivery of the doll, she probably wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had it in for her. Whoever it was knew her address, so was she being paranoid, or was she just being sensible?
Amy arrived early into work to find Timothy waiting for her. He was sitting, half-propped on Linda’s desk, as though he’d positioned himself there, ready to catch her before she could escape to her office. There were no patients in the waiting room yet, and even Linda hadn’t made it to her desk. Amy hated how vulnerable she felt.
“I hope I didn’t make things difficult between you and your boyfriend yesterday,” he said as she walked in. “You understand that we were only having a conversation, don’t you? I know your boyfriend misread things, but that was all that happened.”
She wanted to tell him to keep his hands to himself in future, but she was frightened about how he’d take it. She wasn’t about to tell him that she and Gary had broken up. It was better that he continued to think she was spoken for.
“Oh, sure. Gary’s the jealous type, you know. He can just be very over-protective of me.”
She hoped he’d take the hint. She really didn’t want to have that awkward conversation. Maybe she needed to say that it was important to keep working and private life separate, but he hadn’t actually asked her out or anything. All the pats and squeezes and strokes could just be put down to him being overly friendly. He might not be interested in her at all. Was she misreading things?
He reached out and squeezed her upper arm, the backs of his knuckles brushing the side of her breast when he released her.
“Good. I’m glad everything’s okay.”
She sucked in a breath and clenched her fists. How long could she go on like this?
“Right, well, I’ve got a busy morning, so please excuse me.”
She vanished into her office and shut the door behind her. He was such a creep. She hoped he didn’t act this way with any of his patients.
Amy was happy to have her patients to distract her for the rest of the morning. It was easier to focus on other people’s problems. She wished she could see her own life with the same clarity she used to analyse other people’s.
At eleven-thirty, the time came for Edward’s appointment.
She got up and went into the waiting room to see if he was there. There was no sign of him.
“Did Edward Swain’s father contact you to rearrange the appointment today?” she asked Linda.
“No, sorry. I haven’t heard from them.”
“Hmm. Looks like he’s a no-show.”
“He might just be running late. You know what the Tube can be like.”
“Possibly.”
Edward not showing up was concerning, however. Was he sick? Or hurt? Again, the memory of the bruises and marks on his neck flickered into her mind. What if he’d got into a fight with his father and the man had beaten him so badly, he was unable to come to the appointment? She was most likely overthinking things again—Edward was far more likely to have just caught a cold and not felt well enough to make it in—but then why didn’t his father phone to let her know?
“Can you try to call the house again?” she asked Linda. Then she thought again. “Actually, don’t worry. I’ll do it. Let me know if Edward arrives, though, okay?”
Linda smiled and nodded. “Of course.”
Amy slipped back into her office and took a seat at her desk. She reached out and picked up the phone, wedging the receiver between her ear and her shoulder, and then opened Edward’s file. The top piece of paper contained all his personal details—name, address, date of birth, and his home phone number. She dialled the number. The phone rang, and she held her breath, unsure if she wanted someone to pick up or not. If no one answered, it might mean that they were on their way here and would arrive soon, but if they didn’t arrive, it was going to open a whole new can of wo
rms for her.
No answering machine clicked in, so eventually she had no choice but to hang up. She tapped her fingers against her lips, thinking. Was no one home? Or were they unable to answer? Worry coiled in a tight knot in her stomach. What if Edward was badly hurt and heard the phone but was unable to reach it?
She knew she was jumping to conclusions, but she couldn’t shift the idea. Just the possibility nagged away at her, plucking at her brain in the same way that she worried at dried skin around her nails, until it became raw and exposed.
Unable to sit still, Amy pushed back her chair and went to her office door. She opened it and peered out into the waiting room, a part of her still hoping to find Edward sitting there. Of course, he wasn’t, and Linda caught her eye and shook her head.
Her mind was made up.
She went back to her desk to grab her coat and handbag, and then went back out.
“Linda, I’m going to pop out for an hour. If anyone calls, take a message.”
“Of course, Doctor Penrose.”
She was glad she didn’t bump into Timothy, and hurried out onto the street, and then down to the Tube station. She didn’t know the exact location of the Swain house, but she knew which stop she needed to get off at, and she’d take the rest from there.
The train only carried a fraction of the number of people that it did during rush hour, and Amy easily found a seat. She sat with her handbag in her lap, twisting the straps round and round her fingers.
That same sensation, of someone watching her, hit her. The invisible pressure of the weight of someone’s gaze on her skin.
She shared the carriage with a couple of other people, and she couldn’t help darting her gaze around, searching their faces, wondering if any of them might be the person she’d seen on the street outside the flat last night. It was stupid to think whoever it was would have followed her onto the Tube, but she was on edge from everything that had happened, and because of her fears about what she might find at Edward Swain’s house.