Page 8 of Take My Breath Away
James is staring at me, one brow arched as he waits for me to answer.
“Err…”
James sighs. “You really haven’t been listening to me, have you? We’ll collect your things, locked door or not, and you’ll come back here to stay. You can’t live in an office block basement, you’ve got nobody you can stay with, and not a lot of ready money. To get back on your feet, you need a helping hand. Or a fairy godfather. I can be both.”
“Oh, no, I can’t—”
“Why not?”
I open my mouth, snap it shut, and open it again.Why not?I don’t have an answer.
James slaps a palm on the blond wood table, hard and decisive, the decision made, before he stands.
“Good, that’s sorted. Get dressed, I want to be on the road in ten minutes.”
It doesn’t even occur to me to argue as I rush from the kitchen.
Chapter Four
JAMES
Perry’s been quiet for the whole of the journey. He’s embarrassed by his predicament, ashamed even. He’s been foolish, of that there’s no question.
I throw him a quick glance. Huddled in his seat, he looks small, defenceless, and fragile. Touch him too hard, and he’ll shatter. It’s a sharp reminder again of how much younger than me he is. I wonder about this Grant character. The guy sounds like a piece of work which makes me glad — very glad — that I’ve got Perry’s back.
“It’s the second turning on the left. See where the bakery is, on the corner?”
It’s a street of mainly small Victorian terraced houses, but there are some new flats too. We pass a newsagent, dry cleaners, and a minimart. In the depths of south London, the street is as suburban as you could get.
“Just here.”
I park outside a low-rise block and switch the engine off, plunging us into silence.
“Will he be there, do you think?” I nod towards the flats.
“I don’t know.”
Perry looks down at his phone. He’s been trying to get in touch with his turd of an ex on and off since we left, but has been met with a wall of silence. Not that it matters to me whether he’s there or not.
“He started going out on Friday nights and not turning up again until late on Sunday. It’s what caused the rows, or some of them. He wouldn’t say what he was doing, but it didn’t take being a rocket scientist to guess.” His words are edged with a bitterness that’s so at odds with his sweet nature.
“It’s irrelevant whether he’s home or not. We’re just here to collect your things. We’ll do it quickly and without fuss, and then get out.” I take his hand, and squeeze lightly to give him reassurance.
He gives me a shaky, worry-filled smile that makes me want to hug him close and tell him everything will be all right. I don’t, because I can’t promise it will be, but I’m determined to make this as pain-free as possible for him.
“I still don’t understand how you think we can get in? Not unless you’re going to try and kick the door down.” His eyes widen and I have to bite my tongue to not laugh.
“Nothing so crude. Do you trust me?”
“Sorry?”
“I said, do you trust me?”
“Yes, I suppose.”
I huff. “Yousuppose. That’ll have to be good enough, Isuppose. Come on, I don’t want to hang around any longer than we need to.”
I click to lock the Range Rover, giving the small group of smoking teenagers who are nodding towards the car a steady stare.Don’t even think of touching my car…They get the silent message, and lope off.
