Page 55 of This Woman Forever

And I’m so fucking sorry.

I drive aimlessly, reliving my regrets, the guilt and pain increasing, until I pull into Kate’s street. I see Ava’s Mini parked outside by Kate’s van. It’s a mild relief. I knew she’d be here. I drive past slowly, looking up at the windows, seeing the lights all on. She’ll be in there telling Kate... everything.

I don’t pull over or even think about calling or knocking on the door.

Give her space.

How much, and for how long?

Because I feel like I’m slowly dying.

9

I went home, didn’t sleep, ran at four, put a suit on at six, left Lusso at six thirty, got to Kate’s twenty minutes later.

I park at the end of the road and wait, wondering if she’ll go to work. Can she face it? Put on a brave face? Or will she tell everyone it’s over? I check my watch repeatedly, every minute, in between watching the front of Kate’s house. I nearly lose my breath when she appears, seeing her for the first time since she walked out on me. It’s not even been twenty-four hours, but it feels like years already. I watch as she rummages in her bag as she walks down the path. Searching for her keys? How I’d love to get out, go to her, offer to take her to work. Fear of rejection is stopping me. Space. It doesn’t matter that I’m mere meters away. She thinks I’m listening to her, respecting her wishes, and I have to give her that. It’s hard when I can see how drained she looks. Stunning as always, but the underlying turmoil beneath her makeup is so clear to me. I’m surprised when she walks straight past her car. She’s heading for the Tube station.

Getting out of my Aston, I follow her, taking a small comfort from having her close enough to see, even if I can’t go to her. I keep a safe distance, holding back when I need to, boarding the next carriage on the Tube and watching her through the glass. She finds a seat and pulls her phone out, just staring at the screen. Thinking about calling me? Replying to my message?

She eventually puts it back in her bag and stands, staggering when the train jolts, starting to slow. My heart jumps into my throat as her arm shoots up and grabs the rail above her head, a man nearby reaching for her arm to steady her. It physically hurts.

Ava smiles her thanks, moving past him, and as soon as the tube stops at Green Park and the doors open, she steps off. I follow her with the sea of commuters, my eyes nailed to the back of her head. She reaches the top of the steps on Piccadilly and stops, so I pull back, waiting with bated breath for her to turn around and see me. Has she sensed I’m near?

But she doesn’t turn around. She just stands there while people dodge her motionless form. Worried, I pick up my feet, but she gets moving before I make it to her, crossing the road outside The Ritz and walking up Berkley Street to the square. The closer she gets to her office, the unrest inside me worsens. It’s going to be hours before I get to look at her again.

She turns onto Bruton Street. My pace increases. I’ve got to talk to her. I skirt around the masses of people, hurrying to the corner. I see her in the distance, close to the Rococo Union office. I won’t make it to her before she gets there, and I know I can’t turn up at her workplace. It’ll raise too many questions neither of us want to answer. I’m of sound enough mind to realize that. I can’t put her in that position, and it won’t help my cause. So in desperation, I call out to her, stepping into the road to circle round a group of students. “Ava!”

Beep!

My yell gets drowned out by the horn, and I jump, startled as screeching tires blend into the sound. “Shit,” I gasp, just as a black cab skids to a stop. I look down at the bumper touching my knees.

“What the fuck are you playing at, mate?” the cabbie yells out of the window, waving his fist. “Get out the fucking road!”

I blink, stepping back. “Sorry,” I murmur, looking up to see the door of Rococo Union closing. Shaken, I rake a hand through my hair. I double-check for traffic before crossing, standing on the other side and watching as Ava settles at her desk.

Ready for work.

Ready to distract herself from me.

I breathe out my weariness, drop my eyes to my feet, stuff my hands in my pockets, and make my way back to the tube.

A new Jaguar is blocking the gates when I pull off the main road to The Manor, forcing me to a stop. “The fuck,” I breathe, getting out. I pace to the driver’s side and find the car empty. The door’s locked. Who the hell abandons a car in front of gates that are obviously in use?

“Oh, morning.”

Swinging around, I find a suited bloke appearing from the lane. “Morning,” I say cautiously.

He smiles, motioning to the gates. “Nice place, eh?”

“Yeah,” I reply, taking him in. He’s got salesman written all over him. “Visiting?” I ask.

“I’m trying to get in touch with the owner.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to buy it.”

I’m jarred, my one step back cautious and slow. “It’s not for sale.”

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