Page 116 of The Beast's Heart

Now, alone in the dark, I let myself feel. This is just like me, really. Find something beautiful and destroy it. I should have expected that. Why am I so blindsided by this? The thing with Jonathan should never have even happened. Meredith was right. But I let it happen because it was the first time I’d felt alivein yearsand I gorged myself on it. And then, before I knew it, we were so close, so intimate. By the time I knew he wasn’t a threat, it was too late to tell him without hurting him. As for the children… I don’t know when or how I’ll break it to them either. But Jonathan’s right, I have to do it. I should have done it months ago. How will they react? Will they hate me too? I bury my head in my hands and draw a trembling breath. This is a nightmare of my own making and I don’t know how to fix it.

“Adam?”

I shoot up at Jonathan’s soft voice from the doorway. My heart surges with hope. We can talk this out. I can fix this. But then I see him. His head is bowed. He’s holding his pager.

“I, uh, I need to go. I’m sorry.”

“Jonathan, don’t. Please?—”

“—it’s my father.” He meets my gaze and his eyes are glassy. He’s crying. “Zane just called.” He waves the pager absently. “He— he— it happened again. He had a seizure. Quite a bad one. They think… I have to go. I might still make it in time if I leave now. I know it’s a lot to ask given— but could I take the car?”

I’m on my feet, fighting every instinct. All I want to do is take him into my arms. “Of course.” I take a step forward, stop myself. “You shouldn’t drive. I— shit, I’ve been drinking. But Angus can take you.”

“It’s really late. I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

He walks away. I want to go after him but he doesn’t want me there. Not now. “Jonathan?” He turns. “Head to Inverness. Straight along the A82. The airport’s open again. I’ll call and arrange a flight. It will be quicker than driving the whole way.”

“I—” he looks about to refuse, then nods. “Thank you. Please tell the children I’m sorry.”

48

JONATHAN

It takes me two and a half hours to get to the airport. I picked up a face mask at a convenience store when I stopped to refuel as I’ve heard you can’t fly without one.

But when I arrive, the airport is empty. The airline counters are closed. I rub at my eyes. Of course they would be. Even in normal times, there wouldn’t be flights leaving from this small airport at… I check the time. 1AM. I should have driven straight. It would have taken, what? Nine hours. That’s how long I’ll likely have to wait here, stranded.

I should have thought of this. What now? I could go back to the car. How much petrol will I need to make it into England in Angus’s old car?Shit.Can I even drive his car all that way? Will it survive? I’m trying to think of a plan but it’s like trying to think through mud. The only thought that’s loud and clear is Dad is going to die without me ever apologizing, without me ever speaking to him again.

“Excuse me?” A man in a puffer jacket is hovering just outside the terminal. Like me, he has a white mask covering the lower half of his face. I tense. What could he want? “Jonathan Belle?”

I blink. “Uh, yes?”

“Christopher Swift of Swift Charters.” He offers me his hand, then thinks better of it and waves. “I believe you’re heading for Gatwick?”

“Gatwick. Yes. I’m sorry, charter?”

“Yes indeedy. Right this way, sir.”

I follow in a daze. This stranger leads me to a little Turboprop airplane. It’s sleek and white, with a tiny little cabin that he helps me up into.

“So, how do you know The Beast?” He asks as he readies for takeoff.

Adam organized this. Somehow, he arranged a private flight just for me to be able to get to Dad. I’m still so angry with him and also… it’s such a messy tangle. “I worked for him,” I say.

And the past tense hurts. But will I ever be able to go back? I can’t bear the thought of never seeing the children again. But with Dad…

“That’s cool,” Christopher says. “Was surprised to hear from him. Haven’t spoken in years. I used to fly him out here back in the day.”

As we lift off, Scotland fragments into clusters of glittering lights. Christopher makes small talk at first, but must eventually gauge my mood because he falls silent. I nod off somewhere above Edinburgh and jerk awake as we cross over Nottingham.

“Not long now,” he assures me.

I wonder how much Adam told him of my emergency to get him out here so late.

The horizon brightens from navy, to teal, to vivid orange as we fly over London, then appears to darken again as we land. We touch down at Gatwick just after 4AM.

I have no idea what to do now. I haven’t thought as far. The real world seems so alien, soother, after months on the estate.

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