Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 115737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
There’s been no mention of what happens next, and when. When Jack and I are together, we tend not to focus on depressing subjects . . . like his wife. Like how his day has been. I don’t need to ask. I see it on his face for a fleeting second every time I see him, before he breathes in deeply and throws his arms around me. And in that moment, everything is better again. I’m following Jack’s lead, trusting him . . .
Because I’m so hopelessly in love with him. I can’t make this any harder for him than it already is.
As much as I try not to, I’ve become more and more dependent on Jack, how he makes me feel, the encouragement and support he gives me. The devotion he lavishes me with too. But he’s not wholly mine. I’ve promised myself never to give him that ultimatum. I won’t make demands and throw my weight around. He deals with that enough already. Besides, my fucked-up inner self never wants him to have the opportunity in our future to throw the words I left my wife for you! in my face. Call me stubborn. Call me nonsensical. I don’t care what. Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment. Or maybe I’m protecting whatever shreds of integrity I have left.
I’ve managed to keep the fact that I’ve fallen in love with a married man from my friends. They wouldn’t understand. I’ve seen the reactions of people who have found out about affairs. They tarnish each and every adulterer with the same brush. I accept that many affairs are based on nothing more than sex – something exciting and daring in a life of boredom and discontent. But what about the people who meet that little bit too late and share something special like Jack and I do? Are we supposed to let that person pass on by, turn away from someone who finds your soul and kisses it?
I know in my heart of hearts that Jack is my soul mate. He’s the missing piece of me. Without him now, I’d be lost. It’s as simple as that. Call it wrong. Call it sinful. I can’t turn my back on the man I love. I can’t do it to him, and I can’t do it to myself. That’s my reality. A reality I now accept.
I’ve been busy keeping up with all my projects. Today I’m on Colin’s site overseeing the installation of my spectacular glass roof. Each individual pane of glass has been cut in France and shipped across the Channel. I’m praying they’ve made it here without any damage, and as I stand on the street watching the lorry rumble up the road towards us, I frown. ‘I thought we specified a HIAB lorry,’ I say, looking at one of Jack’s men, Bill, standing next to me. He’s a crabby old sod, but as Jack reminds me daily when I gripe about him, he’s a good worker and he knows what he’s doing.
‘The HIAB broke down at Dover.’ He makes his way towards the lorry, guiding it down the narrow street.
‘Great,’ I mutter, following him. ‘Then we need to leave the panes on the lorry until the crane gets here.’
‘No can do, love.’
‘Yes can do,’ I argue indignantly. ‘Those glass panes cost a fortune!’
He ignores me and whistles, getting the attention of the driver of a small forklift. ‘Around the back, mate!’
‘You are not moving my roof with that thing.’ I gawk at Bill, between panic and anger. ‘And where’s my fucking crane?’ I shout, losing my shit.
‘Caught in traffic in Westminster,’ Bill says, unperturbed by my hissy fit.
‘Bill. I don’t think you’re hearing me.’ I calm my tone and try to reason with him. ‘This roof is special.’
‘And I don’t think you’re hearing me, Annie,’ he argues back, calmer than me, as the delivery vehicle comes to a stop. ‘This lorry is blocking the road and causing anarchy. The crane could be hours. We need to get those panes off and clear the road.’
I look up at the packaged glass, praying to every transportation God there is that it’s all still in one piece. If the roof has to be reordered, it’ll blow the schedule and budget to pieces. ‘If this goes wrong, the haulage firm will seriously wish they’d never met me.’ I’m speaking hypothetically, obviously, since the haulage company hasn’t actually met me.
Bill laughs a big belly laugh. ‘Have faith.’ He pulls on his safety gloves. ‘Up!’ he yells to his forklift driver.
I watch with bated breath as the first pane gets negotiated from the back of the lorry, a dozen men spread around the sheet to control it as it’s shifted to the side of the pavement. ‘You’re just going to dump them there?’ I ask incredulously. ‘On the side of the road like a pile of trash?’ Oh shitting hell, this isn’t good.