“But, depending on what it is… maybe I can.”
“You’re such a dick,” I mutter, and he chuckles. “How no one has injected a permanent sedative into you at the hospital yet, I don’t know.”
“What do you need?” he asks, ignoring my jibe. “Fatherly advice?”
“I told Amy today about Bailey.” Immediately, the tone of the phone call changes from joking to serious. He’s waiting for my confession. “She was upset. I’d appreciate if you could go and check on her.”
“Where are you?” I stay silent, ignoring his question. “Terry,” he warns.
“Outside her apartment.”
“What the fuck have I told you about going there? You hanging around outside your ex-wife’s home is not a good look. Go home.”
“I will,” I whisper.
“Go home now. I’ll go round and check on her in a while. I need to finish making the boys’ dinner.”
“Thank you. Will you let me know how she is?” I ask.
“No,” he responds, his tone harsh. “You made your bed, now you have to lie in it. Hankering after Amy isn’t helping you. There’s a day-old baby and the mother of your child waiting for you across town. I suggest you focus on them and walk away from your failed marriage.”
As much as it pains me, I agree with him. It’s the truth I’ve been avoiding.
This will be my last visit to Amy’s street. I need to walk away and not look back. Ever.
Chapter twenty-four
Ivan
Christmas shopping must be the most soul-destroying experience in life. It’s a task I hate every fucking year. Not that I have many people to buy for, only a few random family members.
Normally, my secretary does it. This year, she refused, telling me that I moan she makes the wrong choices, so I was to do it my bloody self. I’d threatened to fire her, and she laughed. Belly laughed.
“I dare you,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Let’s see how long you last without me.” She was right; she’s like the wife I’ve never had?without the sex. My world would be in ruins without her keeping me right.
Which is why I’m standing in an enormous shopping center, scratching my head. People are rushing around, laden with bags, wearing flashing jumpers and garish hats. They bump into each other, only stopping to laugh, then smile, and wish each othera merry Christmas. On a normal Saturday, the behavior could cause a fight?today it seems the whole of London is emitting festive cheer. Apart from me.
Great Auntie Meryl is my oldest living relative. This Christmas Eve, she’s celebrating her ninety-eighth birthday. She prides herself on still having all her faculties and not looking a day over eighty. Her exceptional preservation certainly isn’t due to her good diet or exercise routine, which is ironic, considering the business I’m in.
She enjoys copious amounts of alcohol and sweet treats daily. She has done the same for decades, but her body continues to soldier on, regardless of what toxins she adds to it.
I’m outside the jewelers, looking blankly at the array of glistening rocks in the window. What the fuck do you buy a ninety-eight-year-old? Feeling completely uninspired by the display in the window, I scan this hellhole for another shop to browse. Why can there not be a shop for old people:What To Buy Your Granny. Perhaps there is a business opportunity there, I muse. As I chuckle to myself, I wander through the congested building.
The shops converge on a central food court. Each kiosk sells a different style of cuisine, but the tables and chairs are a free for all. With my energy and patience flagging, I decide sustenance is needed to continue my ordeal.
I’m in the queue to collect my chicken fried rice when my eyes land on Amy, sitting at the furthest table, hidden away in the corner. The other three seats at her table are covered by bags stuffed full of what I assume are Christmas presents. She must have a lot of people to buy for.
Between her hands, she’s nursing an extra-large coffee cup. Every so often, she lifts it to her lips, taking the smallest sip. Her nose screws up on contact with the liquid, and she winces?steam flutters, and I imagine it burning her tongue.
Even though she’s a distance away, I see her beautiful brown eyes staring into space, completely lost in her own world. Her blonde hair is tied back into a high ponytail, and it hangs straight down her back. She’s bundled into a heavy winter coat. Maybe she’s unwell or maybe the world’s just colder.
“Number one–five–six,” a stern female voice barks, and I’m snapped from my staring.
“That’s me,” I say as I hand over my slip to collect my meal. “Thanks.” She grunts, then turns back to the serving hatch to pick up the next customer’s food.
Not able to see an obvious free space, I wander toward the only person I know, unsure whether it is a sensible decision. She may tell me to fuck off after our date a few months ago. I wouldn’t blame her. I was an asshole.
When I’d arranged the evening with her, my sole focus had been on getting on her good side so I could buy her gym and get her on her back. A personal conquest. But, after spending time talking with her, my attraction to her unsettled me. She wasn’t like the other women I’m used to dating. She was feisty and spoke her mind. She didn’t hang off my every word.
