Letting himself back into the flat, Dean counselled himself to keep calm. There would be an explanation. There had to be, he tried to reassure himself. No, there wouldn’t. He’d been through every possible justification she could have for telling him cruel, bare-faced lies. She’d let him think it was a miscarriage, left him feeling so bloody guilty for not being here for her. Why had she done it? Why did she want to hurt him so badly? He needed to know what he’d done to deserve it, though he didn’t want to actually hear it: that he was such a useless prick she’d decided she didn’t want to be saddled with his kid, meaning she would be stuck with him too.
Going quietly into the bedroom, his gaze was drawn immediately to the holdall on the bed. Zoe was hurriedly stuffing clothes into it. Sensing him standing there too stupefied to speak, she paused, her gaze shooting to his. Her eyes were wide, filled with fearful apprehension. She knew, then, that he knew. Jake Merriden had obviously felt obliged to alert her to the fact that he’d been close to losing it at the surgery, and why. Pity he hadn’t felt a similar obligation to keep him, the child’s father, in the fucking loop.
Attempting to keep a lid on his emotions, he took a deep breath, pulled the folded card from his jacket pocket and tossed it on the bed. The cracked heart on the front of it would make the point succinctly, he thought: that she was breaking his heart into a million pieces, each piece piercing his chest like a knife.
Emitting a small gasp, Zoe glanced down at the card. She didn’t look back at him.
‘You need to explain,’ he said over the loaded silence between them.
She didn’t say anything for a second, and then, slowly, she brought her gaze back to his. ‘Dean, I …’ She faltered, wrapping her arms around herself. She was shaking. Was she cold? It was always cold in here. Was that why she’d done it, aborted their baby … without eventellinghim? Because she didn’t want to bring a child up in a poxy two-bedroom flat with under-floor heating that was too expensive to run and black mould decorating the walls?
‘I meant to tell you. I wanted to. I …’ she stammered, as if reading his mind. She’d always had an uncanny knack of doing that. She’d always guessed when he was feeling down – about his job mostly, the fact that he couldn’t provide for her as well as he wanted to. She’d told him not to worry, that things would get better in time. Yeah, right. He should have tried pissing off down the pub every night, spending what little money they had getting off his face with his mates, instead of putting away whatever he could for the baby. He would be a far happier bloke than he was now. Had she wanted to go back to work? it occurred to him to wonder. Was that why she’d done it? A part of him hoped it was, that in some misguided, back-to-front way, she’d been thinking of them, their future. Even then, though, to have done what she’d done … He wasn’t sure he could ever forgive her.
‘I should have spoken to you, I know I should have,’ Zoe stumbled on, ‘but—’
‘Why?’ Dean yelled over her, causing her to flinch. Anger and confusion twisting his gut, he took a step towards her.
She stepped back, her face paling, her huge blue eyes darting past him to the door. She looked like a tiny porcelain doll, so fragile. He’d always thought of her that way, as someone who needed to be looked after. She wasn’t, though, was she? Appearances deceived. She was clearly as hard as nails under the surface. Emotionless. Must be.
Desperate for her to offer him something, anything that might sound remotely like a valid reason for crucifying him, Dean took another step into the room.
Zoe backed away from him, into the wall. There was nowhere to go. The room was barely big enough to accommodate the bed. She couldn’t get past him. He wasn’t about to let her, not until she’d offered him some kind of explanation.
‘Why?’ he repeated, his voice choked, his gaze fixed hard on hers.
‘Ihadto,’ she cried, her eyes filling up. ‘The baby … It wasn’t right. I didn’t want to tell you because of your job. I knew you’d want to take time off and I … I should have said something, but I didn’t know how to. I was—’
‘Bullshit!’ he grated. Jake would have told him if there was something wrong with the baby. Hewouldhave. That wouldn’t have broken with whatever protocol crap he’d been spouting. He would havetoldhim. ‘Donotlie to me, Zoe, or I swear—’
‘I’m not!’ she said frantically. ‘I promise you I’m not. He wasn’t growing properly. He—’
‘He? You knew it was a boy? You knew we were having a son and you didn’t even tell me that much?’ Eyeballing her with a combination of heartbreak and insurmountable fury, Dean moved towards her again.
‘Dean, stop this,’ Zoe pleaded shakily. ‘Please. I need to get past. I want to go to my mum’s. Just for a few days,’ she added quickly. ‘I need some time. We both do. Please let me—’
‘Your mother’s?’ He laughed incredulously at that. ‘You do nothing but argue with your bloody mother. You said you’d never go there again after she had a go at you for getting bladdered in the pub with your girlfriends last …’ He trailed off, his world careering completely off-kilter as the penny began to drop. She’d stayed with one of her friends that night. On another long-distance trip, he’d been worried sick when he couldn’t get her on the phone. She’d been too drunk to trust herself getting back, she’d told him. She’d stayed with that same friend a couple of times since. She’d said she’d been lonely.
His gut clenching, Dean narrowed his eyes, searching hers quizzically. Was that why she’d done it? Had she worked out her dates and realised they didn’t add up? ‘Where are you really going?’ he asked her.
‘My mum’s,’ Zoe mumbled. ‘I said. Just for a few days. I need to get away, Dean. I …’
Lies.Dean noted the averted eye contact. ‘It wasn’t mine, was it? The baby …’ His voice cracked. ‘It wasn’t mine.’
Zoe’s eyes came back to his, and what Dean saw there ripped his heart from inside him. Guilt. She’d been cheating on him. While he’d been working away from home, sleeping in his cab, worrying about her being on her own, feeling guilty – always feeling sofuckingguilty – she’d been shagging someone elsebehind his back. Seeing her writhing and groaning with some otherbastardin his bed, blind fury rose white-hot inside him.
His knuckles hitting the wall a millimetre from her face jarred him from the murderous thoughts in his head. It was as if time stood still for a second. Frozen with shock, her terrified eyes were locked uncomprehendingly on his. And then, as he realised the enormity of what he’d done, she moved. Pressing both hands against his chest, she shoved him back hard, a muted cry escaping her as she ducked past him to scramble for the door.
Jesus Christ.‘Zoe!’ Spinning around, he raced after her, catching up with her in the hall. ‘Zoe, don’t,’ he begged, the flat of his hand against the front door as, tears streaming down her face, she wrestled to open it. ‘Please don’t go, Zoe. I’m sorry. I—’
‘Get out of myway.’ Struggling with the door, Zoe sobbed harder.
‘Zoe,please…’ Dean caught hold of her arm. ‘Don’t do this. Please stay. We can—’
‘Let mego.’ She wriggled away from him. ‘Leave me alone!’ she screamed, fleeing to the living room.
‘Zoe, come back. You can go. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …’ Desperation climbing inside him, Dean followed. Fear gripped his stomach like a vice as he realised she was heading out onto the balcony.
‘Zoe, don’t go out there.’ He moved towards her.
